I had gone to the HCMC Fine Arts Museum shortly after arriving in Vietnam. Last week I finally got around to a second visit. I had no idea what was on, but a friend and I had decided to do something soul-enriching and the museum was our choice for the day.
Walking into through the grand entrance of this former colonial-era mansion, I stared at two massive paintings that hung on the opposite wall. I had never seen them, but they certainly looked familiar. Walking closer, I noticed the signature. Ah-ha! This was the same artist who had done the paintings on the calendar I’d received from my bank. And there was a whole museum of his stuff.
Mr. Pham Luc, although he signs his name “F.Luc” is a very prolific artist indeed. There were over a hundred of his recent works in the museum, as well as a few older paintings. He started out as an artist in the People’s Army, went on to study at the college of Fine Arts in Hanoi, and has been exhibited all over the world. Yet up until I went into the museum, he had just been the picture above the calendar on the wall.
The majority of the hung works were massive; around 4ft x 5ft. (please note that I am very bad at estimating size. They were large). Many were oils, but a large number were done with lacquer and broken egg shells, although from a distance you wouldn’t know this.
Vietnam has a long tradition with lacquer ware and the use of broken eggshells in the design. Again, unless someone tells you, you would never guess that eggs are involved. The shells are broken into tiny pieces and glued on to the work, be it a painting or bowl or jewelry box. Some are of the shell are slightly burnt with a flame, to give varying degrees of color. The finished egg shell area has the effect of a mosaic.
The colors and composition of F. Luc’s work were mesmerizing. He paints large, outlined figures, with little detail. Yet the entire picture is filled with incredibly detailed background areas. And, naturally, they loose so much when the image is transferred to a photo. Even in the book of his work available at the museum, you cannot get anywhere near the full effect. It is the type of art you would love to have in your house, provided you lived in a very large mansion with tall ceilings and immense wall space.
After the museum, we walked a few blocks over to “Antique Street.” I have read about this street, and it is included on all tourist maps, but had never been. It’s a very narrow, block-long side street, lined with little shops that sell, what looks to be, left over junk from someone’s backyard. There was a lot of non-interesting pottery, some old cabinets, and just plain junk. I wondered how anyone ever sold anything. We were there on a Sunday afternoon, and were about the only customers on the street.
By then, it was time for ice-coffee, and then back home before the rains hit. It was a lovely day, and I had gotten my art-fix.
Interested parties can look at Mr. Luc’s website: http://www.phamluc.com/
Enjoy!
Kate
Thursday was a public holiday, King’s Day, and we also got Friday off. Then next week it’s May Day, so we get both Monday and Tuesday off. I thought about going to the beach too late to get a room at a reasonable price. I thought about flying up north but was too late to get plane tickets. So it’s a stay at home long weekend.
Aside from paying bills, cleaning the house, and catching up on way too many things to even list, I did want to at least take one little trip. Today, with the help of my Vietnamese teacher and her husband’s work car and driver, I was finally able to go to the Minh Long porcelain factory.
I’ve been admiring their products since arriving here. They make beautiful plates and dishes and teapots and bowls. Some are reasonably priced and some are seriously expensive. I generally don’t spend much time looking at the costly items because they are made of very thin, delicate porcelain, and decorated with either dark blues or red, bordered with a lot of real gold. The type of china you’d find at a presidential dinner, or maybe Buckingham palace. I prefer their sturdy dinnerware, the kind you can sometimes drop on the floor without breaking or, if it does smash, you don’t worry about the cost.
Many of their design motifs are based on traditional Vietnamese symbols. Others are quite modern; today I saw green polka-dot dishes. They also have plain white, or white with a tiny line of color around the rim. All of it is beautiful.
It takes about an hour to drive there from where I live, mostly because you have to wade through parts of town that are always jammed with traffic. The main reason for going was because of their stock of seconds. Naturally, I expected a big, dusty room with dim lighting.
I was totally surprised to walk into this incredible palace of a building, with a four story atrium and showrooms on either side of the main entrance. We meandered around the displays, admiring the beauty and craftsmanship. Then it was on to the second floor for the discounted items. I bought a few bowls and plates and tea cups. The fancy gold stuff would be nice as a souvenir, but even at a discounted price, it was too much to spend on something so impractical.
