Good morning Vietnam (predictably..)- MORE ADDED ON THURS 19.01.07
It's 5 a.m. here - I've still not quite adjusted to latest time change and so am 2 hours behind my normal time clock.
First of all, a note on last post. Should have read 'Ho Ho Ho chi minh' not 'ho chi
ho chi minh'. It was alluding to the battle cry of the sixties.
So what's been happening.
Well we flew out of Sydney on Sunday morning, bound initially for Singapore (8 hour flight).
Changed flights at Singapore to take plane to Ho Chi Minh city (1.5 hr flight).
This place was quite a culture shock. I actually feel as if I'm travelling now.
We sorted a hotel & taxi out from the airport and then were pitched into the screaming sensory overload that constitutes the streets of HCMC.
The road are full of buzzing motorbikes. The air is thick with petrol fumes. You could taste them from the comfort of the air conditioned taxi that took us to our hotel.
Our hotel.. it's ok - air conditioned room which is pretty useful in this constant 35C, tropical humid heat and very central. Mind you it's more central to the Vietnamese street markets and people's places than to the easier to access Western touristy area. It's taken us a while to orientate ourselves (no pun intended) and we've taken some odd routes through streets full of pavement traders looking quizically at these two middle aged foreigners wandering their streets.
On the subject of streets.. crossing the roads here is an art form. There are fainit white stripes on some bits of road, but they are meaningless. The tactic is to start crossing, very slowly, stand still or move positively and unambiguosly forward in order that the oncoming rush of motor bikes, cars, buses & rickshaws know exactly which direction to take to avoid you. It's all a bit unnerving at first, but you quickly get used to it. There aren't many clearings in the traffic (ever) so it's always a case of taking a chance. An additional hazard is that no traffic signs are obeyed. Nothing stops (except at a traffic light [motorbikes still don't] and there aren't many traffic lights). Also lots of motorbikes seem to go the wrong way down one way streets or merely decide to drive on the left - all adds to the pedestrians confusion. Just another point on the motorbikes - they tend to carry anything between 1 and 5 people. The 'fullest' one that I observed had riding on it (in order front to back : 2 yr old, 6 yr 0ld, dad, 8 yr old, mum. All ages being approximate of course - except mum and dad's whose ages I did not disclose.I did use a motorcycle taxi yesterday, after getting hopelessly lost. Was quite good fun actually.
Hi Peops, It is Rita here. It is Wednesday, 17.01.07 - and I am going to tell you about the nice time we had in HCMC (used to be called Saigon, apparently!, but what do I know?. At first I thought it was a subsiduary of Halifax Building Society)
They say travel broadens the mind? Well, it is certainly having that effect on my middle. When the weekend becomes a pernament fixture it might lose its charm but not its calorific content, alas. Anyway, I know Leigh has described the chaos of the roads but not to be deprived (& besides I need to let it all out), it is, my turn now:
So, on Sunday, 14.01.07 we left dear ol' Sydney at 5 am and arrived at 5pm in Vietnam. Our hotel turned out to be in District 1 in the heart of the city. The taxi drive from the airport to the Hotel left me sufficiently tremulous that I felt under house arrest for a time. Eventually I ventured out. This city is overwhelming, crazy, manic, where a family of four ride on the seat of scooter, baby at the front. Not a crash helmet insight. The roads are thronged with bikes - every kind imaginable from 3-wheelers, rikshaws and everything inbetween up to roaring motorbikes.Most people wear masks as the fumes are almost tangible. When the roads are too crammed to accommodate all the traffic, then the errant motorbike will appear behind you or whizz passed you on the pavement. It seems that nowhere is safe from he machine. Pedestrians cross slowly and diagonally intermingling with the flow of the traffic. The traffic's tactic is one of evasive action, so that's a blessing! This means they are not going to hit you as they aim to avoid you. HOw considerate! The hoots and blasting of horns is a constant raising above the grumble of the motorbike engines. It is serious sensory overload. Strident voices of the people who fill the streets (indeed seem to live out their lives on them, eating, socialising, feeding their young, selling their wares) are heard above the din, just. Early in the evening you see increasingly the women and children appearing in their sleeveless PJ's as if their daytime clothes have become too hot. The air is like a blast from an open oven door and today's recipe is the same as always, it's petrol for dinner! Yummy, I can taste and smell it already...
