April 22, 2001.
Happy Birthday Nellie!
Sai Gon lately has been unbearably hot; even the locals can’t stand the heat. In other brief news, Chuong’s back from his trip to China, and because of our print deadline, I won’t make it to Bangkok (some other time) but may possibly take a quick trip to the beach at Phan Thiet/Mui Ne.
I’m adjusting further, and well, into life in Vietnam, but I think I hear New York calling. Recently, quite a lot of people have commented on the difference in my Vietnamese from when I first arrived, even the girl at the film developing shop. There is a noticeable difference in my fluency, though I still occasionally say things with the wrong tone (just yesterday I said “phan mem,” meant as “software” but instead I said “soft stool”), and my vocabulary is still limited. Natural language acquisition – learning to speak by what we hear – is not of good use here since the language of adults and elders is different than that of one’s equals and I cannot use the same vocabulary when speaking to others.
I’ve gotten used to eating on the streets here, though we bring our own disposable chopsticks with us for sanitary reasons. I have fallen into a relative routine (as I suppose we all do when we settle in somewhere) that generally involves drinking coffee in the morning, working about 8 hours, eating dinner out or at home, and then writing to all of you at home, and back into the next day. Weekends change slightly depending on whether I stay in town or not, but have been relatively mundane as of late (which is fine for a bit of rest). When I travel next should be when I have more to say about what I see. Till then, I hate to bother you with my daily details…
I am sending Souris more pictures of Hue, so go to her saigonsoldier site to have a look (give her a coupla days to get them posted).
April 22, 2001
April 18, 2001
Sai Gon. April 18, 2001
Last night I had a spectacular six course dinner at my aunt’s house with an Englishwoman, a Vietnamese couple from France, a Vietnamese woman, my aunt, and a true Parisian named Jacques. I love everyone I’ve ever met named Jack and I’m going to name my first son Jack. I’ll name my second son Jack, too. Since the Englishwoman, Vivien, spent the last 30 years in Switzerland, she’s fluent in French, and of course, all the Vietnamese people, and so I thus spent an evening recalling my long ago studied French. Jacques is altogether jolly and avuncular, loves food and wine and Vietnamese women, and is great company to be around. He also asked me if I was Sicilian.
This of course, can only be added to the countless times people have tried to guess my nationality (particularly here in Vietnam), but I think it’s second to “Are you Israeli” I got from my cousin’s Hebrew teacher while in Atlanta.
Tonight I go to meet Vivien at Dong Du Café with her friend who built and manages a hospice here for 25 children and about 20 – 30 invalids (from industrial accidents) as well. I’m looking forward to meeting her and having interesting conversation in English!
Our second issue of the guidebook is going to go to print soon and may interfere with my travel plans to Bangkok. My aunt who works for SaigonTourist has a special rate for me to go 6 days and 5 nights, includes airfare, hotel, breakfast, lunch, dinner, travel arrangements while in Thailand, and a trip to Pattaya from Bangkok for $275 USD all inclusive! I guess if I can’t go this time, there will be other opportunities. Other than Bangkok, there are not other real travel plans for at least another month.
Off to dinner. More later.
Last night I had a spectacular six course dinner at my aunt’s house with an Englishwoman, a Vietnamese couple from France, a Vietnamese woman, my aunt, and a true Parisian named Jacques. I love everyone I’ve ever met named Jack and I’m going to name my first son Jack. I’ll name my second son Jack, too. Since the Englishwoman, Vivien, spent the last 30 years in Switzerland, she’s fluent in French, and of course, all the Vietnamese people, and so I thus spent an evening recalling my long ago studied French. Jacques is altogether jolly and avuncular, loves food and wine and Vietnamese women, and is great company to be around. He also asked me if I was Sicilian.
This of course, can only be added to the countless times people have tried to guess my nationality (particularly here in Vietnam), but I think it’s second to “Are you Israeli” I got from my cousin’s Hebrew teacher while in Atlanta.
Tonight I go to meet Vivien at Dong Du Café with her friend who built and manages a hospice here for 25 children and about 20 – 30 invalids (from industrial accidents) as well. I’m looking forward to meeting her and having interesting conversation in English!
Our second issue of the guidebook is going to go to print soon and may interfere with my travel plans to Bangkok. My aunt who works for SaigonTourist has a special rate for me to go 6 days and 5 nights, includes airfare, hotel, breakfast, lunch, dinner, travel arrangements while in Thailand, and a trip to Pattaya from Bangkok for $275 USD all inclusive! I guess if I can’t go this time, there will be other opportunities. Other than Bangkok, there are not other real travel plans for at least another month.
Off to dinner. More later.
April 15, 2001
April 15, 2001. Sai Gon.
Much recovered from my bout of bad temper, particularly credited to Kaly’s letter and to yesterday’s activities in the house (that is, the recovery, and not the bad temper), and reading a good old english novel (_Sense & Sensibility_, in which I saw some of my lack of discretion in Marianne and my sister’s sense in Elinor), I now feel able to write again. Sitting in bed, listening to music and reading a novel easily takes me any where I wish to be in the world. The difference is that in Vietnam, I have someone come knocking at my door with my lunch, iced coffee, and freshly squeezed o.j. waiting for me.
Yesterday was the am lich (lunar calendar) date marking the first anniversary of my grandfather’s of having left us. There was a very very large affair at the house in which we each took our brief turn praying for him in his afterlife prior to having a very grand vegetarian luncheon. The commemorative event is called “dam gio” and Ong Ngoai’s was complete with paper money, paper shirt, cravate, sunglasses, comb, and other toiletries necessary to aide him in comfortable living in his afterlife. Of course, our family being one that values food far over material goods, he was sent with a plethora of real fruit and delectable dishes and the aforementioned paper goods and money (paper goods were later to be burned and food to be eaten).
Later in the evening, Di 10 showed some friends the pictures taken in his last few days with our family, which made me miss him all the more, but to be grateful that my grandmother is currently so settled and healthy and happy where she is.
There are a few things I’ve been meaning to mention for a while which I find simply amusing and entertaining. The first is the moon. You see, forever, the moon is one of my most favorite objects, as it follows me whereever I go. In Vietnam, however, my luna has decided to wear a different face. Rather than fattening up from left to right, the moon here fills from bottom up. It therefore begins not as a crescent set upright but as a grin set on its arc, increasingly filling up like a fishbowl would fill up with milk. As for other strange sightings, I can only say that my astronomy is dreadful, and that I only recognize Orion’s belt, and that I think the big dipper looks upside down from here if it is the big dipper at all.
Several hours later.
Abruptly interrupted by power failure, a rather frequent occurrence here, I’ve lost my train of thought to continue other observations further. I have at least to say that despite my previous fretful mood swing, it now appears that it was unbeknownst to everybody, particularly Di 10, who just earlier sent an email to my mom and dad telling them how especially well mannered and behaved and happy I am.
Thanh is the exception, who during my two-day low disposition, asked me several times if I was feeling unhappy or discontent and shared in my grief over my criticisms. Always thoughtful and observant, he is always conscious of my comfort and feelings here in Vietnam. It comes as a relief to have a friend like him here.
As further proof to myself that nobody really noticed my temper, at its absolute apex of frustration, I was to dine with Di 5, 9, 10, Uncle Tony, his wife, and Minh Thu (a friend of my aunts’). On Friday I met with my friend Minh Nhu, Minh Thu’s daughter, who told me with such cheer that her mother, upon arriving home from our shared dinner, raved to her about how much she had enjoyed my company and talking with me at dinner. So it is just to say that despite my unhappiness during those days, I am only glad that it was not an imposition on anyone here, as it remained mostly internal, emoted through my writing (as is the purpose of my habit and hobby of writing) on which you happen to be on the receiving end. So empathize no more, I’m back in good spirits. I write as I feel, as I have done for the better part of my 28 years, and forget that now I have an audience.
On to finish my book.
Much recovered from my bout of bad temper, particularly credited to Kaly’s letter and to yesterday’s activities in the house (that is, the recovery, and not the bad temper), and reading a good old english novel (_Sense & Sensibility_, in which I saw some of my lack of discretion in Marianne and my sister’s sense in Elinor), I now feel able to write again. Sitting in bed, listening to music and reading a novel easily takes me any where I wish to be in the world. The difference is that in Vietnam, I have someone come knocking at my door with my lunch, iced coffee, and freshly squeezed o.j. waiting for me.
Yesterday was the am lich (lunar calendar) date marking the first anniversary of my grandfather’s of having left us. There was a very very large affair at the house in which we each took our brief turn praying for him in his afterlife prior to having a very grand vegetarian luncheon. The commemorative event is called “dam gio” and Ong Ngoai’s was complete with paper money, paper shirt, cravate, sunglasses, comb, and other toiletries necessary to aide him in comfortable living in his afterlife. Of course, our family being one that values food far over material goods, he was sent with a plethora of real fruit and delectable dishes and the aforementioned paper goods and money (paper goods were later to be burned and food to be eaten).
Later in the evening, Di 10 showed some friends the pictures taken in his last few days with our family, which made me miss him all the more, but to be grateful that my grandmother is currently so settled and healthy and happy where she is.
There are a few things I’ve been meaning to mention for a while which I find simply amusing and entertaining. The first is the moon. You see, forever, the moon is one of my most favorite objects, as it follows me whereever I go. In Vietnam, however, my luna has decided to wear a different face. Rather than fattening up from left to right, the moon here fills from bottom up. It therefore begins not as a crescent set upright but as a grin set on its arc, increasingly filling up like a fishbowl would fill up with milk. As for other strange sightings, I can only say that my astronomy is dreadful, and that I only recognize Orion’s belt, and that I think the big dipper looks upside down from here if it is the big dipper at all.
Several hours later.
Abruptly interrupted by power failure, a rather frequent occurrence here, I’ve lost my train of thought to continue other observations further. I have at least to say that despite my previous fretful mood swing, it now appears that it was unbeknownst to everybody, particularly Di 10, who just earlier sent an email to my mom and dad telling them how especially well mannered and behaved and happy I am.
Thanh is the exception, who during my two-day low disposition, asked me several times if I was feeling unhappy or discontent and shared in my grief over my criticisms. Always thoughtful and observant, he is always conscious of my comfort and feelings here in Vietnam. It comes as a relief to have a friend like him here.
As further proof to myself that nobody really noticed my temper, at its absolute apex of frustration, I was to dine with Di 5, 9, 10, Uncle Tony, his wife, and Minh Thu (a friend of my aunts’). On Friday I met with my friend Minh Nhu, Minh Thu’s daughter, who told me with such cheer that her mother, upon arriving home from our shared dinner, raved to her about how much she had enjoyed my company and talking with me at dinner. So it is just to say that despite my unhappiness during those days, I am only glad that it was not an imposition on anyone here, as it remained mostly internal, emoted through my writing (as is the purpose of my habit and hobby of writing) on which you happen to be on the receiving end. So empathize no more, I’m back in good spirits. I write as I feel, as I have done for the better part of my 28 years, and forget that now I have an audience.
On to finish my book.
****I wrote this last Thursday, but blogger was down.****
April 12, 2001 Sai Gon.
Alright, everybody. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m over it. I had about six consecutive good meals, enough caffeine to put me in withdrawal for weeks, self-contained personal space, and now I’m okay.
I will never ever get used to the way adults talk down to youth. It will always seem disrespectful to me (and I cannot tolerate disrespect). But it’s the way things are - it is a literal impossibilty for an adult to disrespect anyone younger as it is also implausible for an adult to be rude to anyone younger. By literally, I mean that this is apparent in their culture, but most evidently in their LANGUAGE.
For example: a junior person can not “teach” a senior person ANYTHING. That is to say, I can NEVER say “I taught Kiki to do so-and-so” as Kiki is my older sister. I also can not teach my parents anything, nor my aunts and uncles, or anyone who has higher rank. I can only “tell” them. The word “dai” (sp.?) which means “to teach” is GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT if used to describe the action of a younger person teaching an older person anything. It can only be used to describe the opposite.
I am not allowed to tell an adult that they are impolite. The word for “rude” can only be used for children towards adults. It does not apply to adults. Again, it is grammatically incorrect. Being rude to a child does not exist. Of course, all of this disrespect for youth is ingrained in the Vietnamese language much the way I described (several weeks ago) how extensively respect for elders is integrated into the language. Vietnamese people think I’m imagining things when I tell them I have several close friends who are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s (this relationship can not exist here because I could never be equal to someone older).
I’m not allowed to say that my aunt is inconsiderate for being incessantly late. It’s disrespectful on my part and just absolutely not permitted (she’s allowed to be as late as she wants). In fact, I have no manners for saying so. Adults have every right to interrupt anyone younger while in mid-sentence. They also have every right to ignore you when you ask a question. They have the right to push you out of their way. They have the right to take and use your things without requesting or even acknowledging so. Adults even have the right to talk about you with their friends as if you are not sitting next to them. It’s the rudest experience I’ve been subjected to here, yet somehow, there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about this boorish behavior.
I tried to describe my frustration of this behavior with Thanh. He explained that this is how things are. That no matter what, an adult is ALWAYS right. That adults are allowed to treat children this way. That children are given few allowances, if any. I must remember to come back to Vietnam when I’m 95 so I can tell everyone what to do.
What really kicked all of this off, I think, is the invasion and violation I felt last week when two police officers came into our home at MIDNIGHT to investigate the paperwork for all those staying under this roof. When entering VN, you MUST indicate your place of stay. Once in the country, you have to go to several offices and get paperwork filled out explaining who you are, where you are staying, what your relation is to the person with whom you are staying, etc. If investigators come by and you lack the paperwork, you’re fined. And well, they can come any day they want, any time they want, as many times as they want. So they came into my room after midnight, checked all of my paperwork and that of all of the people who work for my aunt 10 (all the aunts happened to be out of town), and they even went into my grandmother’s room where the old lady was sleeping. Never fear, this would NOT happen if one is at a hotel or other sort of tourism gig. It’s reserved for nationals and expatriates.
So anyway. I can live here. I can let it go. Easiest of all is to just ignore the annoyances, move away from them, and move on. Of course, none of this indecorous behavior applies if you’re not asian. Westerners are fanatically loved and respected regardless of their age (I think this has something to do with height differences). Adults only feel entitled towards younger asians (my problem is that I forget that I’m asian, and a short one at that).
The end of the month is a holiday – April 30 and May 1. The first of May is Labor Day. The 30th of April… Well, all my life, I’ve only known it to be called “mat nuoc” or literally, “to lose-country.” Here in Vietnam it’s called “Liberation Day.”
I say “Get me to Bangkok.”
I’m hoping to go during the 4 day weekend.
This weekend will be a busy one since we will commemorate the one year anniversary of my Ong Ngoai’s (maternal grandfather) death. Though it fell on April 25 of last year, we commemorate based on the “am lich,” or lunar calendar. I think it falls on Sunday, so we’ll be having another large banquet in a couple of days. This year, there are two Aprils on the lunar calendar. I don’t know what this means in terms of commemorations.
Having been well fed by then, I shall send a brighter report. Till then, stop worrying, I’m totally okay. I eat ice cream almost every single day, sometimes twice.
P.S. Whoever keeps trying to MSN Messenger me, I can't respond. Messenger doesn't work in VN.
April 12, 2001 Sai Gon.
Alright, everybody. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m over it. I had about six consecutive good meals, enough caffeine to put me in withdrawal for weeks, self-contained personal space, and now I’m okay.
I will never ever get used to the way adults talk down to youth. It will always seem disrespectful to me (and I cannot tolerate disrespect). But it’s the way things are - it is a literal impossibilty for an adult to disrespect anyone younger as it is also implausible for an adult to be rude to anyone younger. By literally, I mean that this is apparent in their culture, but most evidently in their LANGUAGE.
For example: a junior person can not “teach” a senior person ANYTHING. That is to say, I can NEVER say “I taught Kiki to do so-and-so” as Kiki is my older sister. I also can not teach my parents anything, nor my aunts and uncles, or anyone who has higher rank. I can only “tell” them. The word “dai” (sp.?) which means “to teach” is GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT if used to describe the action of a younger person teaching an older person anything. It can only be used to describe the opposite.
I am not allowed to tell an adult that they are impolite. The word for “rude” can only be used for children towards adults. It does not apply to adults. Again, it is grammatically incorrect. Being rude to a child does not exist. Of course, all of this disrespect for youth is ingrained in the Vietnamese language much the way I described (several weeks ago) how extensively respect for elders is integrated into the language. Vietnamese people think I’m imagining things when I tell them I have several close friends who are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s (this relationship can not exist here because I could never be equal to someone older).
I’m not allowed to say that my aunt is inconsiderate for being incessantly late. It’s disrespectful on my part and just absolutely not permitted (she’s allowed to be as late as she wants). In fact, I have no manners for saying so. Adults have every right to interrupt anyone younger while in mid-sentence. They also have every right to ignore you when you ask a question. They have the right to push you out of their way. They have the right to take and use your things without requesting or even acknowledging so. Adults even have the right to talk about you with their friends as if you are not sitting next to them. It’s the rudest experience I’ve been subjected to here, yet somehow, there is absolutely nothing extraordinary about this boorish behavior.
I tried to describe my frustration of this behavior with Thanh. He explained that this is how things are. That no matter what, an adult is ALWAYS right. That adults are allowed to treat children this way. That children are given few allowances, if any. I must remember to come back to Vietnam when I’m 95 so I can tell everyone what to do.
What really kicked all of this off, I think, is the invasion and violation I felt last week when two police officers came into our home at MIDNIGHT to investigate the paperwork for all those staying under this roof. When entering VN, you MUST indicate your place of stay. Once in the country, you have to go to several offices and get paperwork filled out explaining who you are, where you are staying, what your relation is to the person with whom you are staying, etc. If investigators come by and you lack the paperwork, you’re fined. And well, they can come any day they want, any time they want, as many times as they want. So they came into my room after midnight, checked all of my paperwork and that of all of the people who work for my aunt 10 (all the aunts happened to be out of town), and they even went into my grandmother’s room where the old lady was sleeping. Never fear, this would NOT happen if one is at a hotel or other sort of tourism gig. It’s reserved for nationals and expatriates.
So anyway. I can live here. I can let it go. Easiest of all is to just ignore the annoyances, move away from them, and move on. Of course, none of this indecorous behavior applies if you’re not asian. Westerners are fanatically loved and respected regardless of their age (I think this has something to do with height differences). Adults only feel entitled towards younger asians (my problem is that I forget that I’m asian, and a short one at that).
The end of the month is a holiday – April 30 and May 1. The first of May is Labor Day. The 30th of April… Well, all my life, I’ve only known it to be called “mat nuoc” or literally, “to lose-country.” Here in Vietnam it’s called “Liberation Day.”
I say “Get me to Bangkok.”
I’m hoping to go during the 4 day weekend.
This weekend will be a busy one since we will commemorate the one year anniversary of my Ong Ngoai’s (maternal grandfather) death. Though it fell on April 25 of last year, we commemorate based on the “am lich,” or lunar calendar. I think it falls on Sunday, so we’ll be having another large banquet in a couple of days. This year, there are two Aprils on the lunar calendar. I don’t know what this means in terms of commemorations.
Having been well fed by then, I shall send a brighter report. Till then, stop worrying, I’m totally okay. I eat ice cream almost every single day, sometimes twice.
P.S. Whoever keeps trying to MSN Messenger me, I can't respond. Messenger doesn't work in VN.
April 08, 2001
Sai Gon. April 8, 2001.
The problem with Vietnamese people is that for as much as they respect elders, they lack respect for youth. It drives me insane.
Perhaps I didn’t drink enough coffee this morning, but I’ve been unusually irritable today and am wishing I was back home. Homesick? I don’t really think so. What I’d really like is to get in my car and take a nice drive somewhere away from the noise and annoyance that current company brings.
At least some solace comes in the form of the only music I brought over on Minidisc – Italy’s Lucio Battisti or New York’s Redtime. As for the few CDs I actually brought with me, I leave those to maintain sanity in the office. It’s a trade-off – the people who work for me can’t stand my U2 and on the other hand, how much George Michael, Kenny G, and Vietnamese Pop can one tolerate? (My patience is running low.)
