Goodbye Lonely Planet

Almost exactly three years ago, after writing and posting my travel stories for several years, I came across an item on LonelyPlanet.com stating they were looking for travel bloggers. At the time I was in Puerto Vallarta writing a daily column and quickly sent out an email to LP. A few days later, I was one of the new, “Lonely Planet Featured Bloggers”.  What a thrill that was! Even though my first three years of living in Vietnam had been prior to the start of the LP Blogsherpa program, now a much wider audience would have direct access to all those stories and others to come.

An email the other day informed all the Blogsherpa writers that sometime in December the program would be eliminated and our posts will disappear from the pages of LP.com. Now all those lovely tales from writers traveling and living in places far and near will no longer be available with just a click on a Lonely Planet destination page.

My story about Building a Boat in Mui Ne, won’t be found on the Vietnam pages.

 

The one about the Puerto Vallarta Botanical Garden will also disappear.

 

There are the stories from Hoi An.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Ho Chi Minh City.

 And the one about the Golden Gate Bridge turning 75 this year.

I will miss my LP readers and miss the oportunity to share my stories with such a large audience.

Happy travel to all.

Kate

Where NOT to buy Cuban Cigars in Saigon

My last night in Vietnam was to be coffee and Cuban cigars with a few friends. I’d heard that there was a top-scale stogie shop in District 1 in Ho Chi Minh City, and after some searching and a few phone calls, I’d located it.

Casa Habana Cigars is located on 41 Ha Ba Trung St,  Dist 1, HCMC, just a block or so down from the Park Hyatt. Walking in I was very impressed; walls of glass windowed, temp controlled, cigar cabinets. This looked as good as the ones in Puerta Vallarta, Mexico.
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I asked about Romeo and Juliet’s, knowing that they were what I had wanted to buy. They were out of number 4’s, so I looked at the number 2’s. I picked up a cigar and took a whiff; humm….not what I had remembered. I asked the manager about their packaging date, then turned the box over.
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Oh, I said, these were packed in 2009, they’re two years old.
But that’s what makes them so good, she replied.
Huh?
Yes, I have many customers who insist on aged cigars, she assured me.
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I knew this was wrong. I knew they were way past their shelf life, but spent $18 a piece on two cigars. I have no idea why I believed her, especially after I had asked her who imported their cigars.
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The owner makes trips to Cuba to buy all the cigars, but he isn’t Vietnamese, he’s American, she told me.
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I pointed out that this could not be possible since it was illegal for Americans to go to Cuba, let alone run an import/export deal with the country.
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She assured me that I was wrong; that this was a legitimate business venture.
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That evening we lit up the cigars and I kicked myself; they sucked. They were not the smooth, tasty Cubans I had sampled in Mexico. They were old, and not totally horrible, but certainly not worth $18.
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In retrospect, I realized that I should have looked for a different brand and taken much more time in selecting my cigars. But the heat, humidity, and last day errands had gotten the better of me and thrown me off my usual cautious self when buying luxury items in places like Vietnam. However, that does not excuse a sleazy American from ripping people off and disseminating false information about Cuban cigars.
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Now I must wait for my next trip to Mexico where the cigar shops are run by honest folks.

Kate

Tet Flower Street 2011

Tet, the Lunar New Year, just doesn’t get any better than in Ho Chi Minh City. Every house and every shop and every big building is embellished in red and gold, with flowers and plants and decorations out front and on windows and doors.

The absolute best, however, is what they do to Nguyen Hue Street, in the center of town. This is a massive, wide boulevard that runs straight down to the Saigon River. Every year, for about the past ten years, the street is closed to traffic and turned into a park. And we are not just talking a few potted plants; the actually lay bricks and mortar to create winding flower beds, install giant fountains and, this year, a central lotus pond with concrete walls. It takes about two weeks to build, is open to the public for one week, and then it comes down.

I learned that before the annual park, came into existence, Nguyen Hue Street was where they used to have the flower market that I had visited last week. It had taken place every year for as long as anyone could remember. The city fathers, however, were tired of the mess it created and tried to put a stop to it. Finally, someone came up with the ingenious plan to move the flower market to a park, and turn Nguyen Hue into a temporary Tet garden.

