I had six weeks of total quiet at my house, which was sheer heaven. The last house across the street was finished six months ago, but the crazy neighbor in the penthouse above me kept his renovations going until mid-February. Two weeks ago, they started a new house.
Compared to jackhammers above your head for six to eight hours a day, the building being done outside is nothing. And the only really bad part is when they bring in the tile cutter and you have to shut the windows and crank up the music to block the high-pitched, ear-shattering whine. Everything else requires mostly manual labor so the noise is livable.
I have always been fascinated with the way in which they build houses in Vietnam, and this time I am photo-documenting the entire process. I get up every morning, lean out the window, check out the progress and snap pictures. This is the fourth house I have watched go up and is by far the most professional job I have seen.
A few months ago, a crew came in to build the piers which are later sunk into the earth. The frames are built from steel wire that is hand made. There must be wood involved, but I can’t seem to remember how they do it. Once the forms are laid out side by side, the concrete is poured. You see rows of these piers on empty lots all over my neighborhood.
Two days before they sunk the piers, a pile driver and truck with a collapsible arm were brought in, along with about fifteen immense blocks of concrete. Then at 6am, they day construction started, I looked out my window to see two small tables set up with offerings to the god that the land belongs to. There were flowers, and rice and what looked like a grilled chicken. I counted about seven people milling about. Of all the houses I have seen go up, I had never witnessed this before. I quickly took pictures, then took a shower, and rushed back to the window to see if there was going to be some sort of religious ceremony. Much to my surprise, the tables were empty, and the grilled chicken was being taken away by a man driving a motorbike; right hand driving, left hand grasping a greasy chicken. I thought maybe this was a service that you could hire to set up a blessing ceremony, and as soon as they finished, they gathered the supplies and rode on to the next house.
I watched for two or three days as the truck with the crane arm lifted these multi-ton blocks onto either side of the pile driver. It would then swing around and someone would attach one of the piers. The pier is then placed inside the metal frame and pounded into the earth. It is really scary to watch these men hanging off equipment three stories above the ground, and ducking out of the way of the stabilizing blocks.
The next day started with the crew digging out around the piers, probably about three or four feet deep. Then, with sledge hammers, the knocked off the concrete that was exposed. It was at this point that I realized that this was to be a double wide house.
While this was going on, they had also started to build the shack that the crew will live in. Even though this is a very professional crew, larger than most, and all with uniform shirts, their hut is not very good. I have seen everything from a lean-to, to something close to a mobile home. This is somewhere in between.
Phase four was digging the foundation, six feet down, with only shovels, about two days of work. The holes were lined with bricks then filled with concrete. I didn’t see them pour the concrete so don’t know if it was from a truck, which it usually is with large patches. Smaller areas are down by hand mixing the concrete.
This is the dry season so drying concrete is usually in no danger. Except that this year, the weather seems a little off. Just a few hours after the concrete had been poured the rains started. The crew ran about covering over the fresh pour. And it was pouring, for four hours straight.
Today they are busy hand building more steel concrete frames and placing them in various spots on the foundation. They are working at a rapid pace, so they should be done in four or five months. I wonder how they will ever build the houses that are to go on either side of this one. With this house, they used five empty lots to maneuver the cranes and trucks. They will have zero space to do that with the other houses.
Updates to follow.
Kate
Finally, I was able to see the elusive Lion Dancers of Ho Chi Minh City. I became addicted to Lion Dancers when I lived in Kuala Lumpur. There, I got to see them on a fairly regular basis. But here it has been a different story. Every time I’d hear the beat of their drums, I’d go running over only to see them packing up the truck and driving off.
With Tet being over, and having arrived at the truck pack-up stage at least five times, I figured I was out of luck. But then, miracles of miracles, HCMC hosted a five day, Chinese cultural fair, right in the middle of the city. I also finally learned that these festivals take place in Chinese communities world-wide, always on the 15th day of the Lunar New Year.
Two huge parks in the center of town were blocked off to traffic. The parks became restaurants and exhibition halls and stages, while the streets became performance venues for Lion and Dragon dancers. Red lanterns, suspended from wires, hung across the streets and around the parks. Everything was a wash of red and gold and pink.
The festival ran from 9:00 in the morning to 7:00 at night, the evening being the time when the majority of the people went to participate in the events. The Lion Dancers performed from 9-11, and again from 5-7. Obviously, I went to the morning shows which were not too crowded, but darn hot.