I am beginning to consider living alone, buying myself a Honda, and reclaiming my independence. I would rather die driving a motorbike in Sai Gon than live in fear of an accident, which is what my aunts and mother (and perhaps Eileen if you only knew) have decided would happen to me if I drive here. Good motorbikes only cost about $500. Li? Yes. What does that mean? Well, in Vietnamese, “li” has several meanings – audacious, insolent, courageous and intrepid (often paired as gan li). It can sometimes carry a negative connotation here (when meant as audacious or insolent). I happen to be accused of it quite often and PROUD OF IT. I am SICK, SICK, SICK of not being mobile.
Another generalization in cultural character: for the most part, ordinary people here lack education and educated people lack intellect. So maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s the language barrier I have that impedes any sort of intellectual conversation. Maybe it’s my foul mood that chooses this occasion to write about it. Maybe it’s really because I can’t speak Vietnamese worth a dime to have an intelligent conversation. Or maybe it’s the people who have besieged my existence here in VN. If I hear “do you have family” one more time, or “guess how old she is,” I might hither onto someone’s shoes. Or I might say “mind your own goddamn business.”
Then, of course, I’d get accused of being li again.
So instead, I listen to Italian lessons on Minidisc, read the Vietnamese dictionary, Jack Kerouac’s letters, my anti-communist travel guide by Fodor’s, and Roget’s thesaurus. Please send consolation letters to hanihong@hotmail.com.
The problem with Vietnamese people is that for as much as they respect elders, they lack respect for youth. It drives me insane.
Perhaps I didn’t drink enough coffee this morning, but I’ve been unusually irritable today and am wishing I was back home. Homesick? I don’t really think so. What I’d really like is to get in my car and take a nice drive somewhere away from the noise and annoyance that current company brings.
At least some solace comes in the form of the only music I brought over on Minidisc – Italy’s Lucio Battisti or New York’s Redtime. As for the few CDs I actually brought with me, I leave those to maintain sanity in the office. It’s a trade-off – the people who work for me can’t stand my U2 and on the other hand, how much George Michael, Kenny G, and Vietnamese Pop can one tolerate? (My patience is running low.)
I am beginning to consider living alone, buying myself a Honda, and reclaiming my independence. I would rather die driving a motorbike in Sai Gon than live in fear of an accident, which is what my aunts and mother (and perhaps Eileen if you only knew) have decided would happen to me if I drive here. Good motorbikes only cost about $500. Li? Yes. What does that mean? Well, in Vietnamese, “li” has several meanings – audacious, insolent, courageous and intrepid (often paired as gan li). It can sometimes carry a negative connotation here (when meant as audacious or insolent). I happen to be accused of it quite often and PROUD OF IT. I am SICK, SICK, SICK of not being mobile.
Another generalization in cultural character: for the most part, ordinary people here lack education and educated people lack intellect. So maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s the language barrier I have that impedes any sort of intellectual conversation. Maybe it’s my foul mood that chooses this occasion to write about it. Maybe it’s really because I can’t speak Vietnamese worth a dime to have an intelligent conversation. Or maybe it’s the people who have besieged my existence here in VN. If I hear “do you have family” one more time, or “guess how old she is,” I might hither onto someone’s shoes. Or I might say “mind your own goddamn business.”
Then, of course, I’d get accused of being li again.
So instead, I listen to Italian lessons on Minidisc, read the Vietnamese dictionary, Jack Kerouac’s letters, my anti-communist travel guide by Fodor’s, and Roget’s thesaurus. Please send consolation letters to hanihong@hotmail.com.
April 05, 2001
As I’ve been telling just about anyone I’ve been writing, I’m mad for a steak and cheese sandwich from 2 Chefs! Beef is not very good here – I miss hamburgers and hot dogs, too, but chicken is organic and free range. I suppose it’s a positive flip side to being a poor country – agriculture hasn’t quite caught up with technology and chemicals.
I’m taking a cab home from work today. I’m getting sick of being dependent on others to get around town. I spend endless hours waiting around sometimes, it’s an incredible inconvenience, and not being able to do and go as I please drives me crazy.
Work is good. I got paid some USD and some VND. My VND wad is about 3 inches thick. It’s easy to feel rich here, even when I’m making less now than I did at age 13, fifteen years ago. Of course, I made less than I did at age 13 when I lived in NY, and considering the cost of living difference between NYC and Sai Gon, I’m in a pretty good place.
At work, I have 2 superiors who are flexible and great, I’m in a relatively autonomous position, and I have 2 people who help me get my work done. Soon we’re going to make greeting cards – design, write, and draw – which will be fun. Greeting Card Creator is one of the jobs I have on my “List of Jobs to have in my Lifetime” list. I have for years kept a list of jobs I’d like to have one day. Of course, these cards will be written in Vietnamese, so I won’t be of much help in the copywriting department. Maybe one day I’ll fulfill my “Toy Engineer” job wish.
Homeward bound. I’m starving.
I’m taking a cab home from work today. I’m getting sick of being dependent on others to get around town. I spend endless hours waiting around sometimes, it’s an incredible inconvenience, and not being able to do and go as I please drives me crazy.
Work is good. I got paid some USD and some VND. My VND wad is about 3 inches thick. It’s easy to feel rich here, even when I’m making less now than I did at age 13, fifteen years ago. Of course, I made less than I did at age 13 when I lived in NY, and considering the cost of living difference between NYC and Sai Gon, I’m in a pretty good place.
At work, I have 2 superiors who are flexible and great, I’m in a relatively autonomous position, and I have 2 people who help me get my work done. Soon we’re going to make greeting cards – design, write, and draw – which will be fun. Greeting Card Creator is one of the jobs I have on my “List of Jobs to have in my Lifetime” list. I have for years kept a list of jobs I’d like to have one day. Of course, these cards will be written in Vietnamese, so I won’t be of much help in the copywriting department. Maybe one day I’ll fulfill my “Toy Engineer” job wish.
Homeward bound. I’m starving.
April 03, 2001
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN
A bit of history to preface my journal entry from Hue:
From 1802 to 1945, 13 emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty ruled from within the citadel of the Imperial City which stretch over 1200 acres. Inside the citadel lies the Forbidden Purple City, 22 acres, and surrounded by another square of walls with four entrances. The Imperial City was built between 1802 and 1833 following the rules of geomancy; its back faced the mountains and its front faced the sea. It is bordered by a moat, and its destruction began in 1947 by fire and razed further in 1968 during the Tet offensive.
The outer city of Hue has a population of around 300,000 (about the size of Arlington); its denizens dine on imperial cuisine and represent Hue as a center for learning. I never made it to the Museum of Royal Fine Arts, nor did I get to the Dong Ba Market in the outer city. I didn’t even get to take a dragon boat ride. With 3 days to spend in Hue, of which a day would be dedicated to Chuong’s paternal side of the family (we are related through my father and his mother, who is my first cousin), my time was limited.
Friday, March 30, 2001. Hue, Vietnam. 10:35 p.m.
I can’t even begin to describe how I feel being in Hue. The sensation I felt stepping off the plane when I first arrived in Vietnam in February is only magnified with my arrival in Hue, much the way a camera would zoom in to magnify its subject – the detail and vividness of color, the magnification of feeling and sensation.
Vietnam is my homeland. Sai Gon is where I was born. But Hue. Hue runs through my veins. Hue was where dad was born. Phan Thiet, which I just visited a few weeks ago, is where mom is from. The difference? Aside from being two completely different cities in terms of demographics, geography, language, and geology, Hue makes me feel as if I am meeting myself for the first time. I consider myself to be a relatively self aware and introspective person. But all my life – and that of my siblings – we have been exposed to the Nam way of life – the South Vietnamese way of life. By this, I mean that we have grown up immersed in my mother’s life and family – I know all her 9 siblings, my 21 maternal first cousins, second cousins, raised nearby my maternal grandparents, and grew up speaking tien Nam, the southern dialect. Going to Phan Thiet was a wonderful experience – seeing mom’s elementary school, her home, her town. Going to Phan Thiet was an extension of the Vietnamese culture I already knew. In fact, it was so familiar that I felt completely at home in Phan Thiet.
I am an American. A Vietnamese American. By American, I need not explain. By Vietnamese, I defined myself as the world I knew of my Vietnamese culture – my South Vietnamese half. My Phan Thiet half.
Arriving in Hue, I have now just discovered my other half. I have just opened my eyes to a part of me that I have never seen before. Simultaneously foreign yet intimate. I feel a connection so deep with Hue – a deep love for Hue. It’s as if I have just met my father – I have just envisioned his life for the very first time. I have just met my other half. And goddamn, I like it.
Hue is the last Imperial City. Much of it irrevocably destroyed by war. It lies in central Vietnam, the Demarcation Zone nearby. It is peppered with my relatives, some of whom I met today. Hong Du Duc, my father’s third cousin, and the youngest of the Du/Giu generation, stopped in while I was paying a visit to my cousin, Chi Hy (whose late husband is Hong Khac Thieu). Chi Hy brought out a booklet to share with me – it is the Hope Diamond in my geographic and genealogic treasure chest – a record of the Hong family line in relation to the Nguyen dynasty of Vietnam. It’s in Vietnamese, but Chu (uncle) Duc tried to explain as much of it as he could with me. Unfortunately, the natives of Hue speak with a thick accent and my Vietnamese is far from good enough to understand everything – I sat wishing I had my MD recorder.
Long, Chi Hy’s youngest of 3 sons, will make a copy for me to bring home where I will have dad translate. Dad’s brother (my uncle) who shares the same name as Long’s father (my first cousin), Hong Du Thieu (my uncle), was part of the South Vietnamese airborne troops. On his day off duty, he happened upon his unit, preparing for a mission. He made a fatal decision to join them that day. My cousin, Hong Khac Thieu, was involved in the war as well. Incarcerated while Chi Hy was 2 months pregnant with Long, Long never really got to know his father. Anh Thieu was released when Long was 14. When he was 15, his father died. These are only a few tidbits I have collected from being here. In time, I hope to discover more. I am so incredibly moved to be here, I can not describe how I feel.
Saturday, 1 April 2001. Hue, VN
Early this morning, Chuong and I walked around the Forbidden Purple city – I photographed all of the gates into the city. Tomorrow morning we’ll go inside.
We then went over to Chi Hy’s to meet up with relatives (Long, and his brother Phat and Chu Duc) and went to the Hong nha tho (shrine) nearby, cared for by a distant cousin of my father’s, Co Phu. Again moved beyond words, I surveyed each of the red and gold wooden shrines within the nha tho structure, one for each branch of the Hong family lines. I examined further the embellished gold tablets with Hoa lettering (Chinese characters), that hung overhead – gifts from the Emperor to my grandfather. From the Hong nha tho, we all piled in the car and headed for the mountains, the burial grounds of my ancestors. It is protocol to visit the burial grounds regularly in remembrance of our ancestors, for whom we pray, and for which these prayers are symbolized by the incense we light & leave for them. At least that’s what I think the incense is for. I went to see my great-great grandfather’s grave (the first of the Hongs who came to Vietnam from China) and in front of which lay multiple other graves of ancestors remains that were moved from another site in the 1980’s. Next to this, was another set of graves. My grandfather, Hong Quang Dich, 1888-1949. His first wife, 1888-1930 (her first name does not appear on the headstone, but instead it reads “Mrs. Hong Quang Dich). My grandmother, Nguyen Thi Tu Anh, d.1933 (though that is what is carved into stone, I think it might be wrong). Northerners have a way of putting the name of the eldest son of the dead upon their tombstones. Therefore, on my grandfather’s was etched Hong Du Chau, my dad’s eldest brother (first son of the first wife). The shock was in seeing dad’s name (spelled differently, Hong Du Chuong) engraved upon my grandmother’s stone. I got over this, paid my respects to each of my grandparents, took photographs both for dad and for chronicling purposes, and then we all got back in the car to go back to town.
The rest of the day was, gratefully, much lighter. Long, Phat, Chi Hy, Chuong, and I went to a local eatery for banh beo, banh nam, banh loc, and banh khoai, all foods that are original to Hue. Five of us ate plenty for 62,000 VND (four dollars and change), and headed for Lang Co, a resort town and beach that face the Marble Mountains. We spent a few hours by the beach relaxing (just what I needed to help restore my mind), then back to the city by evening for a brilliant imperial dinner, to a special island whose soil is exceptional for corn crops, and had che bap (a sweetened corn gelee) for dessert. We went by the river to finish our evening with coffee, which ended sooner than expected because of my loud complaints of mosquito bites. Chuong and I drove around the citadel for just a little bit before going back to the hotel (he rented a motorbike for $5/day). The weather was perfect (for once it was cool in Vietnam), and the Ngo Mon Gate (Noon Gate, the main entrance to the Forbidden Purple City) was lit up beautifully.
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN.
Since I didn’t have the chance to finish writing about my trip to Hue from Hue, I’ll finish it off here. I spent Sunday morning inside the Forbidden Purple City alone. Entering the grandiose Ngo Mon Gate, I faced the Thai Hoa Palace (Palace of Supreme Harmony) beyond the two lotus ponds. Lined up along both sides of the path leading to the Thai Hoa Palace are two rows of stelae, each marked in Chinese/Hoa lettering, at which the Military Mandarins and Civilian Mandarins would stand. The emperor received delegations and presided over major ceremonies from his throne inside the Thai Hoa Palace. Since the emperor faces the audience, per se, the Military Mandarins would stand stage right, and Civilian Mandarins stage left, in order of rank. My grandfather stood at the second stela along the line of Civilian Mandarins. I stood there and touched the stone where he once stood, where he faced the Emperor, where he worked, where he lived. For the umpteenth time in Hue, I swallowed the lump in my throat. How strange that it is only two generations ago that this place was graced with landscaping divine and resplendent architectural beauties. This is where my father’s father lived. I can’t believe it sometimes. Of the 300 edifices that once stood in Hue, only about 80 remain, of which many are in desperate need of renovations.
I further explored the city within the city, passed through pavilions and temples, and the Cuu Dinh (the Nine Dynastic urns), bronze masterpieces weighing 3500-5700 pounds each, set in relief, cast in 1835-1837, and dedicated to different emperors.
After two and a half hours of wandering, I met up with Phat who took me to Chuong’s relatives, where we all met so that six of us could go see the Long An vs. Hue soccer game. Like in every other country in the world, except America, soccer is second to none. Long An ranks first in the country, Hue last. Always a fan for the underdog (and after all, my bloodland), we all rooted for Hue. Long An has the country’s star – the Michael Jordan of Vietnam – and we were in for a tough game. Within just the first few minutes, Hue scores! Several minutes later, another goal for Hue! I thought (hey, which team is in red? Us or them?). In the second half, though, Long An came back and scored 3 in a row. We were doomed. In the final minutes, an unlikely goal for Hue! Tied, we were thrilled. Then just five minutes later, another fortuitous goal for Hue! All we needed was for the clock to run down… it did, and 20,000 spectators (crammed in a space meant for thousands less) hooted and hollered. I love live sports.
After dinner back at Chuong’s great uncle’s house (who happened to be the engineer behind the Ho Chi Minh Trail and whose son was a decorated Communist General), we went back inside the Forbidden Purple City where there was a special evening of song and dance. I sat in my chair, propped my legs up, and fell asleep by the second number.
By the next morning, we flew back to Sai Gon, where I napped from noon to night, and then slept through to Tuesday. My first trip to Hue was complete, and thanks to Chuong, I was able to experience and understand so much of where I come from, and what I’m made of. For that, I am incredibly grateful, for I could not have gained so much in so little time without him.
A bit of history to preface my journal entry from Hue:
From 1802 to 1945, 13 emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty ruled from within the citadel of the Imperial City which stretch over 1200 acres. Inside the citadel lies the Forbidden Purple City, 22 acres, and surrounded by another square of walls with four entrances. The Imperial City was built between 1802 and 1833 following the rules of geomancy; its back faced the mountains and its front faced the sea. It is bordered by a moat, and its destruction began in 1947 by fire and razed further in 1968 during the Tet offensive.
The outer city of Hue has a population of around 300,000 (about the size of Arlington); its denizens dine on imperial cuisine and represent Hue as a center for learning. I never made it to the Museum of Royal Fine Arts, nor did I get to the Dong Ba Market in the outer city. I didn’t even get to take a dragon boat ride. With 3 days to spend in Hue, of which a day would be dedicated to Chuong’s paternal side of the family (we are related through my father and his mother, who is my first cousin), my time was limited.
Friday, March 30, 2001. Hue, Vietnam. 10:35 p.m.
I can’t even begin to describe how I feel being in Hue. The sensation I felt stepping off the plane when I first arrived in Vietnam in February is only magnified with my arrival in Hue, much the way a camera would zoom in to magnify its subject – the detail and vividness of color, the magnification of feeling and sensation.
Vietnam is my homeland. Sai Gon is where I was born. But Hue. Hue runs through my veins. Hue was where dad was born. Phan Thiet, which I just visited a few weeks ago, is where mom is from. The difference? Aside from being two completely different cities in terms of demographics, geography, language, and geology, Hue makes me feel as if I am meeting myself for the first time. I consider myself to be a relatively self aware and introspective person. But all my life – and that of my siblings – we have been exposed to the Nam way of life – the South Vietnamese way of life. By this, I mean that we have grown up immersed in my mother’s life and family – I know all her 9 siblings, my 21 maternal first cousins, second cousins, raised nearby my maternal grandparents, and grew up speaking tien Nam, the southern dialect. Going to Phan Thiet was a wonderful experience – seeing mom’s elementary school, her home, her town. Going to Phan Thiet was an extension of the Vietnamese culture I already knew. In fact, it was so familiar that I felt completely at home in Phan Thiet.
I am an American. A Vietnamese American. By American, I need not explain. By Vietnamese, I defined myself as the world I knew of my Vietnamese culture – my South Vietnamese half. My Phan Thiet half.
Arriving in Hue, I have now just discovered my other half. I have just opened my eyes to a part of me that I have never seen before. Simultaneously foreign yet intimate. I feel a connection so deep with Hue – a deep love for Hue. It’s as if I have just met my father – I have just envisioned his life for the very first time. I have just met my other half. And goddamn, I like it.
Hue is the last Imperial City. Much of it irrevocably destroyed by war. It lies in central Vietnam, the Demarcation Zone nearby. It is peppered with my relatives, some of whom I met today. Hong Du Duc, my father’s third cousin, and the youngest of the Du/Giu generation, stopped in while I was paying a visit to my cousin, Chi Hy (whose late husband is Hong Khac Thieu). Chi Hy brought out a booklet to share with me – it is the Hope Diamond in my geographic and genealogic treasure chest – a record of the Hong family line in relation to the Nguyen dynasty of Vietnam. It’s in Vietnamese, but Chu (uncle) Duc tried to explain as much of it as he could with me. Unfortunately, the natives of Hue speak with a thick accent and my Vietnamese is far from good enough to understand everything – I sat wishing I had my MD recorder.
Long, Chi Hy’s youngest of 3 sons, will make a copy for me to bring home where I will have dad translate. Dad’s brother (my uncle) who shares the same name as Long’s father (my first cousin), Hong Du Thieu (my uncle), was part of the South Vietnamese airborne troops. On his day off duty, he happened upon his unit, preparing for a mission. He made a fatal decision to join them that day. My cousin, Hong Khac Thieu, was involved in the war as well. Incarcerated while Chi Hy was 2 months pregnant with Long, Long never really got to know his father. Anh Thieu was released when Long was 14. When he was 15, his father died. These are only a few tidbits I have collected from being here. In time, I hope to discover more. I am so incredibly moved to be here, I can not describe how I feel.
Saturday, 1 April 2001. Hue, VN
Early this morning, Chuong and I walked around the Forbidden Purple city – I photographed all of the gates into the city. Tomorrow morning we’ll go inside.
