4 months down, 3 months to go, and finally unpacking. after staying at a half dozen cheap guest houses and a couple of temp apartments, im finally ready to pick up my backpack full of 19 kilos worth of stuff i obviously didnt need. its been in storage since feb 1 when i went to australia, and took just what i could fit in a backpack that so diminutive, it would not fit my laptop. naturally, ive purchased a ton of shit along the way, many times opting to simply rush into a store and snag a new outfit appropriate for school rather than try to rush all the way home.
i really liked the last place i was at, staying with Hai, a young asian bisexual dude, Simon, a french guy in the rice trading business and his viet girlfriend My. it was well situated, right over a short bridge from downtown, walkable if you didnt feel like spending the buck for a taxi, which isnt very much, but trying to communicate where you are trying to go is sometimes so taxing, its just easier to go on foot. but the timing is about right. what was a charming little neighborhood when we moved in just weeks before, situated round a tiny triangle of green space where streets converge in something other than a 90 degree angle. the vietnamese are pretty crafty at building tall slender towers, and have no trouble putting a multi story apartment complex on a parcel no bigger than a postage stamp, despite the fact that neighboring buildings are all just a couple of stories. in light of this, its surprising to see any open space, since there is not a parcel small enough to be unused.
while this nook was spared from construction, the crews descended upon our neigb in a big way. within a few days, two of the neighboring buildings got demo'ed. forget about one of the great benefits of this early semi-retirement plan ive signed up for, namely, waking up when your body is good and ready. crews start loud banging around 6 am, and only the aged who have lost their hearing are spared. using the hard labor of workers recruited from the countryside, who are equipped with the most basic tools, constructing with ladders fashioned from bamboo and rope, constructing their own man made scaffolding from bits of discarded materials, fashioning rebar by hand into the shapes they need to build forms which are only roughly symmetrical.
in contrast, my new place is in a far busier area, with no more charm than say 8th avenue in the 30's. but, the little alley i live on which is only wide enough for a single motorbike to pass has no traffic, is perfectly peaceful, and provided the first good nights sleep since sledgehammers slammed against brick some weeks back.
after a shower, i venture out on foot on the first night to see what kind of food options await me. i am riding a bicycle these days, but i opt to go on foot to see whats near. not far from my door is a brightly lit fresh juice and smoothy cart, where avocado shakes look tasty. heading further down the main street, i approach a well lit corner, that has several food stalls clustered all together with the usual offerings: sandwiches, seashells of all varieties, all dishes a buck or so. but i opt instead for the well lit and very tidy 24 hour pho 5 sao, regular wisdom would suggest that i stick with the noodle soup, since this is what they are obviously best at. but the dennys style menu offers page after page of other options. pizza, spaghetti, all with pix that look reasonable good. meal deals couple many popular dishes with a large cup of pepsi and some weird looking desserts. i opt for lasagna, something i havent had since the last meal in an american diner. it comes with 4 slices of toasted white bread. burgers are also offered, tho they are referred to as hambogo. perhaps next visit.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
on aging
teaching my students the different stages of life, i asked them what they thought middle-aged might be. with a little coaxing, the began to grasp the idea that this is somewhere around the halfway point. but when asked to show where this fell on a timeline i'd drawn on the blackboard, they put a mark around 30. first, i thought this was a misunderstanding, or possibly the concepts students often have of their teachers being ancient. did you used to go to work by dinosaur, etc. except, these were not the young kids that i teach, but adults who learn english at night after work. then i realized, this is the right answer in vietnam. the life expectancy is considerably shorter here. perhaps this explains the complete disregard of safety. a dad will pilot his motor-scooter with just his right hand which is needed to accelerate, under his left arm, just like you might carry a bag of groceries by pressing it against your body, is his infant child. hope the cellphone doesnt ring.
blessed with smooth skin, women who rarely grow taller than the average 14 year old in america look like children dressed in barbie® goes to work attire. my boss wears braces, shuffles around like little a youngster wearing fuzzy slippers. though she doesnt look a day over 15, she could be twice that, which is to say, middle aged.
i remember reading an article about gillette, the shaver conglomerate setting their sites on china. while the average asian man shaves far less frequently than his western peers who are clearly not as far along in the evolution process, theres a billion of em. who am i to doubt the wisdom of a huge multi-national company, but i cannot see these hairless dudes ever hitting the shaving aisle, if such a section of the drug store even exists. more likely, it would seem like these would fall under the kind specialty items you might special order if you have a freak condition, like shoes for people with one leg inches shorter than the next, gloves for those born with webbed extremities, or a colostomy bag for those who can no longer use the original exit provided.
