In Hot Water

1/13/16

   
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
 I sweat a lot. When I am hot, I usually become drench in sweat, and get really sticky. Especially after moving to Seattle, I realize my sweat glands are in overdrive. That is actually one of the main reason why I seldom cycle to work. (The other reason: my glasses tend to get wet and I can barely see beyond the water droplets.) I am a big fan of cycling (not in the Tour de France manner). I do occasionally ride the bike and cycle around town, and always hoping no one knocks me down. Nowadays, urban cyclists are a force to be handle with extreme care. For some reason, they like to think they also have the right of way as cars, but also can go onto sidewalks. Turning without signals, no using lights in the dark, and many other irrational actions that defy understanding. Of course, these were the complaints I had before my Nikon experiences in south east Asia. Here, the motorcycles and electric bicycles m are the ones that go everywhere: with traffic flow, against traffic, onto sidewalk, on shoulders (road shoulders, not actual human shoulder. Though I would not be surprise if I see that too), and in every gap they can squeeze by. It is quite an exciting event to ride a bicycle down a street. 

For my last day in Hue, I really had no plan whatsoever. I spent some time utilizing the amazing private room I have with hand washing my clothes and hanging then in front of an air conditioner (the luxury!). I also went to collect my custom shirts and pants, while receiving a lot of compliments on how good I look in them. By 10am, I was totally bored and went to ask the hotel receptionist what is there to do. He suggested the hot spring, and sensing my reluctance to rent a motorcycle, he offered a bicycle. I gladly took up his offer and went off to find the famous hot spring. The traffic was not extremely heavy, but it was still a challenge to ride along with motorized traffic, especially when I needed to make left turns. I swerved along with everyone else and soon realized one important thing: most motorists actually pay a lot of attention to bicycle riders. They usually avoid cyclist on the road, and anticipate your movements given your speed and general direction. I then also realized: that is what happens when they see a pedestrian crossing the road. This is why the locals just walk into traffic without much hesitation and usually end up on the other side without much problem. The foreigners, on the other hand, tend to watch traffic and stop for cars; which mess up with what the motorcyclists expect, causing lots of disruption. I arrived at the hot spring after about an hour of cycling (including 15 minutes of me getting temporarily disorientated), lots of sweat and some spit, i paid the 100,000 dongs to get in (yes, the Vietnamese currency is call dongs. I still can’t say it out loud without giggling a little). I was given a pair of shorts and a towel, and introduced to 3 pools : hotter, hot and warm. Taking a cue from some locals (who were staring at me a little: I was the only one wearing the given swim shorts. Everyone else brought their own), I jumped into the warm one, then move from hot to hotter and back to warm. Cycling through the temperature, I started to sweat profusely again. I managed to do that for about an hour and a half before retreating to shower.

Smelling like a devil that just escaped from hell (the sulphur), I cycled all the way back to town to look for a Korean ice shop that sells favored ice. I searched high and low (well, mostly at eye level actually: I was biking afterall), but could not find it. I ended up at a very famou bun bo hue (soup noodle with beef) restaurant and ate a good but very late lunch. With the hot soup, I never stop sweating, and finally went back to my hotel for a shower and some tv watching (captain America, the movie). 

Sitting at dinner (an excellent one  with banana flower salad and honey ginger beef), I downed a mango smoothie to replenish my fluids and thought about all the cycling i did today. In the end, it was a lot less scary than expected, and I could move within the flow of traffic without much issue. If course, turning against traffic is still a challenge, and I never dated to move against traffic flow. I guess that is quite similar to life: it is easy to move within the general flow, but attempts to go against the flow become a challenge. However, as with traffic, i think most others going with the flow tend to watch out for those trying to escape. While they may not express anything, they usually make way for you to leave, and sometimes stop to let you pass. I highly recommend attempting to get off the general flow  once in a while: not only to experience life, but also appreciate the general kindness of your fellow motorists.