I have no idea how many Lion Dancing schools they have, but judging from how many participated during the times I went, there are a lot. One school would set up their equipment and do their thing. Before they had even struck the street stage, another group began to set-up.
This is no simple parade-around-the-crowd in lion costumes. It is done on top of a line of pillars of varying heights, the highest being about ten feet off the ground. The crew first brings the pillars out in about four sections and then bolts them together. Then one of the dancer’s jumps up and, going from pillar to pillar, checks for stability. Below, the crew bangs in wood wedges to stabilize it.
Before the lions make their entrance, the drummers start to beat on large drums with short, thick, wooden sticks, accompanied by gongs and cymbals. Then the two-man lion prances out and dances around for the crowd, still staying on the street.
I am always amazed at how quickly you forget that there are two people inside the costume. The dancers are all young men, probably not more than 20 years old. They are small, but have more strength and agility then seems possible. One guy is the head and front; he bats the eyes, wiggles the ears, and opens the mouth, all to the beat of the drums. The guy being the lion booty must have the hardest part. He is bent over, hands secured on the waist of the front half, which means he does not have a lot of clear vision, not that it is easy to see through a giant lion head. They walk around, wink at the crowd and shake their lion butt, then suddenly the back guy lifts the front guy up to his shoulders, creating a very tall lion.
Soon the lion is on top of the pillars, jumping from one to the other all the way to the end, and then returning. Along the way, they do fancy foot work, almost flying between pillars. The scariest part is when the back guy hoists the front guy on to his shoulders and jumps forward, dropping the front of the lion onto another pillar. The show lasts about 15 minutes, with the crowd cheering, especially the kids. Just watching, I feel the 80-something degree heat, even in the filtered shade of the tall trees. I have no idea how they manage not to get heat stroke up there in full lion costume.
As one school clears out their equipment, and another school starts to set up, the dragon dancers come out. This time it is nine guys holding long poles attached to the dragon body. They loop in and out of each other as the drummers bang out the beat. At some point they converge with the ends of the poles touching at a center point. Now the next part I am not too clear on because I always miss it but somehow, four of the dragon men end up in a prone position, suspended on their poles as the others spin them around in a circle. I also have never been able to get a picture.
This was, absolutely, the highlight of the Tet holiday for me. It was not only seeing the great performances, but being in a crowd – and not too big of a crowd - with mesmerized children and people of all ages enjoying the atmosphere.
I certainly hope I do not have to wait another year to see the next show.
Kate
Today, three and a half weeks after applying for my new passport, and a week and a half after they had said it should be ready; I have it. Getting into the consulate takes time and, if I go by taxi, gets expensive. It gets more complicated because you can only go to the citizens service office between 8:30 and 11:30, Monday through Friday.
I started calling them last Monday to check on the status of my document. I just don’t trust this, “we’ll call you”, especially when cell phones in Vietnam do not have voice messaging. When I called on Wednesday, a woman told me “it is on the way”, and that I could come in on Friday to get it.
How they actually make the passport is by sending all the info electronically to DC, where they print it up and FedEx it back to Ho Chi Minh City. What that means is that my beautiful, six-hour fashion shoot hairstyle/make-up was going to loose definition. Actually, it already had been degraded because when I went to apply for the passport I found out the size was wrong. And when I went back to the photo lab they had already deleted my pictures so had to scan the prints I had before enlarging them.
I arrived at the consulate at 8:30 and noticed that there were no lines of people. Oh no. Then I talked to the guard at the door who asked if I had an appointment. Double oh no. But hey, the woman on the phone said I could come in Friday so that was an appointment to me. I went through the security stations, handed in my cell phone, and then on in to the office. In the waiting room, normally packed to the rafters, there was only one, older couple. It was then I figured out for sure that citizen services only operates three mornings a week.
Even though there were only two other people in the room, I took a number from the machine. I was number 2. I could see that only one window was open and although I could hear voices from behind the five inches of protective glass, no one seemed interested in actually helping the waitees. After another woman came in and walked directly to the window and was helped, I started to wonder if waiting patiently was the right move. Apparently so did the older couple because they got up and stood in front of the window until someone helped them.
I followed suit when they finished.