when you do spot old people, they are ancient. old ladies wear the same pajama suits which are essentially house coats, and bamboo hats like youve seen in the movies. the perfect uniform for toiling under the intense heat, squatting to do washing and baby care duties that are still exclusively ladies work. most likely, this older generation has not felt the slow creep of womens liberation. besides the obvious giveaways such as white hair, crazily wrinkled skin, and a mouth full of gums with maybe just a single rotten tooth remaining. they tend to sport the hairstyle from their day. keeping it up in a bun is apparently very old school.
blessed with smooth skin, women who rarely grow taller than the average 14 year old in america look like children dressed in barbie® goes to work attire. my boss wears braces, shuffles around like little a youngster wearing fuzzy slippers. though she doesnt look a day over 15, she could be twice that, which is to say, middle aged.
i remember reading an article about gillette, the shaver conglomerate setting their sites on china. while the average asian man shaves far less frequently than his western peers who are clearly not as far along in the evolution process, theres a billion of em. who am i to doubt the wisdom of a huge multi-national company, but i cannot see these hairless dudes ever hitting the shaving aisle, if such a section of the drug store even exists. more likely, it would seem like these would fall under the kind specialty items you might special order if you have a freak condition, like shoes for people with one leg inches shorter than the next, gloves for those born with webbed extremities, or a colostomy bag for those who can no longer use the original exit provided.
when you do spot old people, they are ancient. old ladies wear the same pajama suits which are essentially house coats, and bamboo hats like youve seen in the movies. the perfect uniform for toiling under the intense heat, squatting to do washing and baby care duties that are still exclusively ladies work. most likely, this older generation has not felt the slow creep of womens liberation. besides the obvious giveaways such as white hair, crazily wrinkled skin, and a mouth full of gums with maybe just a single rotten tooth remaining. they tend to sport the hairstyle from their day. keeping it up in a bun is apparently very old school.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
the grind
I try to never lose sight of what an amazing experience it is here. I meet a ton of the friendliest people every day. Being a big white guy gets you near celeb status when you are in non-touristy areas. I have moved out of my hotel room in the the budget travel area Pham Ngu Lao, which is the local equivalent of Kao San Road. If you havent been to Bangkok, this is the backpacker street that’s a bit of a joke, with so many westerners, each toting a lonely planet and sporting a t-shirt with an ironic message or wearing a sarong but still looking not the least bit local.
The residential area where I share a cute 3 story house with a Vietnamese guy named Hai, a French dude named Simon and his local girlfriend Me, is just 5 minutes over the bridge from the city center, but that’s far enough to remove me from any kind of kitsch shops. It also lessens the possibility of anyone I meet speaking a lick of English. For this reason ive elected to take a course in Vietnamese at the local University. That still leaves quite a few spare hours in my sparsely filled day, but with class prep for the 3 classes I teach and the countless hours of practice that learning a new language will require, ill be lucky if I am able to squeeze in a yoga class every few days.
I was getting a social life together, when a guy on a motorbike snatched the iphone out of my hand mid conversation. I shouted and chased in his direction for a few strides before the bike was lost in the throngs of traffic. I plan to replace the pricey phone that makes you an obvious target with something considerably cheaper, but it may take me a while to build up a new set of numbers.
Nights are a little tricky. it’s not like I know a ton of people, so as night falls, I usually settle into one of the thousands of street kiosks which take over the entire sidewalk forcing pedestrians into the perilous roads. These mom and pop restaurants set up nightly with dozens of crappy little stools that are more suited to a child than someone my size. The things are flimsy and strain under my weight, but so far, I haven’t completely embarrassed myself by shattering one. A good meal can be had for a buck or two, and soup is appropriate fare for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pho, the noodle soup you can get in the states for about $7 is a safe bet, if you make sure they understand that you dont want any of the mystery parts like pigs ears, intestines or other gross looking shit. Another great choice is the sour fish soup with tomatoes and something that looks like bamboo, but is edible. Theres another one with phosphourescent cubes of tofu floating in it.