(That said, I am still not going to cycle to work. Too much sweat. I refuse to look like a drowned rat at work, especially one drowned in his own sweat.)

Self Searching

1/12/16

   
    
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
    
   
Identity is a confusing thing, especially for me since I have lived in 3 countries and have no idea where I belong 50% of the time, or what I am soon. 100% of the time. How do we prove who we are and where we belong? While we are always given an identity through driver’s license, identity card, passport, birth certificate, social security number, etc.; they are just what identify us to the world. How do I tell people what identifies me as me, a person living on planet earth? When an alien come (well, or imagine any god you choose to believe in) and ask: what makes you You? Why sets you apart, and how does that make it worth the earth to keep you alive? 

Waking ip early, I ate a quick breakfast at the hotel and got ready for my 7:45 am pick up. After reading up on some travel websites, I decided to do a day tour of the emperors’ tomb. Originally, I wanted to bike it, but the weather turned on me and forecast showed rain for the rest of the week. My tour would bring me to three tombs: Tu Duc, Minh Mang and khai dinh. Situated along the perfume river, these tombs are great examples of the Vietnamese architecture. When the French colonized Vietnam, the emperors were left as figureheads, which left  them time and resources to build elaborate tomb. Along the way, we were promised to visit a kungfu show, a straw hat and incense factory and a visit of the pagoda Thien Mu. All in all, a very packed day, and I fully expected to be herd around like cows to a slaughter house. We picked up everyone in a giant bus, and was told we were 46 persons strong for this tour. We started the tour with visit of the tombs. Again, I am reminded by how much the Vietnamese culture came from China. Our tour guide explained that all elites and officials used the Chinese written language as the official language, but pronounced the words in Vietnamese. In the 1900s, they began to use romanized alphabets. In 1945, the country decided to adopt the simpler Roman alphabets as their language, and discontinued the use of Chinese written language. He also explained that the last dynasty is Nguyen, and it had 13 emperors. They all have tombs around the same area, but some have slowly fallen into disrepair. Since the emperors followed mainly Chinese burial customs and fengshui, the result were some very Chinese looking tombs, except the tomb of Khai Dinh, which has a lot of European influence.

While the sites were interesting enough, what made the tour great was our tour guide. He made some very weird jokes about having concubines and how his wife can easily turn him into an eunuch by “castrating his sexual organ”; that his wife is the bank and he is the attention, and even a joke about how they used to kill people who had committed adultery. Of course, that was not what made him great: what interested me was his depiction of life in Vietnam: the wars, the unification, the proverty and now the slow upswing of the economy. He explained to us the education system: how good school costs US$50 a month (but for all expenses). Or that he wanted to be a teacher but was too poor to pay the bribe to become one (US$1000 for a lifetime appointment of being a teacher in a rural area). Apparently, bribery is the way for everything in Vietnam, but he thinks that the foreign companies are much better: they actually let talents to rise to the top. However, the locals are not quite used to competition, but are learning fast. He also explained that the Vietnamese are very proud of their country: they faced down France and USA without losing, and remain standing after all the internal struggles. At the same time, he also expressed the wish for a better life for him and his daughters, and regards all foreign tourists as good people (because they pay his wage). Crude jokes aside, he was actually a very effective guide. I leaned a lot about local life and how history has been affecting Vietnamese throughout the last 10 years.

After the tour, I went back to the seamstress for a final fitting for my clothes before heading out for dinner. As I was sitting in a eatery eating bun no hue (local beef noodle) while looking at the international clientele, my mind wandered off to the question of identity. The Vietnamese people seem to be slowly adjusting to a new identity: a citizen of the world. Instead of the older communist way (when working or not working produced the same wages), they are embracing the market economy. At the same time, they are trying very hard to retain their heritage and showcase their pride to the world by reconstructing the fallen monuments. Of course, my mind then started to wander further and wonder what my identity is. Is it a traveler? An engineer traveler? A Chinese engineer traveler? A Chinese engineer traveler who has eaten too many ice creams and have gained weight?! I guess I am not quite sure what identifies me as a person, or if I am a useful member of the society. Then again, life is a change, and one can change their identify if one is motivated enough. Maybe once I digest all my experiences, I can better judge what type of person I want to be.