A Vietnamese employee asked what I wanted and I said I was there for my new passport. “We are closed today”, she said. I explained that I was told to come in. She ran off behind a large partition to talk to someone. A few minutes later she returned to my line of vision and started searching through a file, then disappeared again. Eventually she came back and said that although my passport was in, it had not yet been processed and that they would call me next week. I explained that I worked and couldn’t get in during the hours they were open. Then I asked why I couldn’t get it now. “We need to run a security check”. This was really getting tedious. I asked if I could speak to the State Department Officer, or whatever they are called. She told me to have a seat, and then once again disappeared, I presume to talk to said individual.
Another five minutes, and I had my new passport and my old passport, now punched with holes. I sat down to look at the new one. Yikes! The picture is so blurred-out that I wondered why I had bothered to get the ‘touch-up’ at the photo lab. The few red, and I mean real red, highlights are no longer noticeable because my whole head looks punked-pink/red. I also have a nose twice as large as the real one. I am thinking of taking one of the really good photos and glue-gunning it on top of the DC issue.
One accomplishment for the day and I was bound and determined to make it two. I walked down to the Vietnam Airlines office to, once again, try to get credit for the ticket I wasn’t able to use when I wanted to go to Malaysia. This would make my fourth trip there.
The day after my failed flight, I went to my travel agent and was told, “It’s not our problem”, and that I had lost the ticket. Then I went to the Vietnam Airlines main office and was told the same thing, but that it would be looked into. A week later I got a call saying that they would only refund the tax on the ticket. Then I wrote a detailed letter and took it back to Vietnam Airlines and had it delivered to the managing director. And today, I went again to check on the status of the ticket.
It is always a bit of a problem when I go because I have to explain the entire situation, to three new people, who have limited English. Their office has around twenty-five service counters and three million agents just to add to all the confusion. Nevertheless, I sat down at counter eight, pulled out my slips of paper listing everyone I had talked to so far, and slowly rambled off my tale. The agent needed to go into the back to check.
She came back to tell me that the validity of my ticket had expired on March 11th. I started to say, “But I have been coming in and phoning since February 13th”, but wisely shut up. It seemed the agent was aware of this. Talking to her further, it seemed that half of Vietnam Airlines was aware of my situation. She told me that she would re-book the ticket, but would need to send all the info to the head office in Hanoi for the final ok. I will have to wait two or three days to find out if I really do get a new ticket, but it looks very, very good. She also did say that the fault for the entire mess-up was that of my travel agents and not mine.
A fruitful day indeed!
Kate
Nguyen Hue Street, in central Ho Chi Minh City, runs from the Saigon River up to the People’s Committee building; about half a mile in length. Both the building and street date back to French occupation and construction. It is an immensely wide boulevard, three lanes in each direction. During the week of Tet, it is cordoned off and becomes a landscaped garden. Last year I didn’t go, hearing tales of millions of visitors making it impossible to enjoy the spectacle, or even be able to see it. My Vietnamese teacher told me that one has to arrive very early in the morning in order to stroll along in serenity.
So last Sunday, I grabbed a taxi at 6am, and was at the People’s Committee building by 6:15. I had seen them setting up the display, but it still didn’t prepare me for the grandeur of what lay before me.
The beginning of the garden street was full of pigs and flowers. Unfortunately, the pig is not an elegant animal. With a horse year you can really get artistic; and a ram isn’t too bad for creative exploration. But a pig? The worst was all the Porky Pig type caricatures on New Years decorations. However, they actually came up with elegant piggies, that looked cute, if not exactly chic.
Potted flowers were tightly grouped together giving the impression of giant flowerbeds. Some had sculptures or pottery in the middle of the beds. There were sections where art work hung above the gardens. Orchids were displayed beneath undulating canopies. There was even a rice paddy and a little lake.
The kite section was at the bottom of the street, right across from the river. Massive, geometric kites lined the sides, while giant birds flew overhead, suspended from a latticework of wires.
We spent well over an hour walking in the pleasant weather, with few people around. My teacher then asked if I wanted to visit a plant exhibition in a nearby park. This was the first I had heard about the event and of course was eager to go.
As we walked there, I asked my teacher about the history of Flower Street. It turns out that this was only about the forth year of its existence. Prior to that, the street was blocked off for a week, but as a flower market prior to Tet. The flower market has now been moved to another central location which I had passed coming back from Chinatown the week before. I couldn’t believe it as the taxi drove past blocks and blocks of trees and plants and flowers for sale, but was too tired of crowds to stop and wander around.