Monday, we are up so early that by 6.30am we are walking the streets and there is a lot going on. Most things here takes place in public view on the pavements, where they exist that is. For every stretch of pavement there is a stretch of rubble. Women are sqatting peeling, chopping, plucking, swilling, scraping every kind of meat, fish, fruit and vegetable. I recognise only half. Strange smells, sounds and shapes. (I think the sounds were squeals but I dare not look too closely). These workers lined the pavements for street upon street and they looked upon us with curiosity but not hugely clearing the bar above indifference, and they do not smile. I smiled at one woman who was walking by as she paused to put down her load on the shoulder pole. She observed my stare, then my reconciliatory smile and she looked away. We hadn't seen another Westerner yet - we were off the main tourist drag for sure. Anyway, my sandalled feet were bitten to bugary so on with the socks. I do this whilst sitting at one of the many pavement cafes that line the streets also. (There is not a street here that is not lined with something!) The pavement cafe needs to be qualified (& not jus by the Food & Hygiene Safety Board)...rather than conjuring up a picture in your mind of the Parisian type doing a spot of people watch, conjure up instead a small group of fishermen sitting on a bank of mud on little kindergarten size plastic stools, or simply squatting or sitting legs outstretched in front, sipping tea or sucking up long white strands of noodles. Bravely, Leigh and I sat down this fine Monday morning having walked for about 2 hours so its now 8.30amish, at a choice 'pavement cafe' for breakfast and coffee. We were quickly presented with bowls of steaming beef soup, accompanied by chopsticks and smaller bowls of mint leaves, beansprouts, red chilli peppers, peeled cloved of garlic and slices of lime. Our tootless hostess was at our side again obviously having registered our bewilderment. She plucked the mint leaves from their stems and showered them into our respective bowls, likewise with the bamboo shoots. She then pointed to the cloves of garlic and lime slices in the centre of the table. It would seem that this is a 50% DIY job.Half way through our spicy breakfast a scooter pulled up and Mum, Dad and toddler alighted (love that word and don't get much chance to use it!)and sat down opposite us. Their bowls of soup were promptly presented. I watched while they expertly and with due nonchalance skillfully stripped the mint etc and having filled their bowls with all the aforementioned, gave it all a good stir and swiftly demolished the lot with only the aid of their chopsticks. They ate their soup with chopsticks! Ha! ha! Leigh and I losing the battle of retaining the long noodles on the spoon long enough for it to reach the mouth were saved from further effort (& embarrassement) as out hostess summarily plonked a fork each in front of us. Hurrah - never hs the sight of a fork been so welcome. (A spoon would have been even better!). Toddler's eyes grew wide as he studied the couple opposite him, eatting their meal with a fork. Ha! ha! tittered he!
CON'D...see below:
And ao...After we had finished our spicy breakfast, our toothless hostess picked up our bowls and flung the scraps (we couldn't eat it all especially the red chilli peppers so early in the day)and flung the contents on to the pavement. All litter, leftovers etc are routinely deposited thus and one really does have to watch where one puts ones feet. During our morning stroll we saw flickering fish, slowly dying - in waterless bowls, we saw some being cut up as they sqirmed and the blood oozing out to join a steam of other fluids trickling along the gutterless ground. Anyway, as I said earlier,I had to put my socks on to stop any more bites and so I interrupted my slurping of spicy soup to put them on. Protocol and the exposing of one's feet at the table does not apply here. Certainly if this had been a cafe at Sydney Harbour I would have popped into the 'restroom' to perform this minor op for fear of offending another's sensibilites and doubtless to demonstrate just how well brought up I was!
How apt that I should be talking about feet just now because a guy has just tapped Leigh on the shoulder and asked Leigh if he is wearing his sandals. Leigh momentarily confused and then with clarity dawning, removed the said sandals from his feet and passed them to the guy, muttering profuse apologies. The guy put the sandals on his own feet and unsmilingly left.
What an absolute hoot! At this particular internet cafe one has to remove their shoes in accordance with the owner's religion. So here we all are keying in, Leigh beside me happily googling away.Apparently Leigh had obediently removed his shoes (great clodhopping size 45 jobs) and primly replaced them with a pair of nifty flip flops he spied conveniently in the doorway. He had carelessly presumed that someone (the owner perhaps?) had obligingly left them there especially for him. His perfect size too. Not so as it turns out. (Can't wait to add a few embellishments to this one at my next dinner party! I'm chuckling already. Leigh is still looking a little abashed...I have just stolen a glance. I suppose though that when you come to nicking a stranger's shoes and have to give them back, being caught 'red-footed' so to speak, it can take some getting over!)