(Well, an ice cream lover for sure. How is it I never gain weight in South America for 6 months but gained quite a few pounds in south east Asia?!)

Emperor’s New Clothes

1/11/16

   
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
 When I was young, I read a famous children’s story call “The Emperor’s New Clothes”. The story says that there was an emperor whose fashion designer recommended a dress maker for him. To save fabric and labor cost, the dress maker decided to tell the emperor that the clothes he made could only be seen by smart people, and basically forced the emperor to prance around naked in these invisible clothes. Everyone was either too scared of the emperor or too afraid to admit they are stupid:, and just went on with the charade (which begs a question: did the emperor not feel cold? Or sweaty?). Finally, one brave honest subject decides to voice his opinion, and the emperor was so ashamed that he killed the dress maker, wore clothes, and admit how stupid he was (I guess it is a fairy tale afterall…). The lesson of the day? I think it was about not paying too much attention to fashion. Or that we should be honest and admit we are all stupid. This flew in contrast to the emperors of China I studied later. Those are dictators that riled with absolute power, and were usually survivors (lots of princes and only one final King- I am sure chemists and assassins were in high demand). 

I woke up groggy and again dos not know where I was. After a few seconds, I remembered I am in Hue, the imperial city and I had planned to see the palace today. Hue used to be the capital of Vietnam (well, before Vietnam is known as Vietnam), with the emperor Gia Long coming into power at 1802. Regicgbized by China as the official emperor in 1804 (just like how the United States and united nation recognize regimes. I sense irony whenever China complains about that), the emperor started to built his palace. 10 km of walls and moats were dug, and the final citadel was built to face east. Many courtyards and gardens were added throughout the years until mid 1900s when the reign ended. Part of the citadel was known as the purple forbidden city (just like China), until the Vietnam war between the north and south. Out of 160 buildings, only 10 remained. In 1993, the city was named as a UNESCO heritage site and restoration of the palace started in earnest. It is still undergoing construction today.

Under a very very hot sun and humid weather, i walked a mile to the walled city. It is an impressive sight: high walls and a moat surround the whole complex, with a lot of the original central gates still standing. I purchased an entrance ticket, walked to the emperor’s throne room and immediately felt a sense of familiarity creeping over me. (No, it is not a Deja vu moment. Nor did I suddenly remember by past life.) The room has tiles of Chinese poem all over it, with the throne looking exactly like those in China (well, the forbidden one). The courtyard, the architecture, and even the language are all Chinese based. This make a lot of sense, since Vietnam used to belong to China, but it still made me felt a little cheated. It is like a miniature version of the forbidden city in China. I know i should not judge a palace by how it looks (actually, shouldn’t I?), but I still felt a little strange. To understand the history more, I actually walked almost the whole place, spending about 4 hours there. I quite like it, but it still felt like a rougher younger brother of the one in China.

In The afternoon, I decided to do what lots of people told me to try: make some clothes in Hue. (No, not weave or spurn some cloth. Actually visit a seamstress and make custom made clothing. No, not the cosplay variety. But now that I think of this idea….) I entered the shop, wanting to see how much it was and how the process is. Sensing fresh meat, the sales lady descended on me (in a family friendly way), and I was soon choosing fabric, listening to lectures on button holes (again, the family friendly variety), getting measured (in a clothes making way), spurned around, and cupped when they measured my inseams (not in a family friendly way). The whole process fasincated me and I came away with a lot more than I wanted or needed. I have to say, for the cost of a pair of true religion jeans I could have made about 3 shirts, 3 pants and a tshirt. The owner was really on her game, and I left the shop feeling stressed: how the hell am I supposed to pack all these into my backpacker backpack?! Then again, if you have the time and a little money to spare, definitely make some clothes here.  They can do any design (within limit), and can reproduce anything in photos. I saw a guy bringing in magazine photos of suits and combined a few elements from them to make his. The best thing? They are usually ready without 6 hours. Suits take a day and about 2-3 fittings though. One customer I chatted with was so happy with his suit that he ordered anothetone right after he was fitted with the first one. At $120-$180 a suit, it is definitely a bargain.