The plant exhibition was set in one of them many, large city parks, again of French construction and design, and after all these years, filled with very tall trees. Immediately upon entering, it smelled like we were in a rural area, not in the middle of Saigon. I have walked through these parks before, which are always pleasant, but what with the abundance of temporary plants, the entire venue was transformed into the countryside, complete with the sounds of birds and the aroma of plants and trees and flowers.
The first area we saw was that of the ornamental sculptures made entirely of fruit, vegetables and some plants. Dragons with teeth of garlic and scales of chili peppers. Fish with scales made from the bark of a coconut tree. A phoenix with flowers for his body and wings of pineapple leaves. I had once seen a fruit and vegetable dragon at a wedding, but it was much smaller. These were all about three feet high and some, as wide.
We walked through rows of ornamental, potted trees of varying shapes, mostly with the yellow Tet flowers, others with pick or red flowers. Orchids, as I have never seen, hung suspended in containers, or planted in pots. It was absolutely glorious.
My teacher, who does not live that far away, said that during the week of Tet, she often comes over at 6am every morning to walk through the places we had just visited. If I lived al little closer, I would be inclined to do the same.
Kate
Not being able to go to Malaysia for my vacation wasn’t really all that traumatic. I can go there in a few months. But then I remembered that I would miss one of the spots I had planned to visit in Kuala Lumpur: Chinatown. It is especially wonderful leading up to Chinese New Year.
Chinatown in KL is simple to get to and the business section is small enough to easily get around. I especially love all the shops that sell new years decorations. There are lots of gold plastic ornaments trimmed with red tassels, in popular symbols like pineapples and pots and, of course, the current year’s animal. The stalls are also stacked with greeting cards, lucky money envelopes, and every shape and size of red lanterns. Besides the shops, there are all the small and large temples filled with burning incense and beautiful alters. I was saddened that I wouldn’t see it this year.
But wait! Ho Chi Minh City has a huge Chinatown. I had gone there not long after arriving in Vietnam. It is so large, and so confusing, and so crowded, that I hadn’t been back since. If I wanted to get in on all the fun part of Chinese New Year, I needed to go back. I looked at it as a mini-vacation.
Being the most inept individual in the world when it comes to directions, (I need to look at both hands in front of me to remember which is left and which is right), last night I got out every map I owned. I had two tourist maps, a hand drawn one from my Vietnamese teacher, one cut out from Lonely Planet, and one from a tourist magazine. I then got out all the literature I had on Chinatown and plotted out my route. I knew it would be crowded, but the weather isn’t deplorably hot right now, so I reasoned that if I left home at 9:00 am, I would be ok.
Taxi drivers in HCMC are generally amazing. They seem to know where everything is. Knowing this, and practicing what I would say in Vietnamese to the driver, I foresaw no problems. My first stop was to be one of the many famous pagodas in Chinatown.
This morning, I jumped into one of the taxis that are always waiting in front of my building. I said, in what I believed to be pretty darn good Vietnamese, where I wanted to go. The driver, who had already driven half a block before I finished speaking, nodded in complete understanding. At the corner he stopped to ask a fellow driver where, exactly, was this pagoda I wanted to go to. Uh oh….. I pulled out my various maps and pointed to them. He recognized a main street and assured me he knew.
All was going well until we got into the heart of Chinatown. It is an old place. Those narrow streets were built for a donkey or two, not five million motorbikes. Even on the wide boulevards, it was pandemonium. What the hell was I thinking going down there three days before Tet? But I started to recognize a few streets I had been on before, and just tried to relax in air-conditioned comfort as we edged our way thorough streets made even narrower by parked motorbikes and customers visiting all the shops along the way.
I did start to get a bit antsy when I realized the driver really had no clue. It seems that unless you grew up in Chinatown, you do not know your way around. He stopped and asked directions several times. I found out later that the name of a temple or pagoda on a tourist map is not necessarily what the Chinese speakers call it. We finally arrived at a temple that was not the one I was aiming for, but it would do. I needed the tranquility that awaited me through its arches.
Walking out of the chaos and into total silence was wonderful. I adore the smell of the incense they use, another reason for going to the temples. For over a year, I have been trying to get that Chinese Temple Incense, but always buy the wrong one. Today I was told it is sandalwood, and I made sure I bought a lot of it.