We then went over to Chi Hy’s to meet up with relatives (Long, and his brother Phat and Chu Duc) and went to the Hong nha tho (shrine) nearby, cared for by a distant cousin of my father’s, Co Phu. Again moved beyond words, I surveyed each of the red and gold wooden shrines within the nha tho structure, one for each branch of the Hong family lines. I examined further the embellished gold tablets with Hoa lettering (Chinese characters), that hung overhead – gifts from the Emperor to my grandfather. From the Hong nha tho, we all piled in the car and headed for the mountains, the burial grounds of my ancestors. It is protocol to visit the burial grounds regularly in remembrance of our ancestors, for whom we pray, and for which these prayers are symbolized by the incense we light & leave for them. At least that’s what I think the incense is for. I went to see my great-great grandfather’s grave (the first of the Hongs who came to Vietnam from China) and in front of which lay multiple other graves of ancestors remains that were moved from another site in the 1980’s. Next to this, was another set of graves. My grandfather, Hong Quang Dich, 1888-1949. His first wife, 1888-1930 (her first name does not appear on the headstone, but instead it reads “Mrs. Hong Quang Dich). My grandmother, Nguyen Thi Tu Anh, d.1933 (though that is what is carved into stone, I think it might be wrong). Northerners have a way of putting the name of the eldest son of the dead upon their tombstones. Therefore, on my grandfather’s was etched Hong Du Chau, my dad’s eldest brother (first son of the first wife). The shock was in seeing dad’s name (spelled differently, Hong Du Chuong) engraved upon my grandmother’s stone. I got over this, paid my respects to each of my grandparents, took photographs both for dad and for chronicling purposes, and then we all got back in the car to go back to town.
The rest of the day was, gratefully, much lighter. Long, Phat, Chi Hy, Chuong, and I went to a local eatery for banh beo, banh nam, banh loc, and banh khoai, all foods that are original to Hue. Five of us ate plenty for 62,000 VND (four dollars and change), and headed for Lang Co, a resort town and beach that face the Marble Mountains. We spent a few hours by the beach relaxing (just what I needed to help restore my mind), then back to the city by evening for a brilliant imperial dinner, to a special island whose soil is exceptional for corn crops, and had che bap (a sweetened corn gelee) for dessert. We went by the river to finish our evening with coffee, which ended sooner than expected because of my loud complaints of mosquito bites. Chuong and I drove around the citadel for just a little bit before going back to the hotel (he rented a motorbike for $5/day). The weather was perfect (for once it was cool in Vietnam), and the Ngo Mon Gate (Noon Gate, the main entrance to the Forbidden Purple City) was lit up beautifully.
Tuesday, April 3, 2001. Sai Gon VN.
Since I didn’t have the chance to finish writing about my trip to Hue from Hue, I’ll finish it off here. I spent Sunday morning inside the Forbidden Purple City alone. Entering the grandiose Ngo Mon Gate, I faced the Thai Hoa Palace (Palace of Supreme Harmony) beyond the two lotus ponds. Lined up along both sides of the path leading to the Thai Hoa Palace are two rows of stelae, each marked in Chinese/Hoa lettering, at which the Military Mandarins and Civilian Mandarins would stand. The emperor received delegations and presided over major ceremonies from his throne inside the Thai Hoa Palace. Since the emperor faces the audience, per se, the Military Mandarins would stand stage right, and Civilian Mandarins stage left, in order of rank. My grandfather stood at the second stela along the line of Civilian Mandarins. I stood there and touched the stone where he once stood, where he faced the Emperor, where he worked, where he lived. For the umpteenth time in Hue, I swallowed the lump in my throat. How strange that it is only two generations ago that this place was graced with landscaping divine and resplendent architectural beauties. This is where my father’s father lived. I can’t believe it sometimes. Of the 300 edifices that once stood in Hue, only about 80 remain, of which many are in desperate need of renovations.
I further explored the city within the city, passed through pavilions and temples, and the Cuu Dinh (the Nine Dynastic urns), bronze masterpieces weighing 3500-5700 pounds each, set in relief, cast in 1835-1837, and dedicated to different emperors.
After two and a half hours of wandering, I met up with Phat who took me to Chuong’s relatives, where we all met so that six of us could go see the Long An vs. Hue soccer game. Like in every other country in the world, except America, soccer is second to none. Long An ranks first in the country, Hue last. Always a fan for the underdog (and after all, my bloodland), we all rooted for Hue. Long An has the country’s star – the Michael Jordan of Vietnam – and we were in for a tough game. Within just the first few minutes, Hue scores! Several minutes later, another goal for Hue! I thought (hey, which team is in red? Us or them?). In the second half, though, Long An came back and scored 3 in a row. We were doomed. In the final minutes, an unlikely goal for Hue! Tied, we were thrilled. Then just five minutes later, another fortuitous goal for Hue! All we needed was for the clock to run down… it did, and 20,000 spectators (crammed in a space meant for thousands less) hooted and hollered. I love live sports.
After dinner back at Chuong’s great uncle’s house (who happened to be the engineer behind the Ho Chi Minh Trail and whose son was a decorated Communist General), we went back inside the Forbidden Purple City where there was a special evening of song and dance. I sat in my chair, propped my legs up, and fell asleep by the second number.
By the next morning, we flew back to Sai Gon, where I napped from noon to night, and then slept through to Tuesday. My first trip to Hue was complete, and thanks to Chuong, I was able to experience and understand so much of where I come from, and what I’m made of. For that, I am incredibly grateful, for I could not have gained so much in so little time without him.
March 28, 2001
Just got off the phone with both Chu Ngoc and Linh, his daughter. I had called him earlier in the evening to say hello, and he said he was sitting at the very table where I had a drink with him last week. I said that I'll have to go out and buy a bottle of gin so that when I call him, I can pour myself a drink and he can sit at his bar, and we can have a drink together.
Chu Ngoc asked if I had called his house yet (he gave me his home number last Friday so I could contact his family) but I didn't have the chance. After getting off the phone with him, I tried, but the line was busy. Then he called me a couple of hours later on my phone to see if I'd called. I told him I had tried, I just called again, and spoke to his daughter Linh. Very sweet. Chu Ngoc is really enthusiastic about me meeting his family. I suppose our affinity for each other is mutual. I told Linh that her dad will probably call her one more time this evening to check that I had called, and she laughed and told me he said good things about me, but one word caught me. She said he said I was "deu dang" (I have no idea how to spell it), but I think it means gentle. And the funny thing is, all I could remember is telling him how when Vietnamese people say "fax" it sounds like "fuck" (which I also translated for him in Vietnamese). Not very gentlewomanly. Hey, I'm whatyousee is whatyouget.
Chu Ngoc asked if I had called his house yet (he gave me his home number last Friday so I could contact his family) but I didn't have the chance. After getting off the phone with him, I tried, but the line was busy. Then he called me a couple of hours later on my phone to see if I'd called. I told him I had tried, I just called again, and spoke to his daughter Linh. Very sweet. Chu Ngoc is really enthusiastic about me meeting his family. I suppose our affinity for each other is mutual. I told Linh that her dad will probably call her one more time this evening to check that I had called, and she laughed and told me he said good things about me, but one word caught me. She said he said I was "deu dang" (I have no idea how to spell it), but I think it means gentle. And the funny thing is, all I could remember is telling him how when Vietnamese people say "fax" it sounds like "fuck" (which I also translated for him in Vietnamese). Not very gentlewomanly. Hey, I'm whatyousee is whatyouget.
I think I’ve reached my threshold for consuming Vietnamese food. Who would’ve thought it? It’s a good thing for me that Dong Du Cafe has Italian fare – fresh homemade pasta, and really great pizza. The only problem is that I don’t get there often enough. I’m beginning to think in terms of VND – is that good or bad? Somehow, the $24,000VND roundtrip cabfare to Dong Du at lunchtime doesn’t seem worth it ($1.70USD). And the people at work think I’m extravagant because I eat there fairly often – a few times a week. Daily specials (main course, salad, iced tea) cost about $38000VND ($2.50). The people I work with eat for about 50 cents a day at lunchtime. One meal at Dong Du is a week’s worth of lunch.
Is this perspective enough for poverty? It’s actually not poverty – one can eat relatively well for a dollar a day. If you consider that medical doctors make $100USD a month, then working at Nike for $2.50 a day does not seem so bad, does it? If you figure the wages of a regularly salaried employee (in a restaurant) of $50-60 USD/month, 7 days a week with 2 days off, that person makes about $1.70 a day. The people who work in offices make about $200-300/month (they make so much more because they are college educated and not employed by the State like doctors are). They work 6 days a week, just over $11 a DAY on the high end of the scale. Puts exploitation of labor in a different light, I guess. We should be thanking foreign companies for the employment they bring.
Tomorrow Thanh comes back to the city. I’m going to ask him to take me riding on the Honda after work – it’s what people do here. Rainy season has just begun, though. For the last 3 days it has thunderstormed in the afternoons, even if only briefly. Soon we’ll be getting rain ‘round the clock.
Day after tomorrow I leave for Hue early in the morning with Chuong. I won’t be able to write again until early next week, but I’m sure I’ll have much to tell, especially about my Hong origins. Chuong told me that he walked into a temple in Hue many years ago. The keeper took one look at him, asked if he was the grandchild of Hong Giu Chau (dad’s brother), and pretty soon, the whole town came out to greet him.
Have you gone to see the pictures I sent Souris for her saigon soldier site? I sent more yesterday.
Is this perspective enough for poverty? It’s actually not poverty – one can eat relatively well for a dollar a day. If you consider that medical doctors make $100USD a month, then working at Nike for $2.50 a day does not seem so bad, does it? If you figure the wages of a regularly salaried employee (in a restaurant) of $50-60 USD/month, 7 days a week with 2 days off, that person makes about $1.70 a day. The people who work in offices make about $200-300/month (they make so much more because they are college educated and not employed by the State like doctors are). They work 6 days a week, just over $11 a DAY on the high end of the scale. Puts exploitation of labor in a different light, I guess. We should be thanking foreign companies for the employment they bring.
Tomorrow Thanh comes back to the city. I’m going to ask him to take me riding on the Honda after work – it’s what people do here. Rainy season has just begun, though. For the last 3 days it has thunderstormed in the afternoons, even if only briefly. Soon we’ll be getting rain ‘round the clock.
Day after tomorrow I leave for Hue early in the morning with Chuong. I won’t be able to write again until early next week, but I’m sure I’ll have much to tell, especially about my Hong origins. Chuong told me that he walked into a temple in Hue many years ago. The keeper took one look at him, asked if he was the grandchild of Hong Giu Chau (dad’s brother), and pretty soon, the whole town came out to greet him.
Have you gone to see the pictures I sent Souris for her saigon soldier site? I sent more yesterday.
March 26, 2001
Souris just posted some pictures to saigon soldier, her site if you want a quick view. I'll be sending her more pictures today as I'm able.
Sai Gon. March 26, 2001. I just wrote an entire page and a half long single-spaced typed letter to mom in Vietnamese. How cool is that, huh? I had no idea I knew how, nor did I know that I could read so well when I received mom’s email today (I thought, oh, man, she wrote a LOT). But then I read it and understood 99% of it, and was able to write back (hoping she can understand my writing). I suppose that is the benefit of a phonetic language – the ease of reading and writing. The problem is that I pronounce everything incorrectly and thus spell the way I pronounce.
I have just discovered from Mom’s letter that the people I met at Vung Tau, Mr. Bang, is the uncle of Mai Lien, the woman whose home I stayed in both times I visited Paris. Very unexpected connection!
Today Chu Mung, who works for my aunt, drove me to work & picked me up. He takes me when Thanh is off duty (2x/month). I realized suddenly, this afternoon, that my ride home would be a wet one, since it was raining out side and we didn’t have anything but the shirt on our backs to shelter us from the rain. Luckily, it was ony a light rain (huge drops, but few of them). I don’t think drizzling actually occurs here. There are two seasons – sunny season and rainy season. I think we’re beginning to enter rainy season.
FYI, family, Di 10 is in town and Cau Nhan (they both went up to Ohio to visit CauMo Tu). If you want to send anything to me, ask Cau Nhan (they return on April 5). Ciao.
I have just discovered from Mom’s letter that the people I met at Vung Tau, Mr. Bang, is the uncle of Mai Lien, the woman whose home I stayed in both times I visited Paris. Very unexpected connection!
Today Chu Mung, who works for my aunt, drove me to work & picked me up. He takes me when Thanh is off duty (2x/month). I realized suddenly, this afternoon, that my ride home would be a wet one, since it was raining out side and we didn’t have anything but the shirt on our backs to shelter us from the rain. Luckily, it was ony a light rain (huge drops, but few of them). I don’t think drizzling actually occurs here. There are two seasons – sunny season and rainy season. I think we’re beginning to enter rainy season.
FYI, family, Di 10 is in town and Cau Nhan (they both went up to Ohio to visit CauMo Tu). If you want to send anything to me, ask Cau Nhan (they return on April 5). Ciao.
March 25, 2001
Sai Gon, March 25, 2001.
Last Friday night, I got in touch with Chuong and I went to meet him at his tennis courts with his friends. There, I met two sons of one of my cousins who just passed away two weeks ago. I suppose children of first cousins are called first cousins once removed? Does anybody really know (if you do, please tell me)? My cousin, Hong Khac Dao, was a renowned film producer here in Vietnam, and someone who was immensly caring and altruistic, and I am so sorry that I never got the chance to meet him. Chuong was very close to him and reminisced with me for a short while. Said he’s not like any Hong I’ll ever meet. I don’t know if Chuong remembers Souris very well.
Spur of the moment, I went to Vung Tau on Saturday morning for an overnight trip to the beach with Chuong and his friend Khanh. To get there, we went by high speed boat – a sort of capsule that can carry around 100 – 120 passengers. Vung Tau is a nice little peninsula that is accessible by boat or road. It costs $130,000VND round trip (less than $10USD).
When we got there, I met Bac Bang, his wife, their four children (Hung, Chi, Thuy, & Do), grammy, and other friends of theirs in their hundred-year-old house. Hung was an old school friend of Chuong’s, and as it turns out, the father (Bac Bang) used to play cards with my dad. Dad used to fly them into Sai Gon from Bien Thuy (or something like that; it lies between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon) to play cards. Flying was safer than the relatively short ride because the roads were far too dangerous to travel back then. Mrs. Bang showed me a metal swivel office chair that dad had given them – four of them, she said. They still have 2 and the 3rd and 4th were given to Dr. Vien (someone who also knew dad, I think) and someone else (both of which were now lost, she explained). She mentioned something about Tableaux Noire – perhaps the place they used to go play? Very very very nice people, so hospitable, and kept us well fed. And they send their regards to dad.
We spent some time at their home, went to the beach, and I took a walk with Khanh to Bach Dinh (aka Villa Blanche or White Palace) where the old king used as a holiday home for his family. Standing up on the hill upon which it lay, I could look down at the Su trees (whose yellow flowers have a sweet aroma), onto the beach highway (reminiscent of Nice), and watched the sun set on the Pacific. Khanh and I then headed to a small beachfront cafe where we ordered ice cream. “What flavors have you got?” we asked. “Fruit, cacao, and coffee.” I ordered coffee ice cream and Khanh ordered chocolate. Out came two servings of coconut ice cream. Coconut? Yes. One topped with chocolate and the other topped with coffee.
We headed back to the tennis courts where Hung and Chuong and others were playing. A man we met briefly before our walk, Mr. Chi, a youthful 60-year-old who played tennis with Chuong, offered to let us stay in his home instead of at the hotel. We accepted, and went to drop our things off in his home. (Is this safe in America?) Chu (Mr.) Chi, the boys, and I all headed to a sports bar to watch the Czech vs. Ireland soccer game commentated in Vietnamese. The guy kept saying ICEland instead of IREland. A quarter of the way through, Thuy asked me if I understood the game – I thought, “I’m not exercising my eyeballs,” but I said “not the commentary, but I’m following.” (I am only amused by this and mean it not as a put down in any way whatsoever. This disclaimer is placed here for the future possibility that some Vietnamese person might one day read this and may not catch the Americanism of the tone). At halftime, we went to another cafe/sports bar owned by friends of Hung’s and watched the rest of the game – no commentary, just karaoke in the background. Imagine watching a soccer game with Power of Love (by Celine Dion) sung by a Vietnamese in lieu of commentary. Mr. Chi and I went home and the boys went out late enough to then catch the Romania – Italy game at 2:30 a.m. I got up at 5:30, cabbed to Mrs. Bang’s at 6:00, went bicycling with her to the beach, swam a few laps, biked all over Vung Tau with Khanh, ate and then ate again, and then caught our boat back to the city. So here I am.
Good night and good morning… H.
Last Friday night, I got in touch with Chuong and I went to meet him at his tennis courts with his friends. There, I met two sons of one of my cousins who just passed away two weeks ago. I suppose children of first cousins are called first cousins once removed? Does anybody really know (if you do, please tell me)? My cousin, Hong Khac Dao, was a renowned film producer here in Vietnam, and someone who was immensly caring and altruistic, and I am so sorry that I never got the chance to meet him. Chuong was very close to him and reminisced with me for a short while. Said he’s not like any Hong I’ll ever meet. I don’t know if Chuong remembers Souris very well.
Spur of the moment, I went to Vung Tau on Saturday morning for an overnight trip to the beach with Chuong and his friend Khanh. To get there, we went by high speed boat – a sort of capsule that can carry around 100 – 120 passengers. Vung Tau is a nice little peninsula that is accessible by boat or road. It costs $130,000VND round trip (less than $10USD).
When we got there, I met Bac Bang, his wife, their four children (Hung, Chi, Thuy, & Do), grammy, and other friends of theirs in their hundred-year-old house. Hung was an old school friend of Chuong’s, and as it turns out, the father (Bac Bang) used to play cards with my dad. Dad used to fly them into Sai Gon from Bien Thuy (or something like that; it lies between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon) to play cards. Flying was safer than the relatively short ride because the roads were far too dangerous to travel back then. Mrs. Bang showed me a metal swivel office chair that dad had given them – four of them, she said. They still have 2 and the 3rd and 4th were given to Dr. Vien (someone who also knew dad, I think) and someone else (both of which were now lost, she explained). She mentioned something about Tableaux Noire – perhaps the place they used to go play? Very very very nice people, so hospitable, and kept us well fed. And they send their regards to dad.
We spent some time at their home, went to the beach, and I took a walk with Khanh to Bach Dinh (aka Villa Blanche or White Palace) where the old king used as a holiday home for his family. Standing up on the hill upon which it lay, I could look down at the Su trees (whose yellow flowers have a sweet aroma), onto the beach highway (reminiscent of Nice), and watched the sun set on the Pacific. Khanh and I then headed to a small beachfront cafe where we ordered ice cream. “What flavors have you got?” we asked. “Fruit, cacao, and coffee.” I ordered coffee ice cream and Khanh ordered chocolate. Out came two servings of coconut ice cream. Coconut? Yes. One topped with chocolate and the other topped with coffee.
We headed back to the tennis courts where Hung and Chuong and others were playing. A man we met briefly before our walk, Mr. Chi, a youthful 60-year-old who played tennis with Chuong, offered to let us stay in his home instead of at the hotel. We accepted, and went to drop our things off in his home. (Is this safe in America?) Chu (Mr.) Chi, the boys, and I all headed to a sports bar to watch the Czech vs. Ireland soccer game commentated in Vietnamese. The guy kept saying ICEland instead of IREland. A quarter of the way through, Thuy asked me if I understood the game – I thought, “I’m not exercising my eyeballs,” but I said “not the commentary, but I’m following.” (I am only amused by this and mean it not as a put down in any way whatsoever. This disclaimer is placed here for the future possibility that some Vietnamese person might one day read this and may not catch the Americanism of the tone). At halftime, we went to another cafe/sports bar owned by friends of Hung’s and watched the rest of the game – no commentary, just karaoke in the background. Imagine watching a soccer game with Power of Love (by Celine Dion) sung by a Vietnamese in lieu of commentary. Mr. Chi and I went home and the boys went out late enough to then catch the Romania – Italy game at 2:30 a.m. I got up at 5:30, cabbed to Mrs. Bang’s at 6:00, went bicycling with her to the beach, swam a few laps, biked all over Vung Tau with Khanh, ate and then ate again, and then caught our boat back to the city. So here I am.