Even though half the population has left the city to go visit relations outside of town, that still leaves a goodly number of residents. The traffic is very light in comparison and it is not quite so dangerous to cross the street. Nevertheless, that half of the population descends on central HCMC to walk amongst the gardens of Tet. And this is why one needs to take a stroll down Nguyen Hue at 6:00am.

When I got out of the taxi at 5:55, it was still pitch black. Even so, there were already people doing the walk which was lit by beautiful lanterns in various shapes. I tried to find my friend and thought I should have brought a flashlight. No need; 15 minutes later, there was plenty of light. That’s another interesting thing about life here; the sun comes up in a blast and goes down with almost no warning. Light to dark, dark to light in a quick flash.

All the types of plants I had seen at the flower market lined the sides of the streets, and down the center, arranged like a mini-Versailles. My friend and I stopped every few feet to marvel at the intricate displays and beautiful colors. Cat statues, in various forms and sizes, dotted the entire route.

My favorite was the lotus pond. I couldn’t believe that they were going to tear it down in a week. I asked my friend if maybe they would leave it. She looked at me like I was nuts. I thought about it and realized it was actually situated in a car lane so no, I guess they’d really have to remove it.

About an hour later, we stopped off for a cup of coffee then headed over to Tao Dan Park to see the flower show; yet another horticultural wonder. Upon entering, we were greeted by the most spectacular flower dragon I have ever seen. His body went on for what seemed like a mile.

Among the tall, tall trees and areas of grass, various plants held court. The special Tet trees, in yellow as well as red and pink, stood in pots throughout one section of the park. Bonsai plants filled one area, orchids in another. There were a few things I had never seen, like these gigantic potted gardens that had been made with rocks and bonsai plants, and contained little ceramic figures of people and buildings. I was a bit sad that there were only a few of the dragon figures that are made entirely of plants, vegetables and fruit. It must be a dying art.

As wondrous and beautiful as everything was, I was most touched by the people of HCMC and their love of the holiday. Families were out in all their finery, laughing and smiling and taking photos in front of picturesque backdrops. Young women, dressed to the nines, posed like Vogue models while they took turns taking each other’s picture. Grannies and grandpa’s and the whole extended family stood for group photos. Mom’s and dad’s, their kids dressed in bright silk, traditional costumes, had a bit of trouble getting the little ones to stand still, but eventually got their shot, laughing the whole time.

The sheer joy of the entire population is something I have never experienced in any country for any holiday. It has been a week of everyone smiling and everyone being happy. Wherever I walk, I greet people with Happy New Year, in my somewhat understandable Vietnamese. The reaction I always get is a giant smile and a return greeting.

It seems to me that the Year of the Cat is off to an excellent start.

Kate

Strange Rabbits & A Flower Market

 The Vietnamese and Chinese New Year begins the evening of February 2nd. Before leaving the US, I made sure I knew exactly what year on the animal wheel it would be so that I wouldn’t appear stupid. I found out that it would be the Year of the Rabbit.

The Lunar New Year is the biggest event of the year in Vietnam, and the city has been gearing up since before I arrived. Main streets in the central district are bedecked with ornamental lighting. Huge flower/plant markets are set up in all districts of the city and most likely throughout the country. Red and gold decorations depicting the animal year and traditional tokens of luck, such as pineapples and coins, are sold on street corners, supermarkets, and most shops.

Soon after arriving I started to look for a funky Rabbit Year talisman. I couldn’t seem to find any. I clearly remember buying gold plastic little horses and pigs when it was there year. So where were the rabbits? I looked at all the posters and door decorations on both houses and stores and the only animal I saw was a very strange rabbit with short ears. And I kept seeing variations of these critters. Perhaps Vietnamese rabbits were different from the ones I knew.

Several days ago I wondered by Nguyen Hue Street where they were busy constructing that temporary flower park. At the top of the street, at the main entrance, where they always have a large display of the current animal, I again noticed to the short-eared rabbits. Then I noticed the long tails. OK, so what I had been seeing wasn’t a mutant rabbit but a cat. That would make sense except that I had been certain we were going into a rabbit year. Maybe it was now rabbit and we were transitioning into cat.

While in the lobby of a hotel, waiting for a friend, I asked the receptionist what year it was going to be. Cat, she said. I explained my confusion about thinking it was rabbit and asked if we were just ending rabbit and going into cat? She finally set the record straight; this year in Vietnam will be the Cat, but in China it will be Year of the Rabbit. All of the other lunar animal years correspond exactly to the Chinese ones except for this year. This actually was a fact I had known but forgotten. Now I can go out and get some cat ornaments.