I saw a couple of tourists inside, but mostly just a few locals, buying candles and incense, which they lit and prayed over then placed in giant urns, before getting down on their knees to pray. When I felt sufficiently serene, I sat on a side bench, pulled out the maps, and tried to plot my next move on the trip I had formulated the night before. Now, in what temple was I? I hadn’t a clue.
I looked out to the street and remembered places we passed in the taxi that I could easily find. I also knew that trying to use a map in all that commotion would be impossible. In fact, it would probably have been impossible had the streets been empty. So I tossed it all in my bag, took a deep breath, and wandered on out.
Squishing through crowded sidewalks, often having to walk in the street and dodge traffic, I felt the tension rising. I stopped by an elderly gentleman’s makeshift stand where he was painting Chinese calligraphy, New Year’s banners. I bought a pair to place on either side of my front door. I walked further and saw several more calligraphers. One man was exceptional. I watched as he whipped out gold characters on red paper. It was absolutely beautiful. I asked the price, but it was too high.
As with the last time I was in this area, I just didn’t feel comfortable. People weren’t rude or unkind, but they seemed rather dismissive. I would have liked to take pictures as I walked, but did not feel that pulling out my camera was a wise thing to do.
Finally giving up on that section of Chinatown, I decided to head over to the fabric markets that were close by. As I passed a group of shops selling New Year’s decoration, I heard my name called out. I turned to see my realtor friends, busy buying up trinkets. I explained my failed mission to find certain temples, and they directed me to one a block away. It was also there that I was able to take a few pictures, having a big, local guy watch my back.
The second temple was also lovely and calming. Recharged, I was determined to get the fabric I needed. But half way to the market, which was only a few blocks away, I hit burn-out. I needed a taxi out of there and fast. This was a little more difficult than I had hoped. Taxis down there are not as numerous, but I finally found one.
At that point, I really just wanted to head on back to the homestead, but needed to go by Vietnam Air to argue my case for not loosing my ticket to Malaysia. I talked to one of the sales agents, then had to come back an hour and a half later to see what a manager said. I still don’t have a final answer, but it looks like either I loose the ticket or fork over nearly the same amount as the ticket cost to turn it into an “open” ticket, which is something I will not do. I will get a final answer sometime next week.
I intend to spend the rest of my vacation sequestered in the burbs.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Kate
My Vietnamese language school organized a Tet cultural day field trip to partake in the making of traditional Tet “cakes”, visit a Tet tree farm, and go to a shoe factory. (I still haven’t figured out if there is any connection with shoes and Tet, but think not.)
Tet cakes, or Banh Chung, are not sweet; they are made of rice and meat. To see them being made in the traditional way, we drove about an hour out of HCMC, to a house where a woman in her 70’s has been making and selling them every Tet for years.
We crowded into the long, narrow, front part of her house where a banquet sized table was set up with various ingredients in large bowls. One contained a cooked, ground-up and sweetened, green bean mixture, although the color was yellow. Another bowl was filled with cooked, sticky rice, and a third was filled with fatty, grilled pieces of pork. On one end of the table was a pile of fresh banana leaves.
The woman dampened and piled up the leaves, then quickly went about piling on the rice, followed by the beans, and finally the pork. She then deftly wrapped and folded the leaves around the filling. After doing so, she tied string strips, made of fresh bamboo, around the cake, wrapping and knotting the ends together. It was quite an impressive demonstration.
She had several others making the cakes, but they needed to make theirs using square wooden forms. After they cakes are assembled, they are cooked in boiling water for ten hours. A cooked cake was opened and cut for us to try, which I didn’t.
Another type of Banh was being put together in one corner of the room. This one is sweet and ever so tasty. Balls of the green bean paste are incased in this grey looking gooey stuff, that is actually cooked sticky rice and something else that gives it color. The ball is then wrapped in a dried banana leaf, tied, and boiled.
The texture of the sticky rice when cooked is chewy; sort of like taffy and sort of like thick jelly.
Our next stop was at the tree farm. I had been expecting to see rows of beautiful, flowering yellow trees. What we saw were ornamental shaped trees with buds, but no blooms. Every time I have asked, I have been told that the trees bloom on the first day of Tet. I understand that one has to know when to plant and when to water, and at what time of the year, but just could not understand how anyone could possibly predict the exact day a plant would bloom. The only answer I ever got is that the horticulturist is very experienced.