Good night and good morning… H.
March 22, 2001
Sai Gon. March 22, 2001.
I finally have a moment to sit and write in peace. Last Friday morning at about 5 a.m., mom, di (aunt) 5, di 9, and I all piled into di 10's car and headed to Phan Thiet, their hometown. At our stop off the Pacific Coast Highway -- Highway 1 (and an adventurous trip) -- we pulled up to mom's old house (her first home) that was built and designed by ong ngoai (grampa). She and di 9 kept saying, "it's sooooo small! I remember it being so large!
And "Here's the window where we'd watch the neighbors argue."
"Here's the wall where I used to wipe my face and hands."
"Here's the spot where aunt 5 electrically shocked herself."
"This is the railing we used to slide down. It's sooooo short! I remember it being soooo long!" etc.
Then we went to Mui Ne resort, the really beautiful and great spot on the beach where we would stay for the weekend.
Friday afternoon we went to a restaurant down the street and ate freshly caught everything (nothing twitched this time). There is a special delicacy -- fresh cuttlefish half sun-dried and half grilled, torn into strips and dipped in tuong ot (Vietnamese tobasco). It's delicious. Afterwards, we went to visit the Cham temple. The Cham are the aborigines of Vietnam whose culture and people were virtually annihilated centuries ago by the Vietnamese. Legend says that the queen of the Cham people committed suicide by jumping off the cliff where the temple stands, by the ocean.
Departing the Cham temple, we encountered three children and their herd of very large pigs, so Thanh stopped the car, mom, di 9 and I hopped out, and borrowed the herders' staffs to pose for some silly pictures. No one knows how to use my Nikon, as it is a manual, so every picture of me that is not pre-focused by me (or a self-timered portrait) comes out looking like the way I see without my contacts on. From the pigs, we went to visit various friends and relatives of mom and di 5's. Every time I saw a cattle powered cart, I'd ask Thanh if they were oxen. He kept saying they're cows but I said they didn't have black and white spots. He said those are milking cows and these are cattle. But finally we saw two oxen on the side of the road so we pulled over and the cute old thing posed twice for me. Bovinity divinity. Off to Mr. Hai's house, friend of aunt 5's, who owns a field of thanh long cacti -- the plants I mentioned with the gorgeous pink pod fruit. I got a few pictures of those, too.
Finally, back to the resort where I took a walk with mom on the beach, then over to the pool to get di 5 & 9 to go to dinner. While waiting for them, I proofread the pool rules in English. Off again to dinner at another restaurant in town, and then had a most fantastic ice cream bar -- dau xanh -- which is a sweet green bean ice cream with a coconut ice cream outer shell (much like a creamsicle). Then back to the hotel where mom and I ran into the resort manager (and I informed him of the pool rule typos).
Next day, Saturday, up at 5:30 to get to the Phan Thiet sand dunes early. There are these huge red sand dunes in Phan Thiet that go on and on with the beach on one side, and more sand on the other (I did not venture far enough to see where it ended). Tens of children who are too poor to afford school follow tourists to help them up the dunes. At one particular spot, the sand formed a crater. At the top from which we stood, they would take plastic grocery bags and slide down the sand -- the same way we slide down trash can lids and sleds on snow, which these kids will never see in their lifetimes. Di 5 and 9 both took a ride, and the little kids ran down into the craters to help the old aunties up. Mom bought them breakfast and lunch and di 5 gave them extra cash.
Quick break back at the resort; the executive assistant whom I'd briefly met the previous day dashed up to me to tell me one by one, each of the errors on the pool rules and regulations he had discovered to have fixed.
Onward to Hai Dan, ke ga, the century old lighthouse, one of four remaining lighthouses in the world still hand lit by gas every evening. A harrowing mess it was to get there on dirt roads through salt fields (very cool to see), rice fields, and small villages, having to unload the car twice to push the minivan out of trouble. Two hours later, arriving at the beach spot from which we could view the lighthouse, Thanh, the most relieved of us all, discovered that a brand new paved road had just been finished ten days before that we could take on the way out. From the beach, we hired a small boat with a powered engine to get to the lighthouse, which sat on an island. To get on the boat, we were paddled over on six-foot wide baskets called thung, woven and then tarred for waterproofing. Up to seven people can surprisingly sit in one little thung. The trees around the island are beautiful and have a sweet scented white and yellow flower that mom says is renowned in Hue. Back on the mainland, our ride out on the new road was only 40 minutes and absolutely stunning, running alongside the beach.
Finally, back to the beach where I read one letter by Jack Kerouac to his dear friend Sebastian Sampas before losing the light and encountering Mr. Ngoc again, the resort manager. Mom went off to find her sisters, and I headed to the bar for a gin and tonic. I find Mr. Ngoc very endearing. Soft spoken and cheerful, he's a gentleman whose company I really enjoy. He discovered that I'm the same age as his son and that we are all three oxen, only I was born around 2 p.m., a time of rest for ox, and Mr. Ngoc was born at 5 a.m., a time of arduous work for the ox (which is supposedly reflective of our lives -- mine full of rest and his of much labor). He told me how his mother apologized to him for bearing him at that hour.
Sunday morning we went to Ong 10's (great uncle's) for brunch, then headed home and pit stopped at Thanh's house which lies about halfway between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon. I met his four darling children and his sweet wife who sent us home with mit (jackfruit) the size of watermelons, cashew fruit (from which the nut lies on the outside) and avocados grown in the neighbor's yard.
Sunday evening, we had dinner at Chu Minh's (uncle Minh, dad's younger brother) where I met four of my first cousins for the first time, and was reunited after 18 years with my first cousin once removed (? - my cousin's son) named Chuong, same as my dad. Chuong not only shares dad's name, he shares his looks. He has a son who I'm told by mom, is also dad's mirror image. The resemblance is uncanny, especially because Chuong's son and dad only mathematically share about 6% of the same genes (Chuong's grandfather, my uncle Chau, is only dad's half-brother). So this lineage of men all look like my grandfather. Next Friday, the 30th, I go to Hue with Chuong for a few days. He's fortunately done mass amounts of genealogy homework and has discovered much about where my grandfather worked, who we are, and where dad was born. It'll be an enlightening and edifying trip that I'm looking forward to. Chuong talks about dad so vividly, having been born in '55, he remembers dad's glory years, about how dad was his idol, how dad used to take him along to bring flowers over to a girlfriend's house, and all sorts of anecdotal memories. It fills so many holes in my personal and familial history.
That was my weekend, and luckily there is nothing to tell of my week, except that mom went back to the USA on Wednesday so I'm officially on my own.
Keep writing. H.
I finally have a moment to sit and write in peace. Last Friday morning at about 5 a.m., mom, di (aunt) 5, di 9, and I all piled into di 10's car and headed to Phan Thiet, their hometown. At our stop off the Pacific Coast Highway -- Highway 1 (and an adventurous trip) -- we pulled up to mom's old house (her first home) that was built and designed by ong ngoai (grampa). She and di 9 kept saying, "it's sooooo small! I remember it being so large!
And "Here's the window where we'd watch the neighbors argue."
"Here's the wall where I used to wipe my face and hands."
"Here's the spot where aunt 5 electrically shocked herself."
"This is the railing we used to slide down. It's sooooo short! I remember it being soooo long!" etc.
Then we went to Mui Ne resort, the really beautiful and great spot on the beach where we would stay for the weekend.
Friday afternoon we went to a restaurant down the street and ate freshly caught everything (nothing twitched this time). There is a special delicacy -- fresh cuttlefish half sun-dried and half grilled, torn into strips and dipped in tuong ot (Vietnamese tobasco). It's delicious. Afterwards, we went to visit the Cham temple. The Cham are the aborigines of Vietnam whose culture and people were virtually annihilated centuries ago by the Vietnamese. Legend says that the queen of the Cham people committed suicide by jumping off the cliff where the temple stands, by the ocean.
Departing the Cham temple, we encountered three children and their herd of very large pigs, so Thanh stopped the car, mom, di 9 and I hopped out, and borrowed the herders' staffs to pose for some silly pictures. No one knows how to use my Nikon, as it is a manual, so every picture of me that is not pre-focused by me (or a self-timered portrait) comes out looking like the way I see without my contacts on. From the pigs, we went to visit various friends and relatives of mom and di 5's. Every time I saw a cattle powered cart, I'd ask Thanh if they were oxen. He kept saying they're cows but I said they didn't have black and white spots. He said those are milking cows and these are cattle. But finally we saw two oxen on the side of the road so we pulled over and the cute old thing posed twice for me. Bovinity divinity. Off to Mr. Hai's house, friend of aunt 5's, who owns a field of thanh long cacti -- the plants I mentioned with the gorgeous pink pod fruit. I got a few pictures of those, too.
Finally, back to the resort where I took a walk with mom on the beach, then over to the pool to get di 5 & 9 to go to dinner. While waiting for them, I proofread the pool rules in English. Off again to dinner at another restaurant in town, and then had a most fantastic ice cream bar -- dau xanh -- which is a sweet green bean ice cream with a coconut ice cream outer shell (much like a creamsicle). Then back to the hotel where mom and I ran into the resort manager (and I informed him of the pool rule typos).
Next day, Saturday, up at 5:30 to get to the Phan Thiet sand dunes early. There are these huge red sand dunes in Phan Thiet that go on and on with the beach on one side, and more sand on the other (I did not venture far enough to see where it ended). Tens of children who are too poor to afford school follow tourists to help them up the dunes. At one particular spot, the sand formed a crater. At the top from which we stood, they would take plastic grocery bags and slide down the sand -- the same way we slide down trash can lids and sleds on snow, which these kids will never see in their lifetimes. Di 5 and 9 both took a ride, and the little kids ran down into the craters to help the old aunties up. Mom bought them breakfast and lunch and di 5 gave them extra cash.
Quick break back at the resort; the executive assistant whom I'd briefly met the previous day dashed up to me to tell me one by one, each of the errors on the pool rules and regulations he had discovered to have fixed.
Onward to Hai Dan, ke ga, the century old lighthouse, one of four remaining lighthouses in the world still hand lit by gas every evening. A harrowing mess it was to get there on dirt roads through salt fields (very cool to see), rice fields, and small villages, having to unload the car twice to push the minivan out of trouble. Two hours later, arriving at the beach spot from which we could view the lighthouse, Thanh, the most relieved of us all, discovered that a brand new paved road had just been finished ten days before that we could take on the way out. From the beach, we hired a small boat with a powered engine to get to the lighthouse, which sat on an island. To get on the boat, we were paddled over on six-foot wide baskets called thung, woven and then tarred for waterproofing. Up to seven people can surprisingly sit in one little thung. The trees around the island are beautiful and have a sweet scented white and yellow flower that mom says is renowned in Hue. Back on the mainland, our ride out on the new road was only 40 minutes and absolutely stunning, running alongside the beach.
Finally, back to the beach where I read one letter by Jack Kerouac to his dear friend Sebastian Sampas before losing the light and encountering Mr. Ngoc again, the resort manager. Mom went off to find her sisters, and I headed to the bar for a gin and tonic. I find Mr. Ngoc very endearing. Soft spoken and cheerful, he's a gentleman whose company I really enjoy. He discovered that I'm the same age as his son and that we are all three oxen, only I was born around 2 p.m., a time of rest for ox, and Mr. Ngoc was born at 5 a.m., a time of arduous work for the ox (which is supposedly reflective of our lives -- mine full of rest and his of much labor). He told me how his mother apologized to him for bearing him at that hour.
Sunday morning we went to Ong 10's (great uncle's) for brunch, then headed home and pit stopped at Thanh's house which lies about halfway between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon. I met his four darling children and his sweet wife who sent us home with mit (jackfruit) the size of watermelons, cashew fruit (from which the nut lies on the outside) and avocados grown in the neighbor's yard.
Sunday evening, we had dinner at Chu Minh's (uncle Minh, dad's younger brother) where I met four of my first cousins for the first time, and was reunited after 18 years with my first cousin once removed (? - my cousin's son) named Chuong, same as my dad. Chuong not only shares dad's name, he shares his looks. He has a son who I'm told by mom, is also dad's mirror image. The resemblance is uncanny, especially because Chuong's son and dad only mathematically share about 6% of the same genes (Chuong's grandfather, my uncle Chau, is only dad's half-brother). So this lineage of men all look like my grandfather. Next Friday, the 30th, I go to Hue with Chuong for a few days. He's fortunately done mass amounts of genealogy homework and has discovered much about where my grandfather worked, who we are, and where dad was born. It'll be an enlightening and edifying trip that I'm looking forward to. Chuong talks about dad so vividly, having been born in '55, he remembers dad's glory years, about how dad was his idol, how dad used to take him along to bring flowers over to a girlfriend's house, and all sorts of anecdotal memories. It fills so many holes in my personal and familial history.
That was my weekend, and luckily there is nothing to tell of my week, except that mom went back to the USA on Wednesday so I'm officially on my own.
Keep writing. H.
March 15, 2001
Thursday night; 8:55PM March 15, 2001.
Sai Gon. Tonight a Vietnamese painter (from Stockholm) came by to paint Co Vy’s picture – Co Vy is my youngest uncle’s wife. It’s really fascinating to watch portraiture painting. The aunts and artist are all downstairs eating banh xeo, one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Xeo means “sizzle” and it’s a mung bean pancake that is filled with bean sprouts, mung beans, shrimp, onions and lots of other good veggies. I already ate my fill, and went off to pack for tomorrow – I get to go to Phan Thiet with mom and two aunts, to their hometown. It’s by the beach and there are red sand dunes out there. I’m hoping I’ll be able to wake up at 5 a.m. to get some good pictures. We’ll be there for three days (until Sunday afternoon), and I’ll try to scan in a few good shots to share.
Work has been incredibly busy, but we went to print and the books came out tonight. The printers did a lousy job, there are a million errors, but that is what happens when 50% of the book is rearranged two days after deadline, and the printers are only given 4 days to produce an 80 page book. Is there really enough time for the ink to dry?
There is a knocking outside the window. It’s the sound of mi go – knocking noodles. There are kids who walk around neighborhoods knocking a wooden stick to a bowl of some sort – with a very distinct tone – and they go on until someone pulls them aside or hollers at them to fetch a bowl of noodles. They take off in the direction they came and come back with a hot bowl for the buyer. I think it costs around $2000VND (12 cents) for a bowl of mi go.
I’m all right; everything is good, I’ve got cash in my pocket and food in my tummy. I leave for the beach tomorrow. Is there anything else a girl really needs?
Sai Gon. Tonight a Vietnamese painter (from Stockholm) came by to paint Co Vy’s picture – Co Vy is my youngest uncle’s wife. It’s really fascinating to watch portraiture painting. The aunts and artist are all downstairs eating banh xeo, one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Xeo means “sizzle” and it’s a mung bean pancake that is filled with bean sprouts, mung beans, shrimp, onions and lots of other good veggies. I already ate my fill, and went off to pack for tomorrow – I get to go to Phan Thiet with mom and two aunts, to their hometown. It’s by the beach and there are red sand dunes out there. I’m hoping I’ll be able to wake up at 5 a.m. to get some good pictures. We’ll be there for three days (until Sunday afternoon), and I’ll try to scan in a few good shots to share.
Work has been incredibly busy, but we went to print and the books came out tonight. The printers did a lousy job, there are a million errors, but that is what happens when 50% of the book is rearranged two days after deadline, and the printers are only given 4 days to produce an 80 page book. Is there really enough time for the ink to dry?
There is a knocking outside the window. It’s the sound of mi go – knocking noodles. There are kids who walk around neighborhoods knocking a wooden stick to a bowl of some sort – with a very distinct tone – and they go on until someone pulls them aside or hollers at them to fetch a bowl of noodles. They take off in the direction they came and come back with a hot bowl for the buyer. I think it costs around $2000VND (12 cents) for a bowl of mi go.
I’m all right; everything is good, I’ve got cash in my pocket and food in my tummy. I leave for the beach tomorrow. Is there anything else a girl really needs?
March 12, 2001
Sai Gon, March 12, 2001
If you want to read a little about my aunt, she was written up in this week’s Time Warner’s ASIAWEEK magazine (I think March 8 is the cover date). Le Thi My Dung is her name (Le is the last name). Full spread photograph of auntie and her ice cream factory less than a kilometer from where I sit now.
Allison, Nellie, Randy, I got your letters.Still missing Kelly's.
If you want to read a little about my aunt, she was written up in this week’s Time Warner’s ASIAWEEK magazine (I think March 8 is the cover date). Le Thi My Dung is her name (Le is the last name). Full spread photograph of auntie and her ice cream factory less than a kilometer from where I sit now.
Allison, Nellie, Randy, I got your letters.Still missing Kelly's.
March 08, 2001
Sai Gon. March 8, 2001. Phu Nu Day. Mom tells me that weÂ’ve discovered five letters awaiting at the house apparently collected from the post office, and the people working for my aunt have finally communicated the news to the post man to deliver my letters to the house. There is one missing, however, from Kaly, so I will ask him to double check for your letter, K (and Albert, did you send one from Nathaniel?).
I've learned a number of words in the last week, but especially funny is an idiom my friend Lan (in my office) taught me: "Co chi thi nen." It means "To have 'chi' is 'nen.'" Which in turn, I asked her, "why is having 'chi' 'nen'?" and she asked me, "well, do you know what 'chi' means?"
Sure, I do. It means lice. Laughter ensued and Lan finally understood my confusion. Chi is a homonym for 'will.' What she said was "where there's a will, there's a way" or, conversely, "If one has a will, one's life will work out successfully." What I had translated was "If one has lice, one's life will work out successfully."
Vietnamese is so difficult beyond the nuances in accents, tones, and even consonants because it is filled with subtleties in meaning or alternate vocabulary that is used precisely for the sense you are conveying.
The word "to wear" for example, has many versions. If you wear a hat, you say "doi." If you wear a shirt you say "mac." You also use "mac" if you say "to wear black" or other adjective. If you wear glasses or jewelry you use "deo." If you wear shoes or socks you say "mang."
The other reason Vietnamese is so difficult to learn is that the language itself is enriched with pronouns and words to use depending on your position, age, and/or status with others. This is why there are four words for uncle, four for aunt, and countless others for I, you, he, she, and we. Having this copious amount of pronouns also ensures that all people involved in a conversation can understand the relationship between the two people talking. My father's older brothers are called Bac, his older sisters Bac gai. His younger brother's are Chu, his younger sisters are Co. My mother's brothers are Cau and my mother's sisters are Di. To add to this, my father's sisters-in-law are called Tiem, his brothers-in-law are called Duong. My mother's sisters-in-law are called Mo, and her brothers-in-law are called Cau.
Then there's a list of pronouns that represent relationships for the generation above and the generation below. Add to that the pronouns you must use for friends and strangers -- there are several that all depend on how close you are to the person you're speaking with. On top of all this, one must remember certain words that are used with youth cannot be used for elders. For example, if I give my aunt something, I "bieu" it to her. If I give something to my friend or younger cousin, I just "cho" it to her. In this way, the language and its usage has created and withheld an amazing level of respect for elders -- it is ingrained in our language and hence, in our way of life. Back to the many ways of saying things, if I'm gifting something to someone, I "tang" it to them. If I am gifting something to someone's friend or other third-party, I "goi" it to them. Instead of messing about with the pronoun circus, I just speak in the third person (hey, it's acceptable here as proper speech)! Enough of Vietnamese 101 for an afternoon.
Today is Phu Nu Day – Women’s Day in Vietnam. It’s either a relatively huge holiday or the locals are great about celebration in general. Xuan Anh, one of the two who works for me (and one of only 4 males in our office) gave all the women roses today which only encouraged the young singles to swoon a bit more than they already do. The entire office is under 30. There are only 3 people older than me. The print shop works all night tonight and tomorrow morning we check films… Crossing my fingers that all has gone well.
Keep your letters coming! H.
I've learned a number of words in the last week, but especially funny is an idiom my friend Lan (in my office) taught me: "Co chi thi nen." It means "To have 'chi' is 'nen.'" Which in turn, I asked her, "why is having 'chi' 'nen'?" and she asked me, "well, do you know what 'chi' means?"