First of all, a note on last post. Should have read 'Ho Ho Ho chi minh' not 'ho chi
ho chi minh'. It was alluding to the battle cry of the sixties.
So what's been happening.
Well we flew out of Sydney on Sunday morning, bound initially for Singapore (8 hour flight).
Changed flights at Singapore to take plane to Ho Chi Minh city (1.5 hr flight).
This place was quite a culture shock. I actually feel as if I'm travelling now.
We sorted a hotel & taxi out from the airport and then were pitched into the screaming sensory overload that constitutes the streets of HCMC.
The road are full of buzzing motorbikes. The air is thick with petrol fumes. You could taste them from the comfort of the air conditioned taxi that took us to our hotel.
Our hotel.. it's ok - air conditioned room which is pretty useful in this constant 35C, tropical humid heat and very central. Mind you it's more central to the Vietnamese street markets and people's places than to the easier to access Western touristy area. It's taken us a while to orientate ourselves (no pun intended) and we've taken some odd routes through streets full of pavement traders looking quizically at these two middle aged foreigners wandering their streets.
On the subject of streets.. crossing the roads here is an art form. There are fainit white stripes on some bits of road, but they are meaningless. The tactic is to start crossing, very slowly, stand still or move positively and unambiguosly forward in order that the oncoming rush of motor bikes, cars, buses & rickshaws know exactly which direction to take to avoid you. It's all a bit unnerving at first, but you quickly get used to it. There aren't many clearings in the traffic (ever) so it's always a case of taking a chance. An additional hazard is that no traffic signs are obeyed. Nothing stops (except at a traffic light [motorbikes still don't] and there aren't many traffic lights). Also lots of motorbikes seem to go the wrong way down one way streets or merely decide to drive on the left - all adds to the pedestrians confusion. Just another point on the motorbikes - they tend to carry anything between 1 and 5 people. The 'fullest' one that I observed had riding on it (in order front to back : 2 yr old, 6 yr 0ld, dad, 8 yr old, mum. All ages being approximate of course - except mum and dad's whose ages I did not disclose.I did use a motorcycle taxi yesterday, after getting hopelessly lost. Was quite good fun actually.
Hi Peops, It is Rita here. It is Wednesday, 17.01.07 - and I am going to tell you about the nice time we had in HCMC (used to be called Saigon, apparently!, but what do I know?. At first I thought it was a subsiduary of Halifax Building Society)
They say travel broadens the mind? Well, it is certainly having that effect on my middle. When the weekend becomes a pernament fixture it might lose its charm but not its calorific content, alas. Anyway, I know Leigh has described the chaos of the roads but not to be deprived (& besides I need to let it all out), it is, my turn now:
So, on Sunday, 14.01.07 we left dear ol' Sydney at 5 am and arrived at 5pm in Vietnam. Our hotel turned out to be in District 1 in the heart of the city. The taxi drive from the airport to the Hotel left me sufficiently tremulous that I felt under house arrest for a time. Eventually I ventured out. This city is overwhelming, crazy, manic, where a family of four ride on the seat of scooter, baby at the front. Not a crash helmet insight. The roads are thronged with bikes - every kind imaginable from 3-wheelers, rikshaws and everything inbetween up to roaring motorbikes.Most people wear masks as the fumes are almost tangible. When the roads are too crammed to accommodate all the traffic, then the errant motorbike will appear behind you or whizz passed you on the pavement. It seems that nowhere is safe from he machine. Pedestrians cross slowly and diagonally intermingling with the flow of the traffic. The traffic's tactic is one of evasive action, so that's a blessing! This means they are not going to hit you as they aim to avoid you. HOw considerate! The hoots and blasting of horns is a constant raising above the grumble of the motorbike engines. It is serious sensory overload. Strident voices of the people who fill the streets (indeed seem to live out their lives on them, eating, socialising, feeding their young, selling their wares) are heard above the din, just. Early in the evening you see increasingly the women and children appearing in their sleeveless PJ's as if their daytime clothes have become too hot. The air is like a blast from an open oven door and today's recipe is the same as always, it's petrol for dinner! Yummy, I can taste and smell it already...