Back on the ground floor, there is a large studio where you can watch a few craftsmen working on wheels or painting vases with glaze. You can also buy unfinished items, paint on glaze, then pick it up the following week after it has been fired in one of the massive kilns that are also in the room.
I wasn’t allowed to take pictures of the items, but if you are really curious, you can go to their website and see some of them: minhlong.com.
I generally eat out of bowls, and since I didn’t own a plate before today it might be a novel experience to try them out. I have a funny feeling they’ll just sit in the cupboard, or maybe I will leave them out as decoration.
Happy May Day
Kate
With new passport and residence permit in hand, I finally made it back to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, after an absence of almost four years. The flight itself is only about an hour and forty minutes, but there is the hour drive to the airport, where you have to be two hours before departure, and then another hour drive from the KL airport into town.
I was coming back to a place where I had lived for two years, so was surprised that I was in a state of semi-shock on the drive in from the airport. We were on a modern, divided highway, with exit ramps clearly marked by giant, green signs. I could have been on any highway in the US. It wasn’t so much that it was all so 21st century, but that it was such a radical change from Vietnam, a mere short flight away.
Once again I felt exactly as I had the first time I had arrived in Malaysia; awe at the beautiful, tropical landscape that stretched on forever, only diminishing once we got to the outskirts of KL.
I had booked a room at the YWCA which, after days and days on the internet searching every site available, seemed like a really good deal. Although centrally located in Chinatown, an area I knew well, and built in 1923, neither I nor any of my friends had ever heard of it. I was happy to see that it stood in an area that actually had more trees than buildings.
At the office, I was told the price of the room and almost fainted. It was close to the price of one of the hotels I could have booked on-line. After some clarification, it seemed all the normal rooms with bathrooms had been booked and that all that was available was an air-conditioned room. I don’t use A/C, so they knocked off a few Ringgit and said that since I was staying for a week, the rate would be further reduced. But it was still more than I had anticipated. I paid for one night and went up to my room where I realized why it was the price it was. It was a studio apartment, complete with a kitchen. (but no stove or refrigerator.) I didn’t do much more than dump my bags and head out to Bukit Bintang, the area where the more reasonable hotels are located, and a fifteen minute walk away.
I never had spent much time in the area, only going there to get my hair cut. It was always a fairly busy place but now, on Friday, late afternoon, it was jammed with locals and tourists and cars. I wandered in and out of hotels checking availability and prices. Most were disgusting, tiny rooms, with just enough room for a bed. One new place looked ok but, again, it was super tiny and still more than the Y. When I started seeing hotels that rented rooms by the hour, I knew it was time to give up. The Y would have to do.
It was starting to get darker when I remembered that there was one insurmountable problem with the Y room; it was all florescent lighting. Either I was to spend the night in the dark, or I needed to buy a lamp. My first stop was Low Yet Plaza, the place where I’d had my hair done when living in KL. The last time I was there, it was a fairly new, four-story, small mall, with not many businesses. I walked in to see that it now had shops on every level, in every available space. But it was mostly computer stuff and no lamps.
A block over was another mall which contained a Metrojaya department store. I found the household section, but they only had a small, clip-on lamp, which could only use a 40 watt bulb. When I asked about other places to buy a lamp, I was given the answer I did not want to hear: go next door to Sungei Wang shopping center.
I have always referred to Sungei Wang as “Dante’s Inferno”. It is a multi-storied, low-ceilinged mall that takes up a square block. There are hundreds of little shops aligned along hundreds of rows. Once in there, there is no easy way out. But I had no choice and figured this time I would be very aware of which way I turned and what floor I was on. I asked around at several places, was directed to others, but still couldn’t find a small desk lamp. It was time to go back to the one I had seen at Metrojaya. It was twenty minutes before I was able to locate the escape route.
Once I got my lamp, I stopped to get a bite to eat. By then it was dark, and although it was only about a 30 minute walk balk to the Y, I was whipped. Three hours of dealing with hotels and stores and thousands of people, in sweltering heat, had done me in. I went to the taxi stand.
Taxis had never been a problem in KL. On crowded nights you sometimes had to wait in a long line, but the drivers were always pleasant. It has changed. I told the driver where I wanted to go, and he quoted a price three times the normal fare. I walked off to another street, but the answer was the same. Flat rate, no negotiations, surly drivers. I got in and after a few minutes realized from whence the nastiness came. Traffic did not move. I was to find out over the next week that there no longer seems to be bad traffic times. Streets are giant parking lots from early morning to late at night. And this being a Friday night, it was at its all time worst.