Sure, I do. It means lice. Laughter ensued and Lan finally understood my confusion. Chi is a homonym for 'will.' What she said was "where there's a will, there's a way" or, conversely, "If one has a will, one's life will work out successfully." What I had translated was "If one has lice, one's life will work out successfully."
Vietnamese is so difficult beyond the nuances in accents, tones, and even consonants because it is filled with subtleties in meaning or alternate vocabulary that is used precisely for the sense you are conveying.
The word "to wear" for example, has many versions. If you wear a hat, you say "doi." If you wear a shirt you say "mac." You also use "mac" if you say "to wear black" or other adjective. If you wear glasses or jewelry you use "deo." If you wear shoes or socks you say "mang."
The other reason Vietnamese is so difficult to learn is that the language itself is enriched with pronouns and words to use depending on your position, age, and/or status with others. This is why there are four words for uncle, four for aunt, and countless others for I, you, he, she, and we. Having this copious amount of pronouns also ensures that all people involved in a conversation can understand the relationship between the two people talking. My father's older brothers are called Bac, his older sisters Bac gai. His younger brother's are Chu, his younger sisters are Co. My mother's brothers are Cau and my mother's sisters are Di. To add to this, my father's sisters-in-law are called Tiem, his brothers-in-law are called Duong. My mother's sisters-in-law are called Mo, and her brothers-in-law are called Cau.
Then there's a list of pronouns that represent relationships for the generation above and the generation below. Add to that the pronouns you must use for friends and strangers -- there are several that all depend on how close you are to the person you're speaking with. On top of all this, one must remember certain words that are used with youth cannot be used for elders. For example, if I give my aunt something, I "bieu" it to her. If I give something to my friend or younger cousin, I just "cho" it to her. In this way, the language and its usage has created and withheld an amazing level of respect for elders -- it is ingrained in our language and hence, in our way of life. Back to the many ways of saying things, if I'm gifting something to someone, I "tang" it to them. If I am gifting something to someone's friend or other third-party, I "goi" it to them. Instead of messing about with the pronoun circus, I just speak in the third person (hey, it's acceptable here as proper speech)! Enough of Vietnamese 101 for an afternoon.
Today is Phu Nu Day – Women’s Day in Vietnam. It’s either a relatively huge holiday or the locals are great about celebration in general. Xuan Anh, one of the two who works for me (and one of only 4 males in our office) gave all the women roses today which only encouraged the young singles to swoon a bit more than they already do. The entire office is under 30. There are only 3 people older than me. The print shop works all night tonight and tomorrow morning we check films… Crossing my fingers that all has gone well.
Keep your letters coming! H.
March 04, 2001
To my great disappointment, I discovered yesterday when receiving a post card from my friend Maggie, that letters had been delivered to the house for me, but the young girl who works for Di 10 who met with the postman told him that no one with that name lives here. It was a combination of confusion, illiteracy, and my odd name. So if you’ve mailed me, I haven’t yet received your letter, but Thanh assures me that letters are kept at the post office (if they are undeliverable, they are sent back there and apparently sit there, though are not thrown out, I HOPE). I have been expecting 3 letters and if you’ve mailed and I don’t know, then let me know so I can be sure to ask the postman for your letter. Keep emailing too, at hanihong@hotmail.com
xxoo.
xxoo.
Sai Gon. March 4, 2001.
Things are continuing to go well, and I’m learning lots day by day. There is a lot about VN that I like, and there are things I don’t like. For one thing, people don’t always say what they mean. They also avoid saying things that will make them lose face with outsiders – the Vietnamese care much about what other people think about themselves, and I find this a rather annoying. I let it go, but I also think, “who cares what other people think?” I guess I just have to accept that it’s something they do. Another thing is that the Vietnamese do not have mind for personal space. You are often bumped and pushed around and in restaurants, waiters lean across and into you without mind. The American in me takes note. The Vietnamese in me discounts the invasion.
The most bothersome trait is that the Vietnamese take things personally. Mom says I have to be careful of what I say because people interpret my comments regarding a dislike for something as an insult to themselves – in the sense that I am playing a superiority card against them. So I have to keep my mouth shut when I don’t like something because I might hurt someone’s feelings. I have come to realize how American I am in that I say what I think, and feel that my voice is restricted here.
There is another thing about Vietnam that is not easy to see, and it is the incredibly large number of people who roam the streets with missing limbs and people whose bodies are completely deformed, born after the war and now adults, whose defects are the result of chemical warfare. They find innovative ways to be mobile, though they have little by way of self sufficiency and no work.
Despite all this, the Vietnamese have an incredible joy and passion for life and living. They understand it deep into their souls, and they love sharing this love of life with others. They enjoy simple things, good food, music, and dancing. In the evenings when the temperatures are cooler, the streets are packed with Hondas because the locals are out driving aimlessy about for the joy of riding. They park around the numerous traffic circles and landscaped squares to converse and kiss and sometimes stop into clubs (where there is live music) and glance around for a few minutes before continuing on to the next entertaining site. I find that the locals I’ve met, no matter what their social status or background, are happy people.
Things are continuing to go well, and I’m learning lots day by day. There is a lot about VN that I like, and there are things I don’t like. For one thing, people don’t always say what they mean. They also avoid saying things that will make them lose face with outsiders – the Vietnamese care much about what other people think about themselves, and I find this a rather annoying. I let it go, but I also think, “who cares what other people think?” I guess I just have to accept that it’s something they do. Another thing is that the Vietnamese do not have mind for personal space. You are often bumped and pushed around and in restaurants, waiters lean across and into you without mind. The American in me takes note. The Vietnamese in me discounts the invasion.
The most bothersome trait is that the Vietnamese take things personally. Mom says I have to be careful of what I say because people interpret my comments regarding a dislike for something as an insult to themselves – in the sense that I am playing a superiority card against them. So I have to keep my mouth shut when I don’t like something because I might hurt someone’s feelings. I have come to realize how American I am in that I say what I think, and feel that my voice is restricted here.
There is another thing about Vietnam that is not easy to see, and it is the incredibly large number of people who roam the streets with missing limbs and people whose bodies are completely deformed, born after the war and now adults, whose defects are the result of chemical warfare. They find innovative ways to be mobile, though they have little by way of self sufficiency and no work.
Despite all this, the Vietnamese have an incredible joy and passion for life and living. They understand it deep into their souls, and they love sharing this love of life with others. They enjoy simple things, good food, music, and dancing. In the evenings when the temperatures are cooler, the streets are packed with Hondas because the locals are out driving aimlessy about for the joy of riding. They park around the numerous traffic circles and landscaped squares to converse and kiss and sometimes stop into clubs (where there is live music) and glance around for a few minutes before continuing on to the next entertaining site. I find that the locals I’ve met, no matter what their social status or background, are happy people.
March 02, 2001
March 2, 2001
We go out for a celebratory dinner again tonight - to Caravelle Hotel for an all you can eat seafood dinner. Per person, it's only $18USD - 2 weeks salary for most people. I got paid at the end of the month which makes me an instant millionaire in Vietnamese dollars.
It's pretty hot here still, and I'm considering a trip back to the US in July, when my return trip air ticket expires. Mom says I'll probably need a break from the city by then.
All kids who are in school get out about the same time - all students in Vietnam are required to wear a uniform. This way, they get caught if they're playing hookey (sp.?) since they leave home in uniform and their parents would know. Public school here requires payment (yes, it's supposed to be a socialist republic) and so there are plenty of poor kids who roam the streets growing up uneducated and uncared for. Healthcare is also a problem, because doctors are so underpaid (about $100 USD per month) that they will do work under the table for cash (hence, only the rich can afford proper care). Not that healthcare is any better in the US.
Work is going well. I'm almost finished and hope to go to Phan Thiet next week where mom's from; home of a beautiful beach and red sand dunes.
ciao. h.
March 1. Sai Gon I’ve been busy at work because we go to print on Monday. I have sent some pictures to my sister, and she’ll be posting them on her site at www.saigonsoldier.com where you can view them.
Lately I haven’t been getting much sleep, and now all the aunts have returned from HaNoi and HaLong. Last night I went to a birthday dinner for a famous Vietnamese composer whose name I can’t even recall since I’m a numbnut that way. Tonight we go to dinner for my aunt’s birthday – perhaps we’ll go to 2 or 3 restaurants an evening, which is what I’ve been doing for the last 3 days – EATING as always.
I’ll cut short, as I’m about to get picked up.
h.
We go out for a celebratory dinner again tonight - to Caravelle Hotel for an all you can eat seafood dinner. Per person, it's only $18USD - 2 weeks salary for most people. I got paid at the end of the month which makes me an instant millionaire in Vietnamese dollars.
It's pretty hot here still, and I'm considering a trip back to the US in July, when my return trip air ticket expires. Mom says I'll probably need a break from the city by then.
All kids who are in school get out about the same time - all students in Vietnam are required to wear a uniform. This way, they get caught if they're playing hookey (sp.?) since they leave home in uniform and their parents would know. Public school here requires payment (yes, it's supposed to be a socialist republic) and so there are plenty of poor kids who roam the streets growing up uneducated and uncared for. Healthcare is also a problem, because doctors are so underpaid (about $100 USD per month) that they will do work under the table for cash (hence, only the rich can afford proper care). Not that healthcare is any better in the US.
Work is going well. I'm almost finished and hope to go to Phan Thiet next week where mom's from; home of a beautiful beach and red sand dunes.
ciao. h.
March 1. Sai Gon I’ve been busy at work because we go to print on Monday. I have sent some pictures to my sister, and she’ll be posting them on her site at www.saigonsoldier.com where you can view them.
Lately I haven’t been getting much sleep, and now all the aunts have returned from HaNoi and HaLong. Last night I went to a birthday dinner for a famous Vietnamese composer whose name I can’t even recall since I’m a numbnut that way. Tonight we go to dinner for my aunt’s birthday – perhaps we’ll go to 2 or 3 restaurants an evening, which is what I’ve been doing for the last 3 days – EATING as always.
I’ll cut short, as I’m about to get picked up.
h.
February 24, 2001
Sai Gon, February 24, 2001.
Mang Cau (soursop) in the far basket & Thanh Long (dragon fruit). Fruit vendors line the streets in Saigon. © 2001 Hong
After brunch with my grandmother today, I went into town to meet my friend Minh Nhu at Dong Du Cafe (my Di (aunt) 10's cafe). We took a walk to the Saigon Market where I got a few great pictures of the people selling fruit on the streets, we walked along the streets, and Minh Nhu was so happy; she said no one in VN ever wants to walk anywhere. We also browsed the embroidery shops, of which there are many, and then she drove me on her Honda to Tib for dinner. Tib is my dad's uncle's restaurant (he and his wife actually live in Montreal but come here often, and they are good friends of Di 10's). Tib is actually their daughter, my dad's cousin. Anyway, it was a good dinner, and then we went to drop off my roll of film. When I get the shots, I'll try to scan & email them soon.
There is a wonderful fruit here called Thang Long which is a fuschia colored pod about the size of a small pineapple with bright chartreuse tentacle-like "leaves" that grow out on its side. Inside it is white and peppered with small black edible seeds like kiwi. It's texture is like a soft pear, and it's flavor like bland kiwi. Very strange! It comes from some sort of cactus. I got several pictures today of fruit stands so you can see yourself.
Last week I went with my aunt to see a house/restaurant of a friend of hers. It's a little bit away from the city, and you enter on a dirt road through a jungle of palm trees to get to it. Once there, you find yourself in the midst of a lavishly landscaped garden with the restaurant to one side, another bar & restaurant area and outdoor patios that are covered with thatched bamboo leaf rooftops. The Sai Gon river runs behind it, and there is a small dock to step out on (if you are covered in insect repellent). If anyone comes to visit, it's a must see garden. While my aunt was with her friends in the restaurant area, Thanh took me to see the gardens and described all the trees for me, which included a mango tree, jackfruit tree, and a variety of others that I can't remember. When we saw the jackfruit tree, he showed me the leaves so I could see what shape they were (in reference to the quote about the eyes).
After brunch with my grandmother today, I went into town to meet my friend Minh Nhu at Dong Du Cafe (my Di (aunt) 10's cafe). We took a walk to the Saigon Market where I got a few great pictures of the people selling fruit on the streets, we walked along the streets, and Minh Nhu was so happy; she said no one in VN ever wants to walk anywhere. We also browsed the embroidery shops, of which there are many, and then she drove me on her Honda to Tib for dinner. Tib is my dad's uncle's restaurant (he and his wife actually live in Montreal but come here often, and they are good friends of Di 10's). Tib is actually their daughter, my dad's cousin. Anyway, it was a good dinner, and then we went to drop off my roll of film. When I get the shots, I'll try to scan & email them soon.
There is a wonderful fruit here called Thang Long which is a fuschia colored pod about the size of a small pineapple with bright chartreuse tentacle-like "leaves" that grow out on its side. Inside it is white and peppered with small black edible seeds like kiwi. It's texture is like a soft pear, and it's flavor like bland kiwi. Very strange! It comes from some sort of cactus. I got several pictures today of fruit stands so you can see yourself.
Last week I went with my aunt to see a house/restaurant of a friend of hers. It's a little bit away from the city, and you enter on a dirt road through a jungle of palm trees to get to it. Once there, you find yourself in the midst of a lavishly landscaped garden with the restaurant to one side, another bar & restaurant area and outdoor patios that are covered with thatched bamboo leaf rooftops. The Sai Gon river runs behind it, and there is a small dock to step out on (if you are covered in insect repellent). If anyone comes to visit, it's a must see garden. While my aunt was with her friends in the restaurant area, Thanh took me to see the gardens and described all the trees for me, which included a mango tree, jackfruit tree, and a variety of others that I can't remember. When we saw the jackfruit tree, he showed me the leaves so I could see what shape they were (in reference to the quote about the eyes).
February 23, 2001
Sai Gon February 23, 2001. Today I had a simple day -- had breakfast & a cup of joe, and went to work on a Honda. My friend Lan at work (who shares my office with me and is the sister-in-law of the boss) is very sweet and drove me home today (well, her driver did). It turns out that my Uncle A has operated on her 5 times since she was 3 (she's now only about 21 or 22 and had her lung partially removed). Uncle A performs 2-3 surgeries per day, everyday. He's paid a couple of hundred dollars a month. He's a pediatric specialist and the medical director of the Pediatric Hospital in Saigon. Dr. A performs surgeries from gastrointestinal to cardiology to you-name-it. I'm told he's in the Guiness Book of World Records for having separated siamese twins in which both twins survived, and that the surgery time was a record 18 hours. My uncle is famous throughout Asia, and is renowned in the international medical arena, and knowledgeable beyond the pediatric sector. He offered to let me go into the operating room any day if I want to -- I just don't know if I want to. He carries a lot of weight here since he's the guy the officials pick to have operate on any of their own family members in any case.
I stepped into a peacefully quiet home (in which I am now blaring U2) while all the aunts are off in HaNoi. I spent about an hour with Ba Ngoai, my grandmother, who wants me to tell Dad that she misses you very very very much (she started to cry when she told me so) and she told me that since I am here, you must miss me and be sad that I'm gone, so it makes her sad for you that I'm here. But then she said that now that I'm here, she's so happy, and if I leave her, that she'll be sad. So I said, "Ngoai (grammy), I'm screwed. If I stay you're sad for dad and if I go you're sad for yourself." She laughed. Even though I've got cousins here, they didn't grow up with her, so she's not very close to them. Though they love her very much, they have a more formal relationship with her -- one in which she is a respected elder. Not that I don't respect my elders, but I have a different kind of camaraderie with my elders that I think some people here think is odd. I tend to joke and tease in a way that is nearly inconceivable to my cousins. I might occasionally walk a fine line on the brink of disrespect (though not intentional). My excuse is that I'm American.
I forgot to mention the play I saw the first week I was here. It's called "12 Bis May Man." Bis is the Vietnamese way of saying "Encore" and "May man" can be translated roughly to "lucky." It's a comedy based on the unlucky 13 (which is lucky in Italy, by the way), and I was surprised that I actually understood most of it. My mom explained many of the puns for me, though, since I don't quite get all the slang & expressions.
The other day when I was having dinner at my Uncle Minh's house, another Uncle (the husband of my second cousin once removed) asked me "so your brother is Hong Khac what?" It's really strange that a stranger would know my brother's name, but in context, it's actually not odd at all. Dad's name has a very interesting history to it. All sons of all Hongs are given a middle name which indicates their generation. There are eight generation names which are then repeated in a cyclical fashion. My grandfather and all his brothers and all his male cousins were given the name Hong Quang ______. My dad, all his brothers, and all his cousins are given the name Hong Giu (Du) _____. My brother, and all my cousins are given the name Hong Khac (in Lobo's case, it is Hong Khac Huy), and so forth. I'll have to find out what the rest of the names are in the cycle from my Chu (which means Uncle for your father's younger brothers) Minh (who is Hong Du Minh). It's all very cool. At the wedding last week, I met a woman who was married to a Hong Khac and knew my mom and my Aunt 9 since they were kids. Because she was married to a Hong Khac, she realized that she was a relation when she met my mom and dad back in the 60's since dad is a Hong Giu (which then changed her status of being a friend of my mom's to a "niece").
Not much else to report, except that today is a vegetarian day. One eats vegetarian on the beginning and middle of every Lunar month for Vietnamese Buddhism, which follows the Lunar calendar. I also learned that Vietnamese age is higher than American age. For one thing, since it's 2001 and I was born in '73, I'm considered 28 no matter what month I was born. In addition to that, the Vietnamese consider your time in the womb a year, which makes you a year old when you're born, which makes me 29 in Vietnamese years. I also discovered that since I was conceived in the year of the Rat and was born in the year of the Ox, then I have the tail of a rat and the head of an ox (I'm mixed) though most of my year was in the year of the ox. Talk about identity crisis.
I stepped into a peacefully quiet home (in which I am now blaring U2) while all the aunts are off in HaNoi. I spent about an hour with Ba Ngoai, my grandmother, who wants me to tell Dad that she misses you very very very much (she started to cry when she told me so) and she told me that since I am here, you must miss me and be sad that I'm gone, so it makes her sad for you that I'm here. But then she said that now that I'm here, she's so happy, and if I leave her, that she'll be sad. So I said, "Ngoai (grammy), I'm screwed. If I stay you're sad for dad and if I go you're sad for yourself." She laughed. Even though I've got cousins here, they didn't grow up with her, so she's not very close to them. Though they love her very much, they have a more formal relationship with her -- one in which she is a respected elder. Not that I don't respect my elders, but I have a different kind of camaraderie with my elders that I think some people here think is odd. I tend to joke and tease in a way that is nearly inconceivable to my cousins. I might occasionally walk a fine line on the brink of disrespect (though not intentional). My excuse is that I'm American.
I forgot to mention the play I saw the first week I was here. It's called "12 Bis May Man." Bis is the Vietnamese way of saying "Encore" and "May man" can be translated roughly to "lucky." It's a comedy based on the unlucky 13 (which is lucky in Italy, by the way), and I was surprised that I actually understood most of it. My mom explained many of the puns for me, though, since I don't quite get all the slang & expressions.
The other day when I was having dinner at my Uncle Minh's house, another Uncle (the husband of my second cousin once removed) asked me "so your brother is Hong Khac what?" It's really strange that a stranger would know my brother's name, but in context, it's actually not odd at all. Dad's name has a very interesting history to it. All sons of all Hongs are given a middle name which indicates their generation. There are eight generation names which are then repeated in a cyclical fashion. My grandfather and all his brothers and all his male cousins were given the name Hong Quang ______. My dad, all his brothers, and all his cousins are given the name Hong Giu (Du) _____. My brother, and all my cousins are given the name Hong Khac (in Lobo's case, it is Hong Khac Huy), and so forth. I'll have to find out what the rest of the names are in the cycle from my Chu (which means Uncle for your father's younger brothers) Minh (who is Hong Du Minh). It's all very cool. At the wedding last week, I met a woman who was married to a Hong Khac and knew my mom and my Aunt 9 since they were kids. Because she was married to a Hong Khac, she realized that she was a relation when she met my mom and dad back in the 60's since dad is a Hong Giu (which then changed her status of being a friend of my mom's to a "niece").