While this satisfies my hunger, I still feel the need to do something where conversation with someone might be possible. A handful of super trendy clubs have pricey cover charges and drinks to match. While I normally prefer hole in the wall joints where you can actually hear what the person you are talking to is saying, I went to a fancy schmantzy place sat night. The Cage sounded like the kind of place that might have a goth decor and one of those human cages suspended from cables with semi-clads dancing like at Limelight, the NYC church turned disco that was hugely popular in the 80’s. This place was far more subdued, Bamboo birdcages hanging everywhere, with chandeliers suspended inside them. A cool look I may want to borrow if I ever decide to decorate my place with a 1930s French colonial “indochine” look. The music was actually pretty decent, the DJ working hard to mix some interesting beats, not once playing anything annoying like “tonight’s going to be a good night”, Acon or Lady Gaga. Probably why there wasn’t much of a crowd.
None in fact. Tough break for a club that could easily support 200 to have just a dozen or so. There were 3 women in the place, but all pretty glued to the man standing beside them, and one by one, they were the first to exit. Half a dozen dudes were all that remained, leaning against the bar and staring dumbly at the empty dance floor. Just then the front door opened and a couple of groups piled in, not exactly filling the dance floor but at least reminding you what it was there for. While this made the place feel more like a club, these tight-knit groups were pretty inpenatratable. When a couple of pretty local girls walked in and seemed enthusiastic about the music, sitting alone but doing a bit of chair dancing, I went over to see if they spoke a word or two of my mother tongue. Turns out, they could speak several words, but you really need to listen well to understand someone with an accent, so the pro sound system didn’t provide the best backdrop. I just smiled to everything they said just as they probably did whenever I attempted to communicate. Not a minute into the conversation, Lili got super friendly and I would be a liar to say I didn’t enjoy her wandering hands and the total grind session you dont generally get for your first go on the dancefloor. But where do you go from here if you wont take home a working girl? She wrote her number on my hand, where it remained the remainder of the night while I slept. I glanced at it once more in the morning before stepping in the hot shower.
The residential area where I share a cute 3 story house with a Vietnamese guy named Hai, a French dude named Simon and his local girlfriend Me, is just 5 minutes over the bridge from the city center, but that’s far enough to remove me from any kind of kitsch shops. It also lessens the possibility of anyone I meet speaking a lick of English. For this reason ive elected to take a course in Vietnamese at the local University. That still leaves quite a few spare hours in my sparsely filled day, but with class prep for the 3 classes I teach and the countless hours of practice that learning a new language will require, ill be lucky if I am able to squeeze in a yoga class every few days.
I was getting a social life together, when a guy on a motorbike snatched the iphone out of my hand mid conversation. I shouted and chased in his direction for a few strides before the bike was lost in the throngs of traffic. I plan to replace the pricey phone that makes you an obvious target with something considerably cheaper, but it may take me a while to build up a new set of numbers.
Nights are a little tricky. it’s not like I know a ton of people, so as night falls, I usually settle into one of the thousands of street kiosks which take over the entire sidewalk forcing pedestrians into the perilous roads. These mom and pop restaurants set up nightly with dozens of crappy little stools that are more suited to a child than someone my size. The things are flimsy and strain under my weight, but so far, I haven’t completely embarrassed myself by shattering one. A good meal can be had for a buck or two, and soup is appropriate fare for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pho, the noodle soup you can get in the states for about $7 is a safe bet, if you make sure they understand that you dont want any of the mystery parts like pigs ears, intestines or other gross looking shit. Another great choice is the sour fish soup with tomatoes and something that looks like bamboo, but is edible. Theres another one with phosphourescent cubes of tofu floating in it.
While this satisfies my hunger, I still feel the need to do something where conversation with someone might be possible. A handful of super trendy clubs have pricey cover charges and drinks to match. While I normally prefer hole in the wall joints where you can actually hear what the person you are talking to is saying, I went to a fancy schmantzy place sat night. The Cage sounded like the kind of place that might have a goth decor and one of those human cages suspended from cables with semi-clads dancing like at Limelight, the NYC church turned disco that was hugely popular in the 80’s. This place was far more subdued, Bamboo birdcages hanging everywhere, with chandeliers suspended inside them. A cool look I may want to borrow if I ever decide to decorate my place with a 1930s French colonial “indochine” look. The music was actually pretty decent, the DJ working hard to mix some interesting beats, not once playing anything annoying like “tonight’s going to be a good night”, Acon or Lady Gaga. Probably why there wasn’t much of a crowd.