Eventually, I did arrive at the Y, bedraggled, sticky, and not at all pleased about being in KL. Then I went up to my room and looked out the windows. I had the most amazing view of the Twin Towers and the KL Tower. I opened all the windows, threw on the ceiling fans, and plugged in my little lamp. I looked around my huge room, and listened to the quiet of the night. Why had I even bothered to look at all those other hotels? I should have known after the first two, that nothing would have been this nice. True, they don’t have maid service at the Y, and they don’t serve breakfast, and if I had been a little more persistent, I could have moved to a room with a refrigerator. (I still regret not insisting on the last item.) But it was spotless, safe, quiet, and as centrally located as one could wish. It wasn’t as cheap as I had thought, but still cheaper than the hotels. If I ever go to KL again, it is where I will stay.
The next morning I got up with first light, which is 7am. I never did like that about Malaysia. In Vietnam, there is light in the sky at 5:20am. It stays lighter much longer in Malaysia, but I prefer the morning sun. I also remembered that nothing gets going very early in KL. Stores do not open until 10, 10:30, or even 11:00. I don’t understand this. By that time, it is too hot to be out, especially in Chinatown where there is a lot of good shopping to be done, but not in the middle of the day with 3000 people cramming the tiny streets. I had hoped things had changed.
Wandering around Chinatown at 9am was rather useless, unless you wanted to eat. I did enjoy passing by some of the old buildings I remembered that were still standing. The whole area was in the midst of renovation when I left, and it is now completed. It looks nice, but when it is crowded, you can’t really notice the change. I walked past other buildings that were either not there when I left, or had been completely refurbished.
One of the reasons I came to KL was to get glasses made. I hoped that the store I had gone to four years ago was still in service. And I hoped I remembered where it was. I certainly didn’t remember the name. I took a taxi to yet another shopping center and found the store. But it was only 10am and they were closed.
By 10:30 they had opened and I walked in to see that the woman who had made my glasses all those years ago was still there. She not only remembered me, but still had my card on file! I pulled out the five pairs of frames I had bought in Vietnam, and she said she could have everything done in five days.
This bumping into shop owners I hadn’t seen in years continued throughout the week. I went to the place where I used to buy a bottle of water on my way home from work. I recognized the man at the cash register, but didn’t say anything. Then he said, “I haven’t seen you in a long time.” When I was at another place that sold DVD’s, it was the same thing. I was really touched that these people had remembered me, a simple customer who had never done more than exchange short conversations with them.
I spent time with friends visiting some of the places I use to enjoy and eating great food. While I was having dinner with a Chinese friend, I started to listen in on the conversation she was having with the owner. I was absolutely astounded to realize that I could hear all the separate words! Prior to studying Vietnamese, all Chinese languages sort of sounded like hetjrkeisjnfhrkslejjkeshugowk – one long string of incomprehensible sounds. I still don’t understand a word, but it “makes sense”. I also had fun checking which of the words I knew in Vietnamese were close to Chinese, since the languages are related. I don’t ever intend to study Chinese, but it no longer seems an impossibility to learn to speak.
I spent a lot of time walking around town amazed at all the building that has been done. I don’t think I have ever seen a city with more shopping malls. Mammoth to reasonably sized, outrageously priced to slightly tolerable. I was astonished at how expensive things have become. I had hoped to buy more batik fabric but the prices were triple what they had been. In fact all the reasonably priced craft items were too expensive for me. Food prices have also gone way up.
The whole city felt very westernized, especially coming from another South East Asian country that still feels like you are in South East Asia. I am not quite sure who has the money to live the lifestyle that KL seems to offer. Certainly not the average Malaysian.
The weather also surprised me. April in Vietnam is basically hot 24 hours a day. But in KL, it cooled down quite a bit at night. In fact, one day it rained all day and I was cold! It was also very humid, not that I mind it. One stays perpetually soaked, which doesn’t happen in Vietnam very often. The plus side is that you never get dry skin.
Despite traffic jams and high prices, I was really happy to visit KL. The people are lovely, the weather is nice, and when you get out of the city, the scenery is breathtaking. Maybe I won’t wait another four years before I return.
Kate
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