Not much else to report, except that today is a vegetarian day. One eats vegetarian on the beginning and middle of every Lunar month for Vietnamese Buddhism, which follows the Lunar calendar. I also learned that Vietnamese age is higher than American age. For one thing, since it's 2001 and I was born in '73, I'm considered 28 no matter what month I was born. In addition to that, the Vietnamese consider your time in the womb a year, which makes you a year old when you're born, which makes me 29 in Vietnamese years. I also discovered that since I was conceived in the year of the Rat and was born in the year of the Ox, then I have the tail of a rat and the head of an ox (I'm mixed) though most of my year was in the year of the ox. Talk about identity crisis.
February 22, 2001
Saigon, February 22, 2001.
After work yesterday, Thanh (Aunt 10's driver) came by and picked me up in a car loaded with my aunts and Uncle Thai, husband of aunt 8 (from Orlando), and the whole gang went to my Uncle Minh (younger brother of my Dad's) house for dinner. There, we were met with a few other members of my dad's family, and I also met one of my cousins for the first time (whose sister I met two weeks ago at the Saigon Market). He had actually been to the States a few times for business, and has met Kaly before.
We had about six courses, most of which were regionally Hue, where my father and Uncle Minh are from. Hue was the last Imperial city of Vietnam whose imperial courts were served by my paternal grandfather (who passed away around 1950). Dinner started with rice noodle cakes (banh hoi) with ground shrimp sprinkled on it, followed by a crab & quail-type egg (I don't know what kind of eggs they were) soup, then a kind of sea bass served with vegetables and white sauce, continued with pepper sauteed crabs (cua rang muoi) which are about 2x the size of U.S. crabs, and finished with a plate of steamed rice mixed with multiple marinated meats and vegetables, then che for dessert which I passed (I think it is made of lotus seeds). Hue is renowned for its foods and especially for the presentation of foods. Because of its imperial history, the people of Hue are all sophisticated in the art of eating well.
We were then brought up to a room in the house complete with surround sound, projection screen, DVD, and VCD entertainment system which made up our karaoke evening (which didn't last too long, as all the aunts wanted to head out for some live music elsewhere). I have discovered, however, that karaoke is a great way of learning how to read vietnamese -- the words are highlighted as they are sung aloud, and if I keep up, I could be reading in no time (I am now able to read with about 80% accuracy, though I don't understand what I'm reading).
I cabbed it home from dinner (I had enough live music for one night), and took note of the enormous luminated neon billboards that shine across the Saigon River visible from District 1. Saigon is split into several districts; 1 and 3 are the most commercialized (District 1 is where my aunt's Dong Du Cafe is and I work in District 3). Saigon is much more commercialized than we imagine in the west. The billboards read Mercedes-Benz, Heineken, LiOA Cable, LG Electronics, Tiger Beer, and others. In the middle of the city, there are neon billboards for Pepsi, Philips (as in the electronics), and many other big name brands. It is starkly contrasted with the people who lie beneath them on the roads.
Thanh drives me to work every day, and if we leave early, he takes me on the Honda (all references to Honda henceforward and backward are two-wheeled motorbikes even if they're not Hondas) which I love riding although I can't help but to think that it shortens my life expectancy as cigarette smoking would. Saigon is incredibly polluted. Today Thanh got to go home to see his wife & four kids who live an hour and a half away. He sees them in the middle and end of the month for 3 nights/2 days at a time. Since we had the wedding on the 17th of the month, he did not go home and will take 4 days off now instead. My aunts and mom are all going to Ha Noi and Ha Long for 4 days and I was supposed to go with them, but will not this time, mostly because of work, but also because I don't think I can handle the lot of them for 4 days straight since they are so very loud and collectively indecisive. I have opted to go at a later time with my uncle Tony if possible, and I'm planning on going to Phan Thiet, my mom's birthplace, in mid-March when The Guide goes to print, and before my mom returns to the U.S. This way, I also get to spend some peaceful time with my grandmother this weekend, and I will be having lunch on Sunday with my cousins Dung & Lily who are my Uncle 2's daughters. I got invited to a wedding on Sunday by a sweet girl at work, but will pass since I don't think I'd be comfortable yet and since Uncle 2's family is coming into town.
Oh, my odd sighting of the day today was this morning when Thanh drove me to work. In front of us was a Honda, and hanging on either side of the rear of it were two brown wicker baskets, hanging much the way bike panniers would, connected by a wooden bar stretched across the seat, like a scale or balance. In each basket were about 6-8 white feathered ducks whose heads and bright yellow beaks and black beady eyes stuck out, each piled upon the other, and all very crammed in the baskets. All of a sudden, I realized that not only were they real, they were alive and quacking. I wish I had a camera to take the shot, but then I also realized that they were probably off to be roasted by afternoon (sorry Lori).
Enough for today. Tomorrow the aunts go out of town, and Thanh has arranged for another driver to come pick me up in the morning to take me to work. I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet this weekend will bring, and plan on going into town and taking lots of pictures. Do keep writing me. I love hearing from you, and please forgive if I cannot write back.
Oh, and another discovery -- Sai Gon is really two words.
Much love
Hani
After work yesterday, Thanh (Aunt 10's driver) came by and picked me up in a car loaded with my aunts and Uncle Thai, husband of aunt 8 (from Orlando), and the whole gang went to my Uncle Minh (younger brother of my Dad's) house for dinner. There, we were met with a few other members of my dad's family, and I also met one of my cousins for the first time (whose sister I met two weeks ago at the Saigon Market). He had actually been to the States a few times for business, and has met Kaly before.
We had about six courses, most of which were regionally Hue, where my father and Uncle Minh are from. Hue was the last Imperial city of Vietnam whose imperial courts were served by my paternal grandfather (who passed away around 1950). Dinner started with rice noodle cakes (banh hoi) with ground shrimp sprinkled on it, followed by a crab & quail-type egg (I don't know what kind of eggs they were) soup, then a kind of sea bass served with vegetables and white sauce, continued with pepper sauteed crabs (cua rang muoi) which are about 2x the size of U.S. crabs, and finished with a plate of steamed rice mixed with multiple marinated meats and vegetables, then che for dessert which I passed (I think it is made of lotus seeds). Hue is renowned for its foods and especially for the presentation of foods. Because of its imperial history, the people of Hue are all sophisticated in the art of eating well.
We were then brought up to a room in the house complete with surround sound, projection screen, DVD, and VCD entertainment system which made up our karaoke evening (which didn't last too long, as all the aunts wanted to head out for some live music elsewhere). I have discovered, however, that karaoke is a great way of learning how to read vietnamese -- the words are highlighted as they are sung aloud, and if I keep up, I could be reading in no time (I am now able to read with about 80% accuracy, though I don't understand what I'm reading).
I cabbed it home from dinner (I had enough live music for one night), and took note of the enormous luminated neon billboards that shine across the Saigon River visible from District 1. Saigon is split into several districts; 1 and 3 are the most commercialized (District 1 is where my aunt's Dong Du Cafe is and I work in District 3). Saigon is much more commercialized than we imagine in the west. The billboards read Mercedes-Benz, Heineken, LiOA Cable, LG Electronics, Tiger Beer, and others. In the middle of the city, there are neon billboards for Pepsi, Philips (as in the electronics), and many other big name brands. It is starkly contrasted with the people who lie beneath them on the roads.
Thanh drives me to work every day, and if we leave early, he takes me on the Honda (all references to Honda henceforward and backward are two-wheeled motorbikes even if they're not Hondas) which I love riding although I can't help but to think that it shortens my life expectancy as cigarette smoking would. Saigon is incredibly polluted. Today Thanh got to go home to see his wife & four kids who live an hour and a half away. He sees them in the middle and end of the month for 3 nights/2 days at a time. Since we had the wedding on the 17th of the month, he did not go home and will take 4 days off now instead. My aunts and mom are all going to Ha Noi and Ha Long for 4 days and I was supposed to go with them, but will not this time, mostly because of work, but also because I don't think I can handle the lot of them for 4 days straight since they are so very loud and collectively indecisive. I have opted to go at a later time with my uncle Tony if possible, and I'm planning on going to Phan Thiet, my mom's birthplace, in mid-March when The Guide goes to print, and before my mom returns to the U.S. This way, I also get to spend some peaceful time with my grandmother this weekend, and I will be having lunch on Sunday with my cousins Dung & Lily who are my Uncle 2's daughters. I got invited to a wedding on Sunday by a sweet girl at work, but will pass since I don't think I'd be comfortable yet and since Uncle 2's family is coming into town.
Oh, my odd sighting of the day today was this morning when Thanh drove me to work. In front of us was a Honda, and hanging on either side of the rear of it were two brown wicker baskets, hanging much the way bike panniers would, connected by a wooden bar stretched across the seat, like a scale or balance. In each basket were about 6-8 white feathered ducks whose heads and bright yellow beaks and black beady eyes stuck out, each piled upon the other, and all very crammed in the baskets. All of a sudden, I realized that not only were they real, they were alive and quacking. I wish I had a camera to take the shot, but then I also realized that they were probably off to be roasted by afternoon (sorry Lori).
Enough for today. Tomorrow the aunts go out of town, and Thanh has arranged for another driver to come pick me up in the morning to take me to work. I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet this weekend will bring, and plan on going into town and taking lots of pictures. Do keep writing me. I love hearing from you, and please forgive if I cannot write back.
Oh, and another discovery -- Sai Gon is really two words.
Much love
Hani
February 18, 2001
Sunday, February 18, 2001
After 2 days of wedding ceremonies, I sit here relaxing in comfy western clothing. Yesterday I had to wear a red and gold silk Chinese style dress that mom had made for me last week and today I wore my white ao dai that the bride had made for me. My cousins laughed at the way I sat on it -- you're supposed to take the back portion of the dress and swing it over your lap when you sit (it's the traditional Vietnamese dress worn with pants), and i kept tripping over it, too. I'm an extraordinary klutz here in Vietnam, not to mention lacking in grace and girlishness.
Last night at the wedding reception, I met one of my father's brothers, Chu Minh, for the first time, and several other family members and old grade school friends of my mother's. No one thinks I look vietnamese -- they say I look lai, which means mixed, since I have big eyes and white skin and a high nose (I'd say big). Of course, it's rather the opposite in the US -- the tanner, the better.
Holy shit. They're playing "Knock 3 Times" on the CyberCafe's system right now. Dad used to play this when we were just kids. The Vietnamese's taste in music has not changed in 25 years. They're constantly playing oldies and they looooove Elvis and Kenny G.
A Vietnamese wedding reception is quite an odd spectacle. Usually, the cake is fake, except for the top layer for cutting. Luckily, my aunt went with class and we had a real 5 or 6 tiered cake decorated with fresh white and light colored roses. There were about 200 people at the wedding, and it was a 6 or 7 course dinner served rather nicely, although some guests tend to bolt as soon as the eating's done. There's also a great deal of singing done by guests. Luckily, the ones that sang last night actually knew how to do it well. The wedding was today, after the reception last night because today was rated as a "good" day on the Chinese calendar for my uncle to be married. It starts out with everyone in the groom's family gathering at his home. We then all carry large trays of food and gifts and wine, or trail along behind those who carry these trays, and parade to the bride's home to properly pass the bride over into our family. When we arrive at her home, we're seated, she comes out, there is a ring ceremony, and then a tea ceremony between the groom and the bride's mother and the bride with the groom's mother and the representative head males of the families (in this case, a great uncle and fellow whose relation I do not know on the bride's side). A few speeches by the elders, and then we pack up and head back to the groom's house for more speeches, gifts, and another reception. We've been busy! (well, busy eating...)
I have been working for a week now for a company that puts out a tourist guidebook, and I was also offered a job working at the Vietnamese-English School to teach children English as well as to do their marketing. I haven't quite turned them down, but will request a teaching position in the evenings if I can. I don't know enough about the Vietnamese marketplace to do their marketing. Everyone has been incredibly hospitable here, and I feel very at home. With so much family nearby, I feel very close to many people who are virtually strangers to me. My cousins are very sweet, and I've also met many uncles, aunts, second, third, and fourth cousins, great uncles and aunts, cousins several generations removed, and so on. It's quite confusing, but I'll eventually draw a family tree.
Today I ate a new fruit called mân, also known as pomme-rose and originated in inda. It is sort of like an apple, but more sour, harder, and well, different. It was harvested from my Ong 10's (great uncle 10's) garden in Phan Thiet, which is a small town north of Saigon, where my mother was born & raised. I'm hoping to take a weekend trip up there sometime soon. I've also tried several other new foods, and my mom and I always think of my dad 'cause mom says, "oh, your dad used to really love eating this." I eat extra for him.
Lately I've been able to read and write better in Vietnamese. My vocabulary grows by 2 to 4 words a day, and I learned a new saying that Thanh, my aunt's driver, taught me. I had asked why everyone says I have big eyes, and why is that good? He said, "mat la tre chong de chong danh, mat la mit, chong hon, chong hit" which translates to "eyes the shape of bamboo leaves, husbands opress and hit, eyes the shape of jackfruit leaves (round leaves), husbands kiss and [vietnamese] kiss." Lucky me. Thanh is great; I spend a lot of time with him in the car when driving my aunt around, and he teaches me how to read and write. I read all of the street signs all day long. Imagine hearing "gas pump. Parking. Refrigerators sold here. Guests welcome. Vendor specializing in Electronics. Travel Agency. Vehicles with 2 or 3 wheels only." And so on. He knows the answer to everything, and he's a true jack of all trades. I really enjoy talking with him, 'cause he's infinitely patient, kind, and knowledgeable.
Life lately has been good, but it was unbearably hot today. Yesterday was not too much cooler, and my cousins Ti & Trung who are visiting from San Jose, CA, and I took a ride on a cyclo -- the 3 wheeled bike carts in which the driver sits in back and cycles you around town. We got a picture of me sitting on it and one of Ti, too. If I can scan it I will. All I can think of is, "Hani: AIDS Ride Vietnam." Oi. It's really too hot for that here! The cyclo driver rode us around town for about an hour and pointed out all the general sites in Saigon. The people here try very hard to be as helpful as possible while making a living. The cyclist also told me to keep my bags and parcels and cameras inside the seating area since honda drivers tend to swerve by and grab your bags (and knock you over in the process).
Enough babble. Please continue to write me with the updates of your own living experiences as I miss the States very much.
Love to all.
hani
After 2 days of wedding ceremonies, I sit here relaxing in comfy western clothing. Yesterday I had to wear a red and gold silk Chinese style dress that mom had made for me last week and today I wore my white ao dai that the bride had made for me. My cousins laughed at the way I sat on it -- you're supposed to take the back portion of the dress and swing it over your lap when you sit (it's the traditional Vietnamese dress worn with pants), and i kept tripping over it, too. I'm an extraordinary klutz here in Vietnam, not to mention lacking in grace and girlishness.
Last night at the wedding reception, I met one of my father's brothers, Chu Minh, for the first time, and several other family members and old grade school friends of my mother's. No one thinks I look vietnamese -- they say I look lai, which means mixed, since I have big eyes and white skin and a high nose (I'd say big). Of course, it's rather the opposite in the US -- the tanner, the better.
Holy shit. They're playing "Knock 3 Times" on the CyberCafe's system right now. Dad used to play this when we were just kids. The Vietnamese's taste in music has not changed in 25 years. They're constantly playing oldies and they looooove Elvis and Kenny G.
A Vietnamese wedding reception is quite an odd spectacle. Usually, the cake is fake, except for the top layer for cutting. Luckily, my aunt went with class and we had a real 5 or 6 tiered cake decorated with fresh white and light colored roses. There were about 200 people at the wedding, and it was a 6 or 7 course dinner served rather nicely, although some guests tend to bolt as soon as the eating's done. There's also a great deal of singing done by guests. Luckily, the ones that sang last night actually knew how to do it well. The wedding was today, after the reception last night because today was rated as a "good" day on the Chinese calendar for my uncle to be married. It starts out with everyone in the groom's family gathering at his home. We then all carry large trays of food and gifts and wine, or trail along behind those who carry these trays, and parade to the bride's home to properly pass the bride over into our family. When we arrive at her home, we're seated, she comes out, there is a ring ceremony, and then a tea ceremony between the groom and the bride's mother and the bride with the groom's mother and the representative head males of the families (in this case, a great uncle and fellow whose relation I do not know on the bride's side). A few speeches by the elders, and then we pack up and head back to the groom's house for more speeches, gifts, and another reception. We've been busy! (well, busy eating...)
I have been working for a week now for a company that puts out a tourist guidebook, and I was also offered a job working at the Vietnamese-English School to teach children English as well as to do their marketing. I haven't quite turned them down, but will request a teaching position in the evenings if I can. I don't know enough about the Vietnamese marketplace to do their marketing. Everyone has been incredibly hospitable here, and I feel very at home. With so much family nearby, I feel very close to many people who are virtually strangers to me. My cousins are very sweet, and I've also met many uncles, aunts, second, third, and fourth cousins, great uncles and aunts, cousins several generations removed, and so on. It's quite confusing, but I'll eventually draw a family tree.
Today I ate a new fruit called mân, also known as pomme-rose and originated in inda. It is sort of like an apple, but more sour, harder, and well, different. It was harvested from my Ong 10's (great uncle 10's) garden in Phan Thiet, which is a small town north of Saigon, where my mother was born & raised. I'm hoping to take a weekend trip up there sometime soon. I've also tried several other new foods, and my mom and I always think of my dad 'cause mom says, "oh, your dad used to really love eating this." I eat extra for him.
Lately I've been able to read and write better in Vietnamese. My vocabulary grows by 2 to 4 words a day, and I learned a new saying that Thanh, my aunt's driver, taught me. I had asked why everyone says I have big eyes, and why is that good? He said, "mat la tre chong de chong danh, mat la mit, chong hon, chong hit" which translates to "eyes the shape of bamboo leaves, husbands opress and hit, eyes the shape of jackfruit leaves (round leaves), husbands kiss and [vietnamese] kiss." Lucky me. Thanh is great; I spend a lot of time with him in the car when driving my aunt around, and he teaches me how to read and write. I read all of the street signs all day long. Imagine hearing "gas pump. Parking. Refrigerators sold here. Guests welcome. Vendor specializing in Electronics. Travel Agency. Vehicles with 2 or 3 wheels only." And so on. He knows the answer to everything, and he's a true jack of all trades. I really enjoy talking with him, 'cause he's infinitely patient, kind, and knowledgeable.
Life lately has been good, but it was unbearably hot today. Yesterday was not too much cooler, and my cousins Ti & Trung who are visiting from San Jose, CA, and I took a ride on a cyclo -- the 3 wheeled bike carts in which the driver sits in back and cycles you around town. We got a picture of me sitting on it and one of Ti, too. If I can scan it I will. All I can think of is, "Hani: AIDS Ride Vietnam." Oi. It's really too hot for that here! The cyclo driver rode us around town for about an hour and pointed out all the general sites in Saigon. The people here try very hard to be as helpful as possible while making a living. The cyclist also told me to keep my bags and parcels and cameras inside the seating area since honda drivers tend to swerve by and grab your bags (and knock you over in the process).
Enough babble. Please continue to write me with the updates of your own living experiences as I miss the States very much.
Love to all.
hani
February 11, 2001
February 11, 2001. Saigon, Vietnam.
Yesterday I took my first thrilling ride on a Xe Om - xe means "vehicle" and om means "hug" - in other words, a 2-wheeled Honda on which I hug the driver if I want to stay on. It's a trip to be had at least once in Vietnam, since the Vietnamese care not for red lights, one ways, or any rules of the road. It's quite a talent to be able to drive here. You should see six-year-old kids crossing the street - it's like crossing a six lane highway during rush hour with no pedestrian paths.