Expressing my incomprehension at this magical phenomenon, a fellow student from Taiwan gave me the inside scoop. He told me that the blossoming is dependent upon sunlight, and that to delay it, you must use artificial light. If it looks like the blossoms will open the next day after a good nights sleep, you keep them under light all night. When he said this, I looked up and, sure enough, there were lights on tall poles extended over every tree. I still don’t understand exactly how it works, but at least I know it is more than just paranormal activity.
The trees are shaped much in the same way as Bonsai, tying and slowly bending the branches. Some are designed to give the impression of a dragon taking flight, or in some other auspicious forms.
The tree itself is an apricot tree, but not the one we know. It does not bear fruit. It is considered very important because of its special characteristics that “can be compared with the virtues of human beings. The apricot has a pure beauty and its flowering informs the coming of the spring. The yellow flower is the symbol of generosity, success, luxury, and also the color of royalty.” This is from the info sheet we were given, which goes on to say that “If the apricot blossoms on the eve of Tet, the first day of the lunar new year, good luck, prosperity, and happiness will come to the family for the whole year.”
The day of our trip, the 23rd of the 12th month of the lunar calendar, seven days before Tet, is also the day in which you honor the Kitchen Gods. On that day the gods are called to the heavens to report on the family’s activities of that year. The return again on the eve of the first day of the lunar year; Tet. We got a demonstration in the kitchen of the apricot farm’s house. The kitchen alter is set with fruit and incense and flowers. The lady of the house lit the incense, waved them in front of the alter, said something, then placed the burning sticks on the alter.
From there, we went to the shoe factory which was a lot of toxic varnish fumes, horrid working conditions, and instant headaches, so I will not elaborate. Maybe the most enjoyable part of the whole day was that I was outside of the big city, in completely different environments than I have ever experienced in Vietnam.
I await the blossoming of the Tet trees in just a few days.
Kate
I am supposed to be in Kuala Lumpur meeting friends and shopping. That was to be the first week of the two week Tet break. Unfortunately, I screwed up with that passport renewal issue, so I am more or less trapped in Vietnam for the time being.
My passport expires March 2nd. I knew I was cutting things close, but my ticket was booked for February 11th -16th. I was planning on taking my passport in to the consulate upon my return. So when I arrived at the Vietnam Airlines ticket counter at 8:30am, for my 10:30 flight, I was surprised to learn that I cannot enter Malaysia with less than four months on my passport and, in fact, could not have returned to Vietnam with less than six months. So for all intents and purposes, other than traveling to the US, by passport has been null and void for the past five months.
I do take full responsibility, but one would think that the travel agent might have told me about the travel regulations. And what about the HR department at work who deals with my passport and visa situation and work permit on almost a monthly basis? They handed it back to me on Friday knowing that it would expire in a month and knowing that I was traveling to Malaysia in two days. Nevertheless, I am not at all upset except for the fact that I had two people in KL who had arranged their schedules around my visit. In my entire life, I have never let any ID or credential expire, and have never missed a flight, so one screw up is not too bad.
At least my house was clean even if there was no food. I had thrown out, or given away, anything that would spoil which means there was nothing to eat. I waited until the afternoon heat had died down a bit before going to the supermarket. There, I stocked up on fruits and veggies and bought a fresh piece of what I think is tuna.
Between checking my emails to make sure my KL friends had received the cancellation emails I had written, watching TV, and being lazy, I cooked up a pot of rice and this great tuna/vegetable thing. Right as I got to the last bite of my first bowlful, one of my lights blew out. I started to get up when the entire globe around the kitchen light exploded, sending shards of glass throughout the house, and flipping the breaker switch.
Although it was only 6:15pm, it was dark. I opened my front door to let the hallway light in, found my mini mag-light, and lit two candles. I got out the emergency electric company phone number and called in my problem, not that the man understood anything other than where I lived and that there was an electrical problem.
Mr. Bao arrived thirty minutes later. I had to warn him to keep his shoes on because of the glass all over the floor. He went to the main breaker switch outside my apartment and flipped it on. Just try explaining, “But can’t that cause an electrical fire if the wiring is faulty?”, in another language. And yes, this is the SAME damn light that keeps blowing out, although in the past, it has only been the bulb. And as with all the times in the past, Mr. Bao assured me that there was no problem in not turning of the electricity as he proceeded to cut and tape of the offending wires. He will come tomorrow to rewire it.