I ate dinner at a tour agency/restaurant while pondering of I should take a motorbike to hoi an. As I was thinking about the danger of riding a bike and whether I have my donor card with me, I was reminded how much money I have spent today when I paid my check. While clothes are expensive, they also make the man, and I guess I should not be too harsh on fashion. Of course, the dressmaker could also be way more advanced than we realize: he could have spurn a cloth that can only be seen under a certain wavelength that correspond to higher brain activity. It could also be a cloth that bends light, and appear transparent (akin to stealth fighter planes). Whatever the case, I am sure it was pretty expensive, unlike the clothes I made today (I am really trying hard to justify my spending…).

(On a brighter note, I maybe the best dressed backpacker there is on the trail. Or on the back of the motorcycle). 

Chu Chu Train

 1/10/16

(I just realized I had been writing 2015 instead of 2016. Oops).

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
   
   
    
    
    
 When I was younger (sigh, getting old), I love a mystery novel by Agatha Christie. It feature the famous detective Hercule Poirot, who somehow always solved murder cases by twirling his mustache and sitting very still: the counter opposite to Sherlock Homes. The most memorable case was, of course, The Murder on the Orient Express. (Spoiler alert) The murder happened on a train, and when it was strained in the snow, the detective had no choice but to solve the case. It turned out almost everyone on the train had a motive and the opportunity, and in the end, everyone had a hand in the murder (by that I mean all except one stabbed the victim). It was a plot twist that came out of nowhere, and the young me was fascinated- not only by the murder, but the complexity of he case and how a train cabin can be a perfect place to set up a crime. However, I have never really slept in a sleeper train: I was too cheap to pay for it..until now.
Against the better judgement of my bank account, I decided to take an overnight train from Hanoi to Hue. I had never slept in a train sleeper compartment before (I had, however, spent a night on a train on seats that did not recline. I distinctly remembered my rear and back both hurt in places I did not know existed). After getting off the bus from HaLong bay, o arrived back at the hotel, repacked, grabbed dinner at a roadside stand, charged my phone and jumped onto a taxi to the train station…and completely forgot my large bottle of water. I arrived at the station pretty early, and was initially a little apprehensive about the train. It looked pretty dilapidated from the outside, and a traveler I met suggested buying some snacks and beers as sleeping aid. I followed his advice, and settled down in my bunk. The sleeper compartment consists of 4 beds in each cabin, with a total of about 10 cabins in each segment. I was in segment 7, bed 2, and shared the cabin with a Korean student traveling and  a couple from Netherlands. None were extremely communicative, so we just traded some background, tried valiantly but fruitlessly to stuff out backs into the narrow space under my bed, and went to sleep. To my surprise, I actually like sleeping on the train: the rattling, occasional honks, people opening doors to go to the bathroom (that was mostly me), the weird stares all the attendants have when I walked all over the train, and the disappointed look of the kitchen staff when I decided not to have a late night pho: they all made me really happy and excited. Oddly, I also felt really safe: I think I might be the only passenger that day who have imagined and plotted how to commit a muster on a moving train. Before I went to bed, I walked all the way to themfinin cart, and hence passed by the 2nd and 3rd class passengers (first class had the last few cars). There were the hard and unforgiving wooden seats I remembered so well, and the 6 people bunk that I never tried. 