Before doing that, however, I made a trip to one of the flower markets, this one located in downtown HCMC. This particular park runs between Pham Ngu lao and Le Lai Streets. It’s at least a block wide and at least five blocks long. Always a pleasant place to stroll, rather than on its bordering streets of insane traffic and noise, it’s truly exceptional before Tet when growers bring in their flowers and plants to sell for the New Year celebrations.

Pots of chrysanthemums and sunflowers and many others I can’t put a name to, are packed into sections. A salesperson or two sits in their midst. There are sections devoted to the flowering “Tet trees”, just days away from blossoming, and alcoves of stunning orchids in all shapes, sizes and colours.

Many people are there to purchase the plants, but many more are there to inhale the splendor and take pictures of their friends and family amongst the foliage. Kids pose in front of tall sunflowers; others kneel in the middle of a patch of tall, blooming beauties.

Butterflies flit form plant to plant seemingly unaware that they are actually in an urban jungle and not the countryside. Everyone is as happy as can be, including me.

I may not know all the names of the plants, but I had seen them all before except, that is, for one; the plant of the dragon fruit. What a total shock to find out that it was some sort of succulent or cactus. It was like I had discovered a long lost secret of the universe that other people had known about but somehow I had missed. I usually know from whence my fruit comes, but not this time. It was like the first time I saw a banana tree and was totally dumbfounded to find out that the fruit grows up, and not down, as I had always pictured. These little bits of new knowledge make one realize just how remarkable the world can be.

Dragon Fruit

Kate                                                                                             

Changes



Jan 2011

There are always changes when one returns to a place after several years. Judging from the changes I had seen in just the three years I had lived in Ho Chi Minh City, (2005-2008), I thought I would be ready for the difference between 2008 and 2011. I wasn’t. Or maybe I was but still find it rather shocking.

The traffic was insane when I left and now I find I am without adjectives to describe what it has become. The shuttle bus in from where I live to the center used to take about 20-25 minutes. A few days ago it took nearly 40 minutes. It’s just one big parking lot on all the streets. When last here, it was mostly motorbikes, (Vespa’s), trucks and taxis, and not that many private cars. The motorbikes seem to have multiplied like bunnies and a lot more people are driving cars. If streets were jam-packed three years ago, and are super jam-packed now, what will happen in five years time? I don’t think I will stick around to find out.

2006



The quiet neighborhood where I used to live and where I am now in a hotel, still boggles the mind with its massive change. I was having trouble figuring out where all the traffic on the main road was coming from and where it was going to. True, there are numerous, massive, new apartment buildings here, but the people traveling through this area do not live here. I finally found out that this road/highway has been extended in both directions and bridges have been built connecting outer sections of the city. Even though it is always busy, traffic does move along and has enabled people to get from point A to point B much more efficiently.

The problem with the main intersection is that there are about 6 lanes in each direction; some for motorbikes, some for cars, and some for trucks. This means that if you are in the motorbike lane and want to turn left, you must cross in front of the car and truck lanes that are going straight ahead. And if you are a pedestrian trying to cross you have to continuously look left and right and then back over your left shoulder and right shoulder because no one cares that you are crossing the street. Just when you think you might be OK, a motor bike appears, going in the wrong direction, trying to cut in around cars and trucks. It’s a veritable minefield.

2007/2008

I used to love taking weekend and evening walks up by the river; so quiet and peaceful and green. That is no longer possible. At the time, they had just completed this spectacular garden walkway where you could stroll along a landscaped path and listen to the chug-chug of the boats on the river just a little bit away. They have now built giant, ugly apartment blocks on both sides of the garden path. The ground floors are all shops giving it a strip-mall look. I tried walking there last night and none of the positive energy of the garden has survived.

Jan 2011

I suppose progress is inevitable and that entrepreneurs will open new businesses in a new area. But as I walked past new restaurant after new restaurant, with either no one inside or possibly two customers, I wondered just how long any of these will be open.

Having said all that, there are lots and lots of beautiful, quiet streets out here. I love walking along them, saying hi to construction workers on a coffee break, or waving to the ladies sweeping the streets, or stopping to admire a baby sitting with his granny on the front steps of a house. The people remain lovely and friendly. If they can seemingly ignore the clamor and clutter around them, maybe I can too. 