Forgot about the other job offer; I got a second one on Friday to be Creative Director for a guidebook in Vietnam, and I have an interview at the English school tomorrow. I'll work on the guidebook awhile, and see what else comes up. The Vietnamese businessmen are cunning and somewhat conniving. All big talkers; I'm watching out for myself, but I also know that what comes around goes around. If I get cheated, I don't really mind since I'll just gain from the work experience I'll have here. I've learned how to read fairly well in the last week, and so my writing will improve if I practice. At work, everyone speaks to me in Vietnamese, and though it's difficult, my vocabulary is increasing day by day.
Yesterday I ate a fruit called mang cau -- soursop -- and on the outside it's green & yellow, really lumpy (like a bunch of grapes would be if they were sealed under plastic wrap), but on the inside, it has a flesh similar to pineapple and a flavor that crosses between pineapple and well, I don't know?The flesh has large black seeds that slide right off. It's refreshing and tasty. I also had Vietnamese grapefruit for the first time yesterday and it was amazingly good. The grapefruit here is unusually large, and I recall my dad's stories of playing hookey from school playing soccer with grapefruits in lieu of soccer balls.
This morning mom and I had facials and foot massages for about $15 USD total. The girls there kept telling my mom, what nice eyebrows she has" and then one asked me if I "had family" ?it's their way of saying "are you married?" No way, I said. People keep asking me that. Then when I say no, they ask me if I'm still living with my parents (that's what unmarried children do here). Life is either easy or hard here; it's difficult to accept. You see so many poor people begging on the streets, sleeping under tarps, and little kids trying to sell packs of gum or other knickknacks. Smoking is allowed everywhere; in fact, the guy next to me in the internet caf?is doing it as I write.
Tonight we go eat in the Caravelle Hotel to test its wedding dinner menu (it's where my uncle is getting married on Saturday). It's a world famous French hotel that has been here forever. Right now, they are building a movie set just outside of it, and Michael Caine and Brendan Fraser are starring in it ?"The Quiet American" or something like that. My aunt's ice cream shop is on the road in back. The Vietnamese don't understand how such an intricate set can be built just for a movie, only to be torn down. Alas, they need it to look like pre-1975 Saigon, and the entire budget is a mere $30 Million USD (labor's cheap). By law, no one is allowed to check into hotels under assumed names, so anyone can call the hotel and request Mr. Caine or Fraser's rooms.
Met a few more family members in the last few days. I ran into my great aunt today at a restaurant in town. This morning we ate a delicious plate of mien cua - vermicelli noodles sauteed with lump crab meat, and another dish that is made of fried yams & shrimp. Drank fresh squeezed orange juice and a cup of ca phe sua da - iced coffee, vietnamese style. There's much more to tell, but I can't recall so I will leave off for now. Till next time, glad you're keeping in touch. h.
Yesterday I took my first thrilling ride on a Xe Om - xe means "vehicle" and om means "hug" - in other words, a 2-wheeled Honda on which I hug the driver if I want to stay on. It's a trip to be had at least once in Vietnam, since the Vietnamese care not for red lights, one ways, or any rules of the road. It's quite a talent to be able to drive here. You should see six-year-old kids crossing the street - it's like crossing a six lane highway during rush hour with no pedestrian paths.
Forgot about the other job offer; I got a second one on Friday to be Creative Director for a guidebook in Vietnam, and I have an interview at the English school tomorrow. I'll work on the guidebook awhile, and see what else comes up. The Vietnamese businessmen are cunning and somewhat conniving. All big talkers; I'm watching out for myself, but I also know that what comes around goes around. If I get cheated, I don't really mind since I'll just gain from the work experience I'll have here. I've learned how to read fairly well in the last week, and so my writing will improve if I practice. At work, everyone speaks to me in Vietnamese, and though it's difficult, my vocabulary is increasing day by day.
Yesterday I ate a fruit called mang cau -- soursop -- and on the outside it's green & yellow, really lumpy (like a bunch of grapes would be if they were sealed under plastic wrap), but on the inside, it has a flesh similar to pineapple and a flavor that crosses between pineapple and well, I don't know?The flesh has large black seeds that slide right off. It's refreshing and tasty. I also had Vietnamese grapefruit for the first time yesterday and it was amazingly good. The grapefruit here is unusually large, and I recall my dad's stories of playing hookey from school playing soccer with grapefruits in lieu of soccer balls.
This morning mom and I had facials and foot massages for about $15 USD total. The girls there kept telling my mom, what nice eyebrows she has" and then one asked me if I "had family" ?it's their way of saying "are you married?" No way, I said. People keep asking me that. Then when I say no, they ask me if I'm still living with my parents (that's what unmarried children do here). Life is either easy or hard here; it's difficult to accept. You see so many poor people begging on the streets, sleeping under tarps, and little kids trying to sell packs of gum or other knickknacks. Smoking is allowed everywhere; in fact, the guy next to me in the internet caf?is doing it as I write.
Tonight we go eat in the Caravelle Hotel to test its wedding dinner menu (it's where my uncle is getting married on Saturday). It's a world famous French hotel that has been here forever. Right now, they are building a movie set just outside of it, and Michael Caine and Brendan Fraser are starring in it ?"The Quiet American" or something like that. My aunt's ice cream shop is on the road in back. The Vietnamese don't understand how such an intricate set can be built just for a movie, only to be torn down. Alas, they need it to look like pre-1975 Saigon, and the entire budget is a mere $30 Million USD (labor's cheap). By law, no one is allowed to check into hotels under assumed names, so anyone can call the hotel and request Mr. Caine or Fraser's rooms.
Met a few more family members in the last few days. I ran into my great aunt today at a restaurant in town. This morning we ate a delicious plate of mien cua - vermicelli noodles sauteed with lump crab meat, and another dish that is made of fried yams & shrimp. Drank fresh squeezed orange juice and a cup of ca phe sua da - iced coffee, vietnamese style. There's much more to tell, but I can't recall so I will leave off for now. Till next time, glad you're keeping in touch. h.
February 07, 2001
Saigon, February 7 2001
I can’t remember what day it is anymore, as I’ve nothing really to keep track. I also can’t remember what I’ve already said, so if I repeat, please forgive. Did I tell you we’ve got apuppy in the house? Just a few weeks old and my aunt paid $3 USD for it – her butler/house guardian told her she overpaid. There are two pekingnese (sp.?) in the house too. One I call Quasimodo – it’s gotten into two fights and has lost an eye and its face is totally disfigured – it’s actually very cute in an ugly kind of way. :)
This morning when I got up, my aunt 9 joined me at the table and told me that since my room is upstairs, and my bed below the roofpeak, I should not sleep below the peak, as it is bad luck. Mom says that’s why I’ve been waking up with headaches. I’m supposed to sleep to the side of the roofpeak, rather than directly below it. The Chinese say so, I’m told.
Did I also tell you that I met lots of family? Last week I met my Uncle 2’s wife, Aunt 2, and their 4 children – my cousins – Pinky, Lily, Tu Bua, and Tuyet Dung. They’re very sweet, but shy, and I have trouble communicating. Pinky has 2 girls, and Tu Bua one, so they are my nieces. It’s very weird – the 8 year old was teaching me Vietnamese (they of course, all speak much better than I). Then last night, I met my dad’s first cousin, and her mother – my dad’s aunt (my grandmother’s sister/ my greataunt). She’s so cute – at 94, she still has perfect hearing and good eyesight, no teeth. I love old asian people – they are so damn cute. She recognized my mother easily and then looked at me and said I look just like Ong Cam – I don’t know who that is, but I think it’s a great uncle of mine.
Yesterday my aunt 10 decided she would buy a refrigerator to keep upstairs in her “apartment” – the entire upstairs has an open terrace with beautiful garden. She wanted a refrigerator up there so she and I could keep some food upstairs so we could have breakfast on the open terrace. Anyway, the guy who delivered the fridge delivered it on his 2-wheeled honda motorbike – with one hand holding the fridge on his seat and the other hand navigating through the traffic jungle. No bungees, no cords, nothing! They just carry the fridge with one hand! My aunt says they do the same thing with televisions, ovens, whatever.
This afternoon I have to go to the tailor. My new aunt (my Uncle Tony’s bride) bought some Vietnamese silk and brought it to him to make me a new ao dai, the traditional vietnamese dress. Mom took me to another place where I’m having another dress made. It costs about $30,000 VND for labor to make a silk shirt. That’s about 2 dollars and a few cents.
Had a lunch interview with a US Viet Kieu (it’s what they call vietnamese people who have “come home.”). He wants me to be the Marketing & Graphic Design manager of his company. I’m still trying to figure out what he does! I also just met a guy here from Chicago who has friends at J Walter Thompson, and I think Bates Worldwide. Never hurts to make contacts. It’s hard for me to do business in Vietnamese with my limited vocabulary, and in business, it’s certainly different! The gentleman I met this morning speaks English though, so he helps me understand. My aunt 10 joined us for lunch – she said she was embarassed because I eat so much – he said never mind, he likes that.
Can’t help it if I eat twice my weight. By the way, today we had fresh raw fish (along with about six other dishes). By FRESH, I mean FRESH. The fish had been sliced readily and the slices were placed on a bed of ice. The rest of the fish was placed on the plate, full fish (head and all), with it’s side sliced. What a shock it was to me when I saw the tail flop and the fin flap!!!! OI! I ate it anyway (It didn’t wink at me so…)
My sisters have been forwarding my emails to everyone for me, since I’m unable to send so many out myself, and have trouble connecting to hotmail. Anyway, sorry for the mass mailing, but it’s the only way I can manage to get this out. I will try to post to www.hanihong.blogspot.com instead, so you can read it freely there. My sister Souris is also going to post my alaska ride pictures for me on www.gatherround.com, so if you get check and only see a few pictures, try again when she has post them. There should be at least 40 images. Oh, by the way, please do not send me any forwarded mail to my email. It’s difficult to get through the email here, so I can live without. THANKS.
I miss the U.S. and most of all New York (next to my dad, of course). Will write again.
Cheers.
--------
Saigon, February 6, 2001. So I’m sitting here in an internet cafe across from the ice cream shop. Connection rate is still 14.4 I think. It’s unbearably slow. I keep forgetting to mention all the funny stuff I see. For one thing, Vietnam is full of creepy crawlies – we’ve got lizards and ants and mosquitoes in the house – and it’s an air conditioned and luxurious house.
This morning we had a nice bowl of noodle soup (bun bo hue) and then fresh fruit - papaya and mangoes and vu sua (“breast-milk”) as opposed to sua vu (breastmilk). Vu sua is a fruit that has a milky flesh, hence its descriptive moniker. We then drank fresh coconut juice out of, well, coconuts. Oh, and yesterday, mom and I had fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from the street vendor. We had our taxi driver pull over on the street while the vendor squeezed it for us into plastic bags, complete with straws and banded shut with rubber bands. I haven’t gotten sick from any of the food or vegetables, or even the meat, but I’m going to steer clear of most meat we encounter. I happened upon the meat department in the huge Saigon market, a sight you should not see. People are on raised platforms with their slabs of meat hanging on hooks. It’s freakin’ 90 degrees outside. It’s an outdoor market. Needless to say, other bugs and mosquitoes all around.
Cyclo drivers sleep along the sidewalk when they’re off duty, and crossing the street is far more harrowing than in NYC any time of the day. There are no street lights, and no regards to the painted lines – you often find yourself facing oncoming traffic whether on foot or driving. Most amazing is the sheer number of 2-wheeled Honda motorbikes and cyclists who all “share” the road. No one wears a helmet, and sometimes, you see little 2 and 3 year old kids clinging on for dear life. I can’t even begin to imagine what might happen if they fell asleep in the back seat.
must run now.
xxo
hani
------------
Vietnam. February 5, 2001.
I'm well, I'm eating well, and everything is somewhat as expected. Di 10's house is beautiful and large, though her taste in art varies from beautiful to tacky. My room is a loft area with a living room, and cherry wood floors and a window facing the front yard. The moon shines directly through it late at night. The river runs behind the house, and the cross breezes are wonderful. Di 10 had an air conditioner installed for me the day I arrived. Whenever she wants anything - curtains, furniture, mirrors - she calls for custom orders. My coffee is made for me every morning. Espresso.
There are many things that are odd and most notably, the money. I traded my aunt a $20 USD for $280,000 today. It costs about 70 cents to have shoes repaired, and a bowl of noodle soup costs about 70cents as well. The employees at my aunt's restaurants work 28 days a month, 8 hours a day and are paid $50 USD a month. It is a much sought after job, because it is relatively high pay. There is a lack of respect for privacy. No one has any sense of personal space (they are very pushy people). Everyone talks very very loud (it must be in the genes), and we eat all day long.
The first day I arrived, mom gave me 2 bucks to tuck into my passport when going through customs (I told her not to try this at home). It helps reduce questioning, and then they let you through. When we picked up our baggage, all we had to do was explain that Di 9 (aunt 9) is Mme. A (My uncle A is a famous doctor) and we were let through. Also, to get through to my aunt's house, there is a toll booth - you have to pay 10,000 dollars to get through with a ticket (equal to about 70 cents) and then on your way out, they give you 5,000 back. If you just give them 2000 or so, they'll let you through, and pocket the cash so you don't get anything back on the way out again.
My second day here, we had to set up an altar to commemorate my great-grandmother's death and pray for her in her afterlife. The whole family came over, and we had a very large banquet. My aunt 9, who is a palm reader (my great uncle was famous for his sixth sense and used to read the President's palm) made a deal with me that if I teach her English, she'll teach me how to read palms. Sounds like a good deal to me.
Everyone makes fun of my Vietnamese, though they then contradict and tell me it's very good (especially for someone who left VN at 18 months). They also tell me that I look really young (I've heard anywhere between 10 and 20) and that I've got nice eyebrows. Funny people.
So the other interesting thing is that here in Vietnam, everyone looks alike!!! I'm not kidding. And the weirdest thing is that I look like them too! But I keep forgetting that I do. But as soon as I open my mouth, they know I'm a foreigner. The other weird thing is that in my family, my siblings and I used to use Vietnamese to talk about people in front of us. I can't do that here, because it's not a secret language over here. It stinks.
I think I might have a job teaching English at the university nearby. I met one of my aunt's business friends today at her ice cream shop and she happens to be friends with the director of the University so I'm going to hand her my resume. So far so good. Good food, good company, and maybe a job.
It's super hot here, but at night, we get a good breeze and it's nice and cool. It's not as bad as New York was in the summer of '99. I'm loving it so far, and think I might stay a while. We will travel to the north and central highlands after the wedding on the 18th. My new aunt (my uncle's bride) is ordering a traditional vietnamese ao dai to be made for me. Must be off now.
Ciao tutti.
hani
I can’t remember what day it is anymore, as I’ve nothing really to keep track. I also can’t remember what I’ve already said, so if I repeat, please forgive. Did I tell you we’ve got apuppy in the house? Just a few weeks old and my aunt paid $3 USD for it – her butler/house guardian told her she overpaid. There are two pekingnese (sp.?) in the house too. One I call Quasimodo – it’s gotten into two fights and has lost an eye and its face is totally disfigured – it’s actually very cute in an ugly kind of way. :)
This morning when I got up, my aunt 9 joined me at the table and told me that since my room is upstairs, and my bed below the roofpeak, I should not sleep below the peak, as it is bad luck. Mom says that’s why I’ve been waking up with headaches. I’m supposed to sleep to the side of the roofpeak, rather than directly below it. The Chinese say so, I’m told.
Did I also tell you that I met lots of family? Last week I met my Uncle 2’s wife, Aunt 2, and their 4 children – my cousins – Pinky, Lily, Tu Bua, and Tuyet Dung. They’re very sweet, but shy, and I have trouble communicating. Pinky has 2 girls, and Tu Bua one, so they are my nieces. It’s very weird – the 8 year old was teaching me Vietnamese (they of course, all speak much better than I). Then last night, I met my dad’s first cousin, and her mother – my dad’s aunt (my grandmother’s sister/ my greataunt). She’s so cute – at 94, she still has perfect hearing and good eyesight, no teeth. I love old asian people – they are so damn cute. She recognized my mother easily and then looked at me and said I look just like Ong Cam – I don’t know who that is, but I think it’s a great uncle of mine.
Yesterday my aunt 10 decided she would buy a refrigerator to keep upstairs in her “apartment” – the entire upstairs has an open terrace with beautiful garden. She wanted a refrigerator up there so she and I could keep some food upstairs so we could have breakfast on the open terrace. Anyway, the guy who delivered the fridge delivered it on his 2-wheeled honda motorbike – with one hand holding the fridge on his seat and the other hand navigating through the traffic jungle. No bungees, no cords, nothing! They just carry the fridge with one hand! My aunt says they do the same thing with televisions, ovens, whatever.
This afternoon I have to go to the tailor. My new aunt (my Uncle Tony’s bride) bought some Vietnamese silk and brought it to him to make me a new ao dai, the traditional vietnamese dress. Mom took me to another place where I’m having another dress made. It costs about $30,000 VND for labor to make a silk shirt. That’s about 2 dollars and a few cents.
Had a lunch interview with a US Viet Kieu (it’s what they call vietnamese people who have “come home.”). He wants me to be the Marketing & Graphic Design manager of his company. I’m still trying to figure out what he does! I also just met a guy here from Chicago who has friends at J Walter Thompson, and I think Bates Worldwide. Never hurts to make contacts. It’s hard for me to do business in Vietnamese with my limited vocabulary, and in business, it’s certainly different! The gentleman I met this morning speaks English though, so he helps me understand. My aunt 10 joined us for lunch – she said she was embarassed because I eat so much – he said never mind, he likes that.
Can’t help it if I eat twice my weight. By the way, today we had fresh raw fish (along with about six other dishes). By FRESH, I mean FRESH. The fish had been sliced readily and the slices were placed on a bed of ice. The rest of the fish was placed on the plate, full fish (head and all), with it’s side sliced. What a shock it was to me when I saw the tail flop and the fin flap!!!! OI! I ate it anyway (It didn’t wink at me so…)
My sisters have been forwarding my emails to everyone for me, since I’m unable to send so many out myself, and have trouble connecting to hotmail. Anyway, sorry for the mass mailing, but it’s the only way I can manage to get this out. I will try to post to www.hanihong.blogspot.com instead, so you can read it freely there. My sister Souris is also going to post my alaska ride pictures for me on www.gatherround.com, so if you get check and only see a few pictures, try again when she has post them. There should be at least 40 images. Oh, by the way, please do not send me any forwarded mail to my email. It’s difficult to get through the email here, so I can live without. THANKS.
I miss the U.S. and most of all New York (next to my dad, of course). Will write again.
Cheers.
--------
Saigon, February 6, 2001. So I’m sitting here in an internet cafe across from the ice cream shop. Connection rate is still 14.4 I think. It’s unbearably slow. I keep forgetting to mention all the funny stuff I see. For one thing, Vietnam is full of creepy crawlies – we’ve got lizards and ants and mosquitoes in the house – and it’s an air conditioned and luxurious house.
This morning we had a nice bowl of noodle soup (bun bo hue) and then fresh fruit - papaya and mangoes and vu sua (“breast-milk”) as opposed to sua vu (breastmilk). Vu sua is a fruit that has a milky flesh, hence its descriptive moniker. We then drank fresh coconut juice out of, well, coconuts. Oh, and yesterday, mom and I had fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from the street vendor. We had our taxi driver pull over on the street while the vendor squeezed it for us into plastic bags, complete with straws and banded shut with rubber bands. I haven’t gotten sick from any of the food or vegetables, or even the meat, but I’m going to steer clear of most meat we encounter. I happened upon the meat department in the huge Saigon market, a sight you should not see. People are on raised platforms with their slabs of meat hanging on hooks. It’s freakin’ 90 degrees outside. It’s an outdoor market. Needless to say, other bugs and mosquitoes all around.
Cyclo drivers sleep along the sidewalk when they’re off duty, and crossing the street is far more harrowing than in NYC any time of the day. There are no street lights, and no regards to the painted lines – you often find yourself facing oncoming traffic whether on foot or driving. Most amazing is the sheer number of 2-wheeled Honda motorbikes and cyclists who all “share” the road. No one wears a helmet, and sometimes, you see little 2 and 3 year old kids clinging on for dear life. I can’t even begin to imagine what might happen if they fell asleep in the back seat.
must run now.
xxo
hani
------------
Vietnam. February 5, 2001.