Woken up by the sunlight shining in at 6am, I washed up, lined up for the bathtoom, drank a really good and strong Vietnamese coffee and ate a chicken porridge. We finally arrive in Hue, the imperial city around 9:45am. Arriving at the  hotel (yes, I thought I would sleep badly on the train and boat and opted for a hotel room: turns out I was way more comfortable on the boat and train: maybe I am a button for punishment. Wait, what was I saying?), I managed to check in, took a break before heading out to see Hue.

The imperial city, Hue, was where the emperors used to rule this area. The imperial city and palace still exist, and is now the main attraction of this area. I decided to tackle the actually imperial complex tomorrow when I have not energy, and just walked all over the city. The stark contrast between the old city (surrounded by a moat) and the new one was mind boggling. The old city has wide and straight roads, clean lines and good sight distances. The new city, on the other hand, is filled with crooked avenues, narrow streets and horrible traffic. Along the way, I saw lots of small eateries, cafes, motorcycles and people just hanging out. It was then I realized: today is Sunday.

I ended up at a highly recommended restaurant for a really awesome dinner (Nina cafe), and a drink at a local bar (Why not. That’s the bar name. I am not trying to be fiesty). As I sat typing away in the bar (that is drawin some very weird stares), I have to wonder if my perfect murder plan on a train would work. I actually discovered that there are lots of holes on my plan: the train contains way too many people, has too many doors and cupboards, and is a lot narrower than I foray thought. Maybe the goal is not to commit the perfect murder on a train, but to keep my imagination alive on such random useless stuff. Afterall, I like to be weird. 

(Or maybe i should just design a train perfect for my murder plan?)

Painful Gain

1/9/16

   
    
    
    
   

  

  

  

  

  
(Short entry. I just came back from halong bay tour, and will be trying to catch the night train to Hue on an hour!)

I know we love to say “no pain no gain”, and it is mostly true: effort is always needed to achieve something (unless you are super lucky, then would you mind buying a lottery ticket for me?). However, I am never sure if putting yourself through severe pain just to attain a goal is always a wise idea. For example, extreme running across Sahara desert or kayaking through the Amazon sounds amazingly fun, but also scarily dangerous. If risk should equal reward, how much should pain equate to gain?

I woke up in the junk boat feeling quite alright, especially since I was waking up every 2 hours for no reason (maybe I am not going to be a good seaman..haha. Say that out loud). The first activity of the day: kayaking in the bay. With fog blanketing the sea and the rock formations, it was a little eerie and surreal. The scenery was breathtaking, and I was happily paddling along in a 2 person kayak all by myself – they do not have single kayak. Being constantly reminded of how alone I am by the empty seat in front of me, I rowed and rowed my boat (kayak) gently down the bay. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and I was extremely happy until I got closer to the shore. The amount of trash is also quite amazing, and soon I noticed empty plastic water bottles, containers, cigarettes, and food packaging all floating along with me. I guess looking from afar is better than close up in this case.

Our next activity was a visit to the pearl farm: where they grow pearls. We were shown how the raised oysters and pearls: they showed us how a foreign object (the seed pearl) was inserted into a live oyster. To protect itself, the oyster produce substances (white milky in color) to coat this foreign object, which eventually turns into a pearl. To get the pearl, they simply kill the oyster, take out the pearl, and use the body for soup stock. Beautiful as it is, it was a little tragic: the oyster was killed just because it swallowed the wrong thing (or in this case, man forcefully made the oyster swallow a bad thing). I looked at quite a few beautiful pearls, but kept having the image of dead oysters in a chain in my mind.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on a bus back to Hanoi. As I was sitting on the bus, I wondered: do dead oysters haunt the owners of pearl necklaces? Then I wondered if they felt any pain when we pry them open to insert something into them, and then open them up again and kill them for it. Is the pain of oysters worth the pearl we are collecting? Also, why do we want to wear secretions of dead oysters around the neck? (I would find it weird if someone wants to wear my body fluid around their body.) 

(Then again, I do love eating oysters….)