None in fact. Tough break for a club that could easily support 200 to have just a dozen or so. There were 3 women in the place, but all pretty glued to the man standing beside them, and one by one, they were the first to exit. Half a dozen dudes were all that remained, leaning against the bar and staring dumbly at the empty dance floor. Just then the front door opened and a couple of groups piled in, not exactly filling the dance floor but at least reminding you what it was there for. While this made the place feel more like a club, these tight-knit groups were pretty inpenatratable. When a couple of pretty local girls walked in and seemed enthusiastic about the music, sitting alone but doing a bit of chair dancing, I went over to see if they spoke a word or two of my mother tongue. Turns out, they could speak several words, but you really need to listen well to understand someone with an accent, so the pro sound system didn’t provide the best backdrop. I just smiled to everything they said just as they probably did whenever I attempted to communicate. Not a minute into the conversation, Lili got super friendly and I would be a liar to say I didn’t enjoy her wandering hands and the total grind session you dont generally get for your first go on the dancefloor. But where do you go from here if you wont take home a working girl? She wrote her number on my hand, where it remained the remainder of the night while I slept. I glanced at it once more in the morning before stepping in the hot shower.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Metalica
The name of the bar I found just around the corner from work, a super dull neighb by day, a computer district with place after place selling nearly identical shit. But at night, a half dozen cafes, a couple of enticing restaurants and the place I'm in which is rocking out transform the area.
Ok, rocking out might not be the right term, the band was doing "how deep is your love" when I walked in. but now their doing their better material, grunge era stuff like "can u take me higher" by Creed, Alice in Chains and the like.
They don't have Carlsberg Beer I ordered, and I hate to order the Mexican or American imports they serve for top dollar, so I go for their signature cocktail, expecting something with more balls, but I'm disapointed again. The martini glass is adorned with a marachino cherry, and the drink captures the medicinal flavor as well as chalky consistency of kaopectate. Yummy. Price of this must to avoid cocktail is 88,000, or as i often use to guage cost, the same cost as a sushi dinner.
The cute asian front girls nail J.LO's "lets get loud", but the keyboard sounds more like the accordion from our elementary schools music teacher, Michael Berle. Band speaks English perfectly, tho with a certain accent I can't place, prolly from the Philippines or Singapore. Dressed in short shorts and metalic boots, they are nice eye candy and the place starts to fill. But other than a single mixed table, it's all dudes, making this place which already takes it's decor tips from stripper bars, with its all black/grey decor (hides stains) look even more like a place where change is given in singles. just install a brass pole.
A ten minute drum solo is prolly not what u expect in the middle of "rolling on the river", but they deliver a dubble portion of ear shattering percussion. Bon jovies "it's my life" follows. A fave at clubs, the type of song that DJs will switch off the volume and get huge audience participation. Not even near my top 10, but at least it's not "po-po-po-popoker face". Who the fuck is Lady Gaga, and more importantly, why do chicks have the absolute WORST taste in music! Most annoying song on the airwaves since Rihannas "my umbrella"
So this is going to make me sound like a geezer, but I sware the volume they're covering Tina Turner at is doing irreperable damage to my eardrums, and rattling some of my internal organs. Wonder if u can even get earplugs in this country. Today, I watched a shirtless man prying at the rebar holding the tiny cement ledge he was standing on. He was only on the 2nd floor so the fall probably wouldn't kill him, but safety is not a major preocupation.
Bands taking a break and I'm relieved momentarily, but then Modannas "like a prayer" super remix, with added bone shakin' bass comes on. Shit, just when I thought Id check if the blood running out of my ears was of any concern. I am forced to stop tapping on the phone keyboard and literally put my fingers in my ears. Just as I make it to the door, they start to belt out a reasonably believable Cocaine by Clapton. It's definitely hit and miss here, with a range as wide as a karaoke club, spanning the full range between Janice Joplin and Dolly Parton. And like the popular Asian pastime, the more you drink, the better it starts to sound.
Ok, rocking out might not be the right term, the band was doing "how deep is your love" when I walked in. but now their doing their better material, grunge era stuff like "can u take me higher" by Creed, Alice in Chains and the like.
They don't have Carlsberg Beer I ordered, and I hate to order the Mexican or American imports they serve for top dollar, so I go for their signature cocktail, expecting something with more balls, but I'm disapointed again. The martini glass is adorned with a marachino cherry, and the drink captures the medicinal flavor as well as chalky consistency of kaopectate. Yummy. Price of this must to avoid cocktail is 88,000, or as i often use to guage cost, the same cost as a sushi dinner.
The cute asian front girls nail J.LO's "lets get loud", but the keyboard sounds more like the accordion from our elementary schools music teacher, Michael Berle. Band speaks English perfectly, tho with a certain accent I can't place, prolly from the Philippines or Singapore. Dressed in short shorts and metalic boots, they are nice eye candy and the place starts to fill. But other than a single mixed table, it's all dudes, making this place which already takes it's decor tips from stripper bars, with its all black/grey decor (hides stains) look even more like a place where change is given in singles. just install a brass pole.