I'm well, I'm eating well, and everything is somewhat as expected. Di 10's house is beautiful and large, though her taste in art varies from beautiful to tacky. My room is a loft area with a living room, and cherry wood floors and a window facing the front yard. The moon shines directly through it late at night. The river runs behind the house, and the cross breezes are wonderful. Di 10 had an air conditioner installed for me the day I arrived. Whenever she wants anything - curtains, furniture, mirrors - she calls for custom orders. My coffee is made for me every morning. Espresso.
There are many things that are odd and most notably, the money. I traded my aunt a $20 USD for $280,000 today. It costs about 70 cents to have shoes repaired, and a bowl of noodle soup costs about 70cents as well. The employees at my aunt's restaurants work 28 days a month, 8 hours a day and are paid $50 USD a month. It is a much sought after job, because it is relatively high pay. There is a lack of respect for privacy. No one has any sense of personal space (they are very pushy people). Everyone talks very very loud (it must be in the genes), and we eat all day long.
The first day I arrived, mom gave me 2 bucks to tuck into my passport when going through customs (I told her not to try this at home). It helps reduce questioning, and then they let you through. When we picked up our baggage, all we had to do was explain that Di 9 (aunt 9) is Mme. A (My uncle A is a famous doctor) and we were let through. Also, to get through to my aunt's house, there is a toll booth - you have to pay 10,000 dollars to get through with a ticket (equal to about 70 cents) and then on your way out, they give you 5,000 back. If you just give them 2000 or so, they'll let you through, and pocket the cash so you don't get anything back on the way out again.
My second day here, we had to set up an altar to commemorate my great-grandmother's death and pray for her in her afterlife. The whole family came over, and we had a very large banquet. My aunt 9, who is a palm reader (my great uncle was famous for his sixth sense and used to read the President's palm) made a deal with me that if I teach her English, she'll teach me how to read palms. Sounds like a good deal to me.
Everyone makes fun of my Vietnamese, though they then contradict and tell me it's very good (especially for someone who left VN at 18 months). They also tell me that I look really young (I've heard anywhere between 10 and 20) and that I've got nice eyebrows. Funny people.
So the other interesting thing is that here in Vietnam, everyone looks alike!!! I'm not kidding. And the weirdest thing is that I look like them too! But I keep forgetting that I do. But as soon as I open my mouth, they know I'm a foreigner. The other weird thing is that in my family, my siblings and I used to use Vietnamese to talk about people in front of us. I can't do that here, because it's not a secret language over here. It stinks.
I think I might have a job teaching English at the university nearby. I met one of my aunt's business friends today at her ice cream shop and she happens to be friends with the director of the University so I'm going to hand her my resume. So far so good. Good food, good company, and maybe a job.
It's super hot here, but at night, we get a good breeze and it's nice and cool. It's not as bad as New York was in the summer of '99. I'm loving it so far, and think I might stay a while. We will travel to the north and central highlands after the wedding on the 18th. My new aunt (my uncle's bride) is ordering a traditional vietnamese ao dai to be made for me. Must be off now.
Ciao tutti.
hani
Saigon
I can’t remember what day it is anymore, as I’ve nothing really to keep track. I also can’t remember what I’ve already said, so if I repeat, please forgive. Did I tell you we’ve got apuppy in the house? Just a few weeks old and my aunt paid $3 USD for it – her butler/house guardian told her she overpaid. There are two pekingnese (sp.?) in the house too. One I call Quasimodo – it’s gotten into two fights and has lost an eye and its face is totally disfigured – it’s actually very cute in an ugly kind of way. :)
This morning when I got up, my aunt 9 joined me at the table and told me that since my room is upstairs, and my bed below the roofpeak, I should not sleep below the peak, as it is bad luck. Mom says that’s why I’ve been waking up with headaches. I’m supposed to sleep to the side of the roofpeak, rather than directly below it. The Chinese say so, I’m told.
Did I also tell you that I met lots of family? Last week I met my Uncle 2’s wife, Aunt 2, and their 4 children – my cousins – Pinky, Lily, Tu Bua, and Tuyet Dung. They’re very sweet, but shy, and I have trouble communicating. Pinky has 2 girls, and Tu Bua one, so they are my nieces. It’s very weird – the 8 year old was teaching me Vietnamese (they of course, all speak much better than I). Then last night, I met my dad’s first cousin, and her mother – my dad’s aunt (my grandmother’s sister/ my greataunt). She’s so cute – at 94, she still has perfect hearing and good eyesight, no teeth. I love old asian people – they are so damn cute. She recognized my mother easily and then looked at me and said I look just like Ong Cam – I don’t know who that is, but I think it’s a great uncle of mine.
Yesterday my aunt 10 decided she would buy a refrigerator to keep upstairs in her “apartment� – the entire upstairs has an open terrace with beautiful garden. She wanted a refrigerator up there so she and I could keep some food upstairs so we could have breakfast on the open terrace. Anyway, the guy who delivered the fridge delivered it on his 2-wheeled honda motorbike – with one hand holding the fridge on his seat and the other hand navigating through the traffic jungle. No bungees, no cords, nothing! They just carry the fridge with one hand! My aunt says they do the same thing with televisions, ovens, whatever.
This afternoon I have to go to the tailor. My new aunt (my Uncle Tony’s bride) bought some Vietnamese silk and brought it to him to make me a new ao dai, the traditional vietnamese dress. Mom took me to another place where I’m having another dress made. It costs about $30,000 VND for labor to make a silk shirt. That’s about 2 dollars and a few cents.
Had a lunch interview with a US Viet Kieu (it’s what they call vietnamese people who have “come home.�). He wants me to be the Marketing & Graphic Design manager of his company. I’m still trying to figure out what he does! I also just met a guy here from Chicago who has friends at J Walter Thompson, and I think Bates Worldwide. Never hurts to make contacts. It’s hard for me to do business in Vietnamese with my limited vocabulary, and in business, it’s certainly different! The gentleman I met this morning speaks English though, so he helps me understand. My aunt 10 joined us for lunch – she said she was embarassed because I eat so much – he said never mind, he likes that.
Can’t help it if I eat twice my weight. By the way, today we had fresh raw fish (along with about six other dishes). By FRESH, I mean FRESH. The fish had been sliced readily and the slices were placed on a bed of ice. The rest of the fish was placed on the plate, full fish (head and all), with it’s side sliced. What a shock it was to me when I saw the tail flop and the fin flap!!!! OI! I ate it anyway (It didn’t wink at me so…)
My sisters have been forwarding my emails to everyone for me, since I’m unable to send so many out myself, and have trouble connecting to hotmail. Anyway, sorry for the mass mailing, but it’s the only way I can manage to get this out. I will try to post to www.hanihong.blogspot.com instead, so you can read it freely there. Oh, by the way, please do not send me any forwarded mail to my email. It’s difficult to get through the email here, so I can live without. THANKS.
I miss the U.S. and most of all New York (next to my dad, of course). Will write again.
Cheers.
I can’t remember what day it is anymore, as I’ve nothing really to keep track. I also can’t remember what I’ve already said, so if I repeat, please forgive. Did I tell you we’ve got apuppy in the house? Just a few weeks old and my aunt paid $3 USD for it – her butler/house guardian told her she overpaid. There are two pekingnese (sp.?) in the house too. One I call Quasimodo – it’s gotten into two fights and has lost an eye and its face is totally disfigured – it’s actually very cute in an ugly kind of way. :)
This morning when I got up, my aunt 9 joined me at the table and told me that since my room is upstairs, and my bed below the roofpeak, I should not sleep below the peak, as it is bad luck. Mom says that’s why I’ve been waking up with headaches. I’m supposed to sleep to the side of the roofpeak, rather than directly below it. The Chinese say so, I’m told.
Did I also tell you that I met lots of family? Last week I met my Uncle 2’s wife, Aunt 2, and their 4 children – my cousins – Pinky, Lily, Tu Bua, and Tuyet Dung. They’re very sweet, but shy, and I have trouble communicating. Pinky has 2 girls, and Tu Bua one, so they are my nieces. It’s very weird – the 8 year old was teaching me Vietnamese (they of course, all speak much better than I). Then last night, I met my dad’s first cousin, and her mother – my dad’s aunt (my grandmother’s sister/ my greataunt). She’s so cute – at 94, she still has perfect hearing and good eyesight, no teeth. I love old asian people – they are so damn cute. She recognized my mother easily and then looked at me and said I look just like Ong Cam – I don’t know who that is, but I think it’s a great uncle of mine.
Yesterday my aunt 10 decided she would buy a refrigerator to keep upstairs in her “apartment� – the entire upstairs has an open terrace with beautiful garden. She wanted a refrigerator up there so she and I could keep some food upstairs so we could have breakfast on the open terrace. Anyway, the guy who delivered the fridge delivered it on his 2-wheeled honda motorbike – with one hand holding the fridge on his seat and the other hand navigating through the traffic jungle. No bungees, no cords, nothing! They just carry the fridge with one hand! My aunt says they do the same thing with televisions, ovens, whatever.
This afternoon I have to go to the tailor. My new aunt (my Uncle Tony’s bride) bought some Vietnamese silk and brought it to him to make me a new ao dai, the traditional vietnamese dress. Mom took me to another place where I’m having another dress made. It costs about $30,000 VND for labor to make a silk shirt. That’s about 2 dollars and a few cents.
Had a lunch interview with a US Viet Kieu (it’s what they call vietnamese people who have “come home.�). He wants me to be the Marketing & Graphic Design manager of his company. I’m still trying to figure out what he does! I also just met a guy here from Chicago who has friends at J Walter Thompson, and I think Bates Worldwide. Never hurts to make contacts. It’s hard for me to do business in Vietnamese with my limited vocabulary, and in business, it’s certainly different! The gentleman I met this morning speaks English though, so he helps me understand. My aunt 10 joined us for lunch – she said she was embarassed because I eat so much – he said never mind, he likes that.
Can’t help it if I eat twice my weight. By the way, today we had fresh raw fish (along with about six other dishes). By FRESH, I mean FRESH. The fish had been sliced readily and the slices were placed on a bed of ice. The rest of the fish was placed on the plate, full fish (head and all), with it’s side sliced. What a shock it was to me when I saw the tail flop and the fin flap!!!! OI! I ate it anyway (It didn’t wink at me so…)
My sisters have been forwarding my emails to everyone for me, since I’m unable to send so many out myself, and have trouble connecting to hotmail. Anyway, sorry for the mass mailing, but it’s the only way I can manage to get this out. I will try to post to www.hanihong.blogspot.com instead, so you can read it freely there. Oh, by the way, please do not send me any forwarded mail to my email. It’s difficult to get through the email here, so I can live without. THANKS.
I miss the U.S. and most of all New York (next to my dad, of course). Will write again.
Cheers.
February 06, 2001
Saigon
So I’m sitting here in an internet cafe across from the ice cream shop. Connection rate is still 14.4 I think. It’s unbearably slow. I keep forgetting to mention all the funny stuff I see. For one thing, Vietnam is full of creepy crawlies – we’ve got lizards and ants and mosquitoes in the house – and it’s an air conditioned and luxurious house.
This morning we had a nice bowl of noodle soup (bun bo hue) and then fresh fruit - papaya and mangoes and star apples, called "vu sua" meaning "milk of the breast." Vu sua is a fruit that has a milky flesh, hence its descriptive moniker. We then drank fresh coconut juice out of, well, coconuts. Oh, and yesterday, mom and I had fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from the street vendor. We had our taxi driver pull over on the street while the vendor squeezed it for us into plastic bags, complete with straws and banded shut with rubber bands. I haven’t gotten sick from any of the food or vegetables, or even the meat, but I’m going to steer clear of most meat we encounter. I happened upon the meat department in the huge Saigon market, a sight you should not see. People are on raised platforms with their slabs of meat hanging on hooks. It’s freakin’ 90 degrees outside. It’s an outdoor market. Needless to say, other bugs and mosquitoes all around.
Cyclo drivers sleep along the sidewalk when they’re off duty, and crossing the street is far more harrowing than in NYC any time of the day. There are no street lights, and no regards to the painted lines – you often find yourself facing oncoming traffic whether on foot or driving. Most amazing is the sheer number of 2-wheeled Honda motorbikes and cyclists who all “share� the road. No one wears a helmet, and sometimes, you see little 2 and 3 year old kids clinging on for dear life. I can’t even begin to imagine what might happen if they fell asleep in the back seat.
must run now.
xxo
hani
So I’m sitting here in an internet cafe across from the ice cream shop. Connection rate is still 14.4 I think. It’s unbearably slow. I keep forgetting to mention all the funny stuff I see. For one thing, Vietnam is full of creepy crawlies – we’ve got lizards and ants and mosquitoes in the house – and it’s an air conditioned and luxurious house.
This morning we had a nice bowl of noodle soup (bun bo hue) and then fresh fruit - papaya and mangoes and star apples, called "vu sua" meaning "milk of the breast." Vu sua is a fruit that has a milky flesh, hence its descriptive moniker. We then drank fresh coconut juice out of, well, coconuts. Oh, and yesterday, mom and I had fresh squeezed sugar cane juice from the street vendor. We had our taxi driver pull over on the street while the vendor squeezed it for us into plastic bags, complete with straws and banded shut with rubber bands. I haven’t gotten sick from any of the food or vegetables, or even the meat, but I’m going to steer clear of most meat we encounter. I happened upon the meat department in the huge Saigon market, a sight you should not see. People are on raised platforms with their slabs of meat hanging on hooks. It’s freakin’ 90 degrees outside. It’s an outdoor market. Needless to say, other bugs and mosquitoes all around.
Cyclo drivers sleep along the sidewalk when they’re off duty, and crossing the street is far more harrowing than in NYC any time of the day. There are no street lights, and no regards to the painted lines – you often find yourself facing oncoming traffic whether on foot or driving. Most amazing is the sheer number of 2-wheeled Honda motorbikes and cyclists who all “share� the road. No one wears a helmet, and sometimes, you see little 2 and 3 year old kids clinging on for dear life. I can’t even begin to imagine what might happen if they fell asleep in the back seat.
must run now.
xxo
hani
February 05, 2001
First Impression
Vietnam.
I'm well, I'm eating well, and everything is somewhat as expected. Di 10's house is beautiful and large, though her taste in art varies from beautiful to tacky. My room is a loft area with a living room, and cherry wood floors and a window facing the front yard. The moon shines directly through it late at night. The river runs behind the house, and the cross breezes are wonderful. Di 10 had an air conditioner installed for me the day I arrived. Whenever she wants anything - curtains, furniture, mirrors - she calls for custom orders. My coffee is made for me every morning. Espresso.
There are many things that are odd and most notably, the money. I traded my aunt a $20 USD for $280,000 today. It costs about 70 cents to have shoes repaired, and a bowl of noodle soup costs about 70cents as well. The employees at my aunt's restaurants work 28 days a month, 8 hours a day and are paid $50 USD a month. It is a much sought after job, because it is relatively high pay. There is a lack of respect for privacy. No one has any sense of personal space (they are very pushy people). Everyone talks very very loud (it must be in the genes), and we eat all day long.
The first day I arrived, mom gave me 2 bucks to tuck into my passport when going through customs (I told her not to try this at home). It helps reduce questioning, and then they let you through. When we picked up our baggage, all we had to do was explain that Di 9 (aunt 9) is Mme. A (My uncle A is a famous doctor) and we were let through. Also, to get through to my aunt's house, there is a toll booth - you have to pay 10,000 dollars to get through with a ticket (equal to about 70 cents) and then on your way out, they give you 5,000 back. If you just give them 2000 or so, they'll let you through, and pocket the cash so you don't get anything back on the way out again.
My second day here, we had to set up an altar to commemorate my great-grandmother's death and pray for her in her afterlife. The whole family came over, and we had a very large banquet. My aunt 9, who is a palm reader (my great uncle was famous for his sixth sense and used to read the President's palm) made a deal with me that if I teach her English, she'll teach me how to read palms. Sounds like a good deal to me.
Everyone makes fun of my Vietnamese, though they then contradict and tell me it's very good (especially for someone who left VN at 18 months). They also tell me that I look really young (I've heard anywhere between 10 and 20) and that I've got nice eyebrows. Funny people.
So the other interesting thing is that here in Vietnam, everyone looks alike!!! I'm not kidding. And the weirdest thing is that I look like them too! But I keep forgetting that I do. But as soon as I open my mouth, they know I'm a foreigner. The other weird thing is that in my family, my siblings and I used to use Vietnamese to talk about people in front of us. I can't do that here, because it's not a secret language over here. It stinks.
I think I might have a job teaching English at the university nearby. I met one of my aunt's business friends today at her ice cream shop and she happens to be friends with the director of the University so I'm going to hand her my resume. So far so good. Good food, good company, and maybe a job.
It's super hot here, but at night, we get a good breeze and it's nice and cool. It's not as bad as New York was in the summer of '99. I'm loving it so far, and think I might stay a while. We will travel to the north and central highlands after the wedding on the 18th. My new aunt (my uncle's bride) is ordering a traditional vietnamese ao dai to be made for me. Must be off now.
Ciao tutti.
hani
I'm well, I'm eating well, and everything is somewhat as expected. Di 10's house is beautiful and large, though her taste in art varies from beautiful to tacky. My room is a loft area with a living room, and cherry wood floors and a window facing the front yard. The moon shines directly through it late at night. The river runs behind the house, and the cross breezes are wonderful. Di 10 had an air conditioner installed for me the day I arrived. Whenever she wants anything - curtains, furniture, mirrors - she calls for custom orders. My coffee is made for me every morning. Espresso.
There are many things that are odd and most notably, the money. I traded my aunt a $20 USD for $280,000 today. It costs about 70 cents to have shoes repaired, and a bowl of noodle soup costs about 70cents as well. The employees at my aunt's restaurants work 28 days a month, 8 hours a day and are paid $50 USD a month. It is a much sought after job, because it is relatively high pay. There is a lack of respect for privacy. No one has any sense of personal space (they are very pushy people). Everyone talks very very loud (it must be in the genes), and we eat all day long.
The first day I arrived, mom gave me 2 bucks to tuck into my passport when going through customs (I told her not to try this at home). It helps reduce questioning, and then they let you through. When we picked up our baggage, all we had to do was explain that Di 9 (aunt 9) is Mme. A (My uncle A is a famous doctor) and we were let through. Also, to get through to my aunt's house, there is a toll booth - you have to pay 10,000 dollars to get through with a ticket (equal to about 70 cents) and then on your way out, they give you 5,000 back. If you just give them 2000 or so, they'll let you through, and pocket the cash so you don't get anything back on the way out again.
My second day here, we had to set up an altar to commemorate my great-grandmother's death and pray for her in her afterlife. The whole family came over, and we had a very large banquet. My aunt 9, who is a palm reader (my great uncle was famous for his sixth sense and used to read the President's palm) made a deal with me that if I teach her English, she'll teach me how to read palms. Sounds like a good deal to me.
Everyone makes fun of my Vietnamese, though they then contradict and tell me it's very good (especially for someone who left VN at 18 months). They also tell me that I look really young (I've heard anywhere between 10 and 20) and that I've got nice eyebrows. Funny people.
So the other interesting thing is that here in Vietnam, everyone looks alike!!! I'm not kidding. And the weirdest thing is that I look like them too! But I keep forgetting that I do. But as soon as I open my mouth, they know I'm a foreigner. The other weird thing is that in my family, my siblings and I used to use Vietnamese to talk about people in front of us. I can't do that here, because it's not a secret language over here. It stinks.
I think I might have a job teaching English at the university nearby. I met one of my aunt's business friends today at her ice cream shop and she happens to be friends with the director of the University so I'm going to hand her my resume. So far so good. Good food, good company, and maybe a job.
It's super hot here, but at night, we get a good breeze and it's nice and cool. It's not as bad as New York was in the summer of '99. I'm loving it so far, and think I might stay a while. We will travel to the north and central highlands after the wedding on the 18th. My new aunt (my uncle's bride) is ordering a traditional vietnamese ao dai to be made for me. Must be off now.
Ciao tutti.
hani