Kate

2007/8



A Museum & Artists

The combination of Colonial French Architecture, cool interiors, and marvelous artwork makes the Ho Chi Minh City Museum of Fine Arts a lovely retreat from the chaos that surrounds it. I had heard that it had originally been a commercial building, but their website says that it was used to board the daughters of the French Colonial rulers. No wonder I always feel like I could take up residence inside the museum.

My friend and I arrived the day they were having some sort of ceremony, possibly an art contest finale as several of the works had prize rankings attached to them. Lots of people and lots of floral arrangements graced the main entrance. However, the rest of the art filled rooms, covering three floors, were quite empty.

We strolled through the wide corridors with open windows on our left and into rooms on the right with examples of art ranging from the 1930’s to the present. There were oils and lacquer works, sculpture and acrylics. Several areas showcased ancient ethnic artwork. We walked up the wide staircases glowing with color from stained-glass windows that looked out onto the courtyard below.

It always amazes me that these old buildings, with no air conditioning, are never hot and usually have a nice breeze running through them. Perfect tropical architecture. In some of the museum rooms there were small fans, but they weren’t on and at the time we were there and were not needed.

The Fine Arts Museum really is the best place in town to cool down, relax, and feel revitalized.

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Walking back from the backpackers’ area on Pham Ngu Lau St., I passed a small group of people in a tiny shop that opened onto the street. I could see that an older woman was instructing two young men who were working on an oil painting. Two other men and a young woman sat on small, folding chairs out front, and a few others were inside the small space. I stopped to watch their work and caught the eye of one of the guy’s who was inside. What with the noise of traffic and my limited Vietnamese, I did hand signals to indicate that I was watching the artists work and that I liked what they were doing. A look of surprise came over the young man’s face and he started to use sign language to reply.

Years and years ago, I took several semesters of American Sign Language and since that time, whenever I am overseas, I tend to use signs that are clear to anyone. It has gotten to the point that I assume I am using Universal Gestures, and some of the time I possibly am, but this time I was actually using ASL.

I know from my last trip to Vietnam, when I had a similar experience, that ASL is quite similar to VNSL. I assume that is because ASL is based on French Sign Language and that the French brought Sign Language to Vietnam.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting with the group chatting. This consisted of Sign Language and Vietnamese and English. Some was written down in English, and some was translated by the Vietnamese teacher, who was hearing but spoke limited English, and some by the young deaf man who had spent fifteen years in Australia. We were all so excited that we could communicate together.

They were part of the SHI, (Saigon Hearing Impairment), Fine Arts Club. They gave me a brochure of an exhibition going on just down the road, and pointed out their works pictured in the brochure.


This was really the first time since arriving that I remembered why I go off to other parts of the world; it’s for these truly magical moments that simply don’t happen when one knows one’s surroundings and the people that populate it.


For about thirty minutes we talked about where I was from, what I did, and a little about their lives. I learned that ASL has a far larger vocabulary than VNSL. The young man I first spoke with told me that his friend was studying at the California School for the Deaf in Fremont, CA. Excitement reigned when I told him that it was very close to where I was from in California.


When it was time for me to dash off so that I could catch the little shuttle bus back to my hotel, (rather than pay for a taxi), I promised to go by their exhibition and to come by again. I plan to go the see their work tomorrow and go back to talk sometime next week.

Kate

Simple Pleasures

Sometimes life gets in the way and one forgets about the simple pleasures that lie all about; like just walking around an exotic city in South East Asia, where I just happen to live. So that’s what I did today.

My first stop was the main post office where I went because I actually had to mail a letter. It seems such an archaic way of communicating. Long, long ago, when I first lived overseas in Brazil, letters were the only choice. I would write four, five, and six page letters in my teeny-tiny script to friends and family. Then it was two or three weeks before the mail to arrived in another country. And then, if people even did respond, they would wait several weeks. Letters to me took anywhere from seven days to three months. Basically, from the time I sent a letter until I got a response, it could be two months.

This was also back in the day of no satellite TV. And I certainly couldn’t have afforded a television, even if I’d wanted to watch the three local channels. I also never had a phone in any place I lived. Added to that, the cost for international calls was prohibitively expensive and of crackly quality. One really was cut off from the outside world. Looking back, I am grateful for having had that experience. My entire life was Brazil. I learned the language and lived the culture in a way that today would be impossible to do.