Monday, we are up so early that by 6.30am we are walking the streets and there is a lot going on. Most things here takes place in public view on the pavements, where they exist that is. For every stretch of pavement there is a stretch of rubble. Women are sqatting peeling, chopping, plucking, swilling, scraping every kind of meat, fish, fruit and vegetable. I recognise only half. Strange smells, sounds and shapes. (I think the sounds were squeals but I dare not look too closely). These workers lined the pavements for street upon street and they looked upon us with curiosity but not hugely clearing the bar above indifference, and they do not smile. I smiled at one woman who was walking by as she paused to put down her load on the shoulder pole. She observed my stare, then my reconciliatory smile and she looked away. We hadn't seen another Westerner yet - we were off the main tourist drag for sure. Anyway, my sandalled feet were bitten to bugary so on with the socks. I do this whilst sitting at one of the many pavement cafes that line the streets also. (There is not a street here that is not lined with something!) The pavement cafe needs to be qualified (& not jus by the Food & Hygiene Safety Board)...rather than conjuring up a picture in your mind of the Parisian type doing a spot of people watch, conjure up instead a small group of fishermen sitting on a bank of mud on little kindergarten size plastic stools, or simply squatting or sitting legs outstretched in front, sipping tea or sucking up long white strands of noodles. Bravely, Leigh and I sat down this fine Monday morning having walked for about 2 hours so its now 8.30amish, at a choice 'pavement cafe' for breakfast and coffee. We were quickly presented with bowls of steaming beef soup, accompanied by chopsticks and smaller bowls of mint leaves, beansprouts, red chilli peppers, peeled cloved of garlic and slices of lime. Our tootless hostess was at our side again obviously having registered our bewilderment. She plucked the mint leaves from their stems and showered them into our respective bowls, likewise with the bamboo shoots. She then pointed to the cloves of garlic and lime slices in the centre of the table. It would seem that this is a 50% DIY job.Half way through our spicy breakfast a scooter pulled up and Mum, Dad and toddler alighted (love that word and don't get much chance to use it!)and sat down opposite us. Their bowls of soup were promptly presented. I watched while they expertly and with due nonchalance skillfully stripped the mint etc and having filled their bowls with all the aforementioned, gave it all a good stir and swiftly demolished the lot with only the aid of their chopsticks. They ate their soup with chopsticks! Ha! ha! Leigh and I losing the battle of retaining the long noodles on the spoon long enough for it to reach the mouth were saved from further effort (& embarrassement) as out hostess summarily plonked a fork each in front of us. Hurrah - never hs the sight of a fork been so welcome. (A spoon would have been even better!). Toddler's eyes grew wide as he studied the couple opposite him, eatting their meal with a fork. Ha! ha! tittered he!
CON'D...see below:
And ao...After we had finished our spicy breakfast, our toothless hostess picked up our bowls and flung the scraps (we couldn't eat it all especially the red chilli peppers so early in the day)and flung the contents on to the pavement. All litter, leftovers etc are routinely deposited thus and one really does have to watch where one puts ones feet. During our morning stroll we saw flickering fish, slowly dying - in waterless bowls, we saw some being cut up as they sqirmed and the blood oozing out to join a steam of other fluids trickling along the gutterless ground. Anyway, as I said earlier,I had to put my socks on to stop any more bites and so I interrupted my slurping of spicy soup to put them on. Protocol and the exposing of one's feet at the table does not apply here. Certainly if this had been a cafe at Sydney Harbour I would have popped into the 'restroom' to perform this minor op for fear of offending another's sensibilites and doubtless to demonstrate just how well brought up I was!
How apt that I should be talking about feet just now because a guy has just tapped Leigh on the shoulder and asked Leigh if he is wearing his sandals. Leigh momentarily confused and then with clarity dawning, removed the said sandals from his feet and passed them to the guy, muttering profuse apologies. The guy put the sandals on his own feet and unsmilingly left.
What an absolute hoot! At this particular internet cafe one has to remove their shoes in accordance with the owner's religion. So here we all are keying in, Leigh beside me happily googling away.Apparently Leigh had obediently removed his shoes (great clodhopping size 45 jobs) and primly replaced them with a pair of nifty flip flops he spied conveniently in the doorway. He had carelessly presumed that someone (the owner perhaps?) had obligingly left them there especially for him. His perfect size too. Not so as it turns out. (Can't wait to add a few embellishments to this one at my next dinner party! I'm chuckling already. Leigh is still looking a little abashed...I have just stolen a glance. I suppose though that when you come to nicking a stranger's shoes and have to give them back, being caught 'red-footed' so to speak, it can take some getting over!)
posted by Leon Trotsky | 10:06 pm
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