I really am glad that I was not in the kitchen when the explosion occurred. It might have been rather nasty. I did lose all the food I had cooked, which would have lasted for three more meals. I am not about to chance eating glass shards that may have flown into the uncovered pans on the stove. I have no idea how I will ever get up the micro particles of glass that are everywhere. No bare feet allowed in my house for awhile.
This day has already been way too long and it is only 7:30.
The pictures are from the field trip that I went on yesterday with my Vietnamese language school. I have not the slightest idea why we went to a shoe factory – it was a “Tet Culture” trip. Anyway, more on that later, but the shoes are awesome!
Kate
I took the bike out for a Sunday morning spin for the first time in ages. I used to be really good about walking in the evenings and bike riding on the weekends. I have lots of excuses as to why these activities have fallen to the wayside, but I won’t bore you with the details.
Where I live grows and changes by the day. If you miss a month of cruising the streets, you barely recognize things. When I moved out here a little less than a year and a half ago, there was one, less than stellar, supermarket. There are now two large ones, and lots of corner markets. New restaurants open up every day. In my block alone, there is now a gym, two flower shops, four new restaurants, two beauty salons, and a DVD shop. If I didn’t ever want to roam, I could live within a one block radius of my apartment building.
The gym, I find, is the funniest new development. Even with all the non-stop construction, I live in a very quiet part of HCMC. At night, one hears nothing but crickets and bull frogs, and that non-stop yapping little mutt the neighbors insist on tying up out front of the house across from me. Especially now with the dry season and cooler weather, walking in the mornings and evenings is fantastic. A light breeze, perfect temperatures, no cars to dodge, fairly clean air. Yet in the evening and morning, if you walk by the gym across the street, you will notice every walking machine occupied by some foreigner, power walking or jogging. And these people are paying US gym fees for the privilege. I just don’t get it, and apparently the Vietnamese people I talk to don’t either. They do have yoga classes but again, the price is more than I pay in California so I haven’t even bothered to try it out.
On today’s ride, I went up by the river where the beautiful, manmade, manicured, mini-river-walk is located. It used to be my favorite walk. To the right you could look over bulldozed land and to the river beyond. There is now a corrugated steel wall that blocks the view and the breeze and all I felt was claustrophobic. Just before you reach the walk, you pass the most humongous apartment building. They had just finished the first level about a year ago. I was shocked to see that it is basically completed. But they were working seven days a week, and until 10pm every night. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to live in such a place. It is scary looking.
There still is a bit of natural wonder right along the road the boarders the river bank. One feels like one is in the back woods of Vietnam. You can hear the birds, smell the flowers, gaze out on boats motoring up and down the river. I really just wanted to camp out there for a few days. Some of the workers from neighboring building sites had swung hammocks between trees along the river back. It looked so inviting.
Eventually, I decided it was time to drop by a coffee shop for a drink. Many of the places out my way are foreign owned, over-priced, and lousy. But all I wanted was ice tea, so it didn’t really matter. Driving up to the place I sometimes go, where they have the best French pastries in town, but the worst coffee and service, I spotted a new café. I drove by and heard classical music, and saw that the outdoor tables were filled with Vietnamese. There actually are quite a few Vietnamese, up-scale coffee/restaurant places in my neighborhood, but I never feel comfortable dropping in. Which is absolutely stupid. These are the nicest, friendliest people in the world and would love to have my business. So this time I parked the bike and sat down at a table.
The Roadster, complete with a totally cherry, 1959 Chevrolet out front, opened yesterday. I talked to the owner and found out he is an audio consultant, programmer, or whatever. (I don’t really understand this stuff). The café is a new venture. I told him what snagged me was the music. We talked a little about music and music quality and he put one a special CD for me.
Although I wasn’t there to eat, I looked at the menu which, for my neighborhood, was incredibly inexpensive. This may be a new hang-out. Lovely ambience, quiet corner, soothing music, nice people. Definitely the find of the day.
I suppose today I felt a little saddened that all the nature around me will be gone in a few years time. On the positive side, it is proof that the economy is growing and the country is going to do very well in the future. And growth and nature can’t always coincide. I am part of that growth. I am part of the reason the farm land that my apartment sits on no longer exists. So I probably do not have the right to fell distressed at the loss.
The photos of are some of the very interesting architecture that is taking place out here. These are the really expensive houses that sit on two or three lots. Buildings like the one I live in are pretty boring in comparison.
Kate