A ten minute drum solo is prolly not what u expect in the middle of "rolling on the river", but they deliver a dubble portion of ear shattering percussion. Bon jovies "it's my life" follows. A fave at clubs, the type of song that DJs will switch off the volume and get huge audience participation. Not even near my top 10, but at least it's not "po-po-po-popoker face". Who the fuck is Lady Gaga, and more importantly, why do chicks have the absolute WORST taste in music! Most annoying song on the airwaves since Rihannas "my umbrella"
So this is going to make me sound like a geezer, but I sware the volume they're covering Tina Turner at is doing irreperable damage to my eardrums, and rattling some of my internal organs. Wonder if u can even get earplugs in this country. Today, I watched a shirtless man prying at the rebar holding the tiny cement ledge he was standing on. He was only on the 2nd floor so the fall probably wouldn't kill him, but safety is not a major preocupation.
Bands taking a break and I'm relieved momentarily, but then Modannas "like a prayer" super remix, with added bone shakin' bass comes on. Shit, just when I thought Id check if the blood running out of my ears was of any concern. I am forced to stop tapping on the phone keyboard and literally put my fingers in my ears. Just as I make it to the door, they start to belt out a reasonably believable Cocaine by Clapton. It's definitely hit and miss here, with a range as wide as a karaoke club, spanning the full range between Janice Joplin and Dolly Parton. And like the popular Asian pastime, the more you drink, the better it starts to sound.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
luxury accommodations it aint
but the hotel i found a couple of nights ago is the best deal so far, just 100,000 dong or $6 a nite. clean, cute cleaning staff, good security and away from the tourist area. id rather not be limited to the backpacker district, which is much like staying in times square: catering to a ton of whiteys everywhere with hundreds of hotels back to back, travel agents ready to send you just about anywhere, restaurants with menus in english, crap souvenir shops, atms and of course plenty of hookers handy, some of them actual females. but once anybody knows better, 42nd and 8th ave is the last place youd want to be. wondering aimlessly, i found a lowbrow area (shocking) near the bus station in a district that caters to locals. essentially, ive stumbled upon queens, and while im not much of a fan of my parents', archie bunker's and rosie odonell's home town, im simply luvin how real it is. plus, as the token 6 foot tall Caucasian on the street, i may as well be vin diesel. i get so many looks, hellos from small children, i should carry a sharpie and distribute signatures.
but finding a permanent place to live is anything but easy. i had someone write down how "apt/room for rent" is written so i can recognize it when signs posted. prob is, i dont get any of the other copy on the flier. could say rat infested, or directly above a smelting plant and I wouldn’t know. calling the number, its unlikely anyone who picks up will speak a lick of English other than hello, which seems to have been adopted as the way to answer calls. i found two real estate offices with a list of rooms for rent that cost between $30 and $50, im guessing per week. Unfortunately, complete communication disconnect, so i took their card, and will return with a vietnamese friend. i am also considering enrolling in language classes. I don't do very much here that I need a large vocabulary, just the same stuff I trip over daily.
for instance, this morning, my coffee came black. So I motioned the universal hand language of pouring something into the glass. She held up the sugar, so it seemed like we were heading in the right direction, but then the communication lines broke down. She went into the kitchen for a long time and when she emerged with a tea kettle, I wondered what gesture that was not obcene could impart the idea of something extracted from a cows boob. Next she brought out a cup of tepid water. Not just room temp, but sort of half boiled. Lovely. I shook my head no once more, and was presented with a large mug of iced tea which accompanies most meals, and u dont pay for, no matter how many u throw back. Not the sickeningly sweet Country Time reconstituted chemicals and food colorings variety, but some unsweetened green tea. this shouldnt be so difficult a concept to impart!
Finally someone English speaking showed up and explained one possibility I hadnt considered. They were out of milk.
Monday, February 22, 2010
mythbusters: impossible to find a collie steak here
tons of dogs here, none on the menus of restaurants. while you dont see manicured upper east side prize winning pure-breads on a louis vuitton leash, they are free to run about on the streets, perilously close to moving traffic, the same as young children. fed plenty of scraps and appear healthy. all the people who warned me against bringing sparky because dogs are something put on a baggette with cheese and chili sauce have fallen for this. like the myth that says asian girls special place is a horizontal affair (to match squinted eyes?), theres not a shred of truth in it. busted!
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