I live in Vietnam, but I live in a nicer apartment that I have ever lived in, in the US. I wake up in the morning and turn on CNN or BBC. I turn on the computer and check my emails. I am instantly in touch with anywhere I want. I know about disasters and weather and politics in real time. And although I did enjoy those years of pre-technological isolation, I wonder if I would still be living overseas if email and cable TV hadn’t come along.

I remember when I got my first Hotmail account. I swore I would never give up writing letters; that sending a type-written email ‘just wasn’t the same as handwritten words’. I got over that pretty quickly. Instantaneous communication beats weeks of waiting for a reply.

While at the post office, I picked up a free tourist magazine; one that I had never seen before. I pulled it out as sipped coffee at an outdoor café. There was an article about the only Hindu temple in Ho Chi Minh City. Indian temple? Here? It must be in some far off corner of the city, I thought. But no, it was right in the middle of it all, not very far from where I sat.

But first, I was off to explore a few clothing boutiques that I have passed zillions of times, but had never gone into. To get there, I walked down the same streets of shoes and bags that I have walked down since arriving here, but had never stepped into. Today I did. I fruitlessly tried on a few pairs of shoes; all three sizes too small, but it didn’t matter. I was having fun. I spoke in my piss-poor Vietnamese which seemed to please everyone. I walked in and out of the upscale, made-for-foreigners shops. Can’t say I was really impressed with any of the overpriced items for sale, but it was enjoyable.

My next stop was the linen fabric shop. I ended up with meters of lovely cloth, most of which I hadn’t planned on buying. I may come into a fabric store with an idea of what I need, but always leave with a whole bunch of new ideas and a very heavy bag. It is so much more satisfying than clothing stores.

I then wandered over to my favorite little café that has cozy sofas instead of tables and chairs. Although the weather isn’t hot-hot quite yet, it is still a good idea to re-hydrate after every purchase. I opened up the magazine with the Temple story and asked the young women sitting behind me if they knew where it was. I only had a three block walk.

Seeing the outside of the Mariaman Hindu Temple, it did vaguely look familiar; like maybe I had passed it in a taxi a few hundred times. I thought I would find an empty temple but was surprised to find quite a few Vietnamese placing incense in urns and praying to the gods. Inside the central alter area where three men, sort of officiating. I walked up and asked if pictures were allowed. The one man, who was Indian and in his 50’s, said that I could take pictures anywhere except of the central alter where the goddess stood.

He seemed welcome to questions, so I asked. He wasn’t sure of exactly how old the temple was, but his father had come to Vietnam in the 1920’s on business, and it was already there. From what I gather, there was a fair amount of trade going on between Vietnam and India at the time. His father stayed and married his mother, a Vietnamese woman. The man I spoke with said he had spent the past thirty years in France, and had returned a year ago to help his mother care for the temple. There are still a few Indian/Vietnamese around, and then there are all the foreign Indian business people who are working here. I looked around at all the Vietnamese praying and asked if they were Hindu. No, but they believed in the gods of the temple. He said the people come to ask for help, then return to give their thanks.

I walked around, inhaling the peace and tranquility, incense and jasmine. I do so love Indian and Chinese temples. They take the mind and body to such a calming place. I stayed for awhile, put a donation in the box, then replaced my shoes as I was about to leave. The man I had spoken with called me over. He handed be two tangerines and a small string of jasmine flowers; a gift from the temple to place in my house. Tonight I have the goddess watching over me.

Just now, I looked at the article about the temple. Oh my gosh! The photographer had taken a picture of the main alter! The man I spoke with is standing in front of the statue of the goddess blocking it from the camera lens, while two of his helpers are desperately holding up their hands in a “don’t take a picture” gesture. Yet this journalist had warned visitors to take off their shoes when entering the temple.

Even though my bag was getting a bit heavy, I still had the shopping energy to make a run through the big market. Fortunately, being around noon, things were rather slow inside. I found my sewing supply stall and bought safety pins, then quickly made a run through a few other favorite areas. I picked up a couple more items before walking out to catch a taxi home.

You can live in a city for the longest time and still be surprised when you find something new. You can go to old haunts and wonder why it had been so long since your last visit. And most of all, you can get away from the seclusion of your little apartment that, inside, is no different than living in the US, and realize – Wow, I live in Vietnam!

Kate