(Huzzuh! I’ve finally created a palindrome blog title! This attempt is pretty weak at 6 letters but my runners-up were 1) 'Nam Blog Odd, O' dog, Ol' B, Man, 2) Party 'Nam's Man-y Trap and 3) Noël in ‘Nam, man, Niles On. If there is an obvious one I missed, let me know).
To me, a bus in Asia is a magical hellhole where I’m only vulnerable to the unpleasantness inside the bus: long periods of sitting and deep vein thrombosis (Thanks Karen N.), bad smells from food and the occasional motion sickness, air-con that would kill a polar bear, the rare tactless guy trying to practice his English, my agonizing inability to sleep on bus rides shorter than 18 hours, the exposed upholstery nail in the seat, unintelligible karaoke at ear bleeding decibels, and many other trials.
But all things exterior to the bus are out of my control and therefore, inconsequential. Sometimes I picture the blank stare I’d expect to receive from a bus driver if I told him in well-mannered English, “Kind sir, if I could so much as request – and I say this with the utmost respect – if you could be so kind to slow down just a tad and maybe tone down the reckless overtaking, we'd all just be so pleased. Thanks for all you do. Good day.” And so, I stare out the window with zen-like complacency, much different than the backseat driver I feel like when a Westerner drives.
But this chaos becomes much more tangible when crossing a road by foot in HCMC, which is sort of like a live-action version of Frogger. The strategy is to walk into the road at the right time, continue walking no matter how terrifying it is, and hope everyone sees you and can avoid you. If you are Vietnamese you can shorten this process by not looking at all, which always makes me cringe. For beginners, the key is picking when to start walking...
One of the main ways of getting around HCMC is on a local green bus -- at least I assume that is the case, because I've never ridden one in HCMC. For the time being, I've gotten over seeking out that type of authentic "cultural" experience. I’ll save that sort of stuff for the crazy German backpackers that carry hand-carved walking-sticks, who come off as cultishly devout WWOOFers, and smell like the open sewers in # 4 above. (Note: I’ve met only one of these types of Germans in the course of a year, on a local bus, which is one more such person than any other country). Anyway, I was told that the green buses pay an annuity for life-lasting injuries, and pay a one-lump sum if someone is killed in an accident. Apparently the latter is the preferred option, which sounds really scary to a Westerner. My guess is that if you get hit by an equally reckless Vietnamese driver whose vehicle isn't government owned, the victim gets nothing, so getting hit by a green bus isn't as bad as it sounds in Vietnam. Regardless, unless you have a morbid fascination with pavement and ground meat, careful with that first step.
Well, I didn't only cross roads in Vietnam for two and a half weeks. I was here for a true non-backpacker vacation and I was happily accompanied by a French traveler I met in Malaysia many months ago. We took an excursion to the Cao Dai Great Temple, Tay Ninh Holy See. Cao Dai is a monotheistic religion blending Western and Eastern religious themes and concepts, but also integrating some secular figures as well. How would you like to have Jesus, Buddha, Victor Hugo and Napoleon as saints in your religion? Welcome to the psychedelic religion of Cao Dai. By judging their tastes in interior decoration, psychedelic is the perfect word.
But most of our time was spent relaxing, primarily pool-side, or eating delicious food. The low-key holiday was mixed up with some trips to Ho Chi Minh City, celebrating Christmas and partying it up at the Hard Rock Cafe for New Years.
Between band acts on New Years Eve, there were stage contests for the audience. During the first three contests, I found myself watching the spectacle -- a speed contest to eat an apple hanging from a string, picking things out of a hat, taking a shot of alcohol without using your hands. Somewhere during that third act, I got intoxicated enough to think, "I'm more coordinated than those drunk idiots."
So I volunteered for the fourth. By volunteer I mean I walked up to the front of the stage, declared myself picked, and bowed to the audience. In retrospect, maybe I was a little drunker than I thought at the time. There was a formal selection process which ended up with three Vietnamese/Asian ladies and three foreign guys, one being me. I stood on stage, blinding stage lights shining in my face, waiting for the contest to be declared. I reflected on this and realized that masked by those stage lights are more than a hundred people watching in near silence. It was at this point that my fear of public speaking/performance started to drift to the surface. My pulse increased, little butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I thought, "What the fuck am I doing up here?"
The contest was declared: A battle-of-the-sexes dance off, 30 seconds per person, points deducted for laughing while the opposing sex dances. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that. Okay, I feel awkward dancing in dark rooms, by myself, so this was especially distressing.
The ladies started first, I was to be second, and alternating through the remaining people. Not laughing was easy. I was terrified. I didn't have much time to think. There were 10 seconds of blank panic. 10 seconds of wondering what kind of dance move is funny or embarrassing for a guy. And 10 seconds of "Holy shit, I'm gonna do a booty dance on stage." Then it was my turn.
I boogied the two paces closer to my opponent, playing it cool, about faced, bent over, put my hand on the floor and did my best impression of Beyoncé jiggling it. I can't say that I actually did a booty dance, and thankfully, no one I personally know captured any pictures of the act to shame me with. I truly hope no one else did either, but if so, I hope they never surface when I run for President. Ultimately the girls won, why?, I don't know, but I think it was rigged -- my dance was hilarious, good or bad. For second place each volunteer received a gift voucher equivalent to US$10. Not. Worth. It.
The rest of the night and the rest of the vacation was a lot of fun, and I've learned a valuable lesson. If I start the night with an extremely embarrassing dance move on stage, the normal awkwardness of my dancing doesn't feel that bad. A pretty good philosophy to apply to other uncomfortable things in life.
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam is just like I remember: Humid, chaotic and unimpressive. I had set the bar low, but arriving by plane doesn't provide much in the way of acclimatization. Here are a list of things I found immediately annoying.
- Taxi drivers must, MUST, hassle any Western-looking individual if they need a ride -- no matter how many other taxi drivers this person has refused or ignored in their presence.
- The noticeable absence of trash cans and a culture of disposing of trash wherever seems most disagreeable. Poor cultural habit or thrifty solution to rising ocean levels??
- The 20 million Vietnamese on scooters in a sprawling city mostly devoid of traffic signs, traffic laws, and order. Riding on the sidewalk. Yup. Wrong side of the road. Indeed. 6-person family on a scooter. Check. Bamboo poles slung like a medieval jouster. Check. Ignoring red lights, stopping in the middle of the highway, shooting a pregnant woman in the face. Check, check, er, I made that last one up.
- Open sewers. They are gross and smell bad. Weird stuff grows in them. Rodents play around in them. Trash migrates into them, and then eventually that trash flows into to a stream, river, sea, or ocean near you. At least grates are good at hiding the truth.
- I understand why it happens, but I wish the staring wasn’t so blatant for the first few minutes, especially in non-tourist areas.
To me, a bus in Asia is a magical hellhole where I’m only vulnerable to the unpleasantness inside the bus: long periods of sitting and deep vein thrombosis (Thanks Karen N.), bad smells from food and the occasional motion sickness, air-con that would kill a polar bear, the rare tactless guy trying to practice his English, my agonizing inability to sleep on bus rides shorter than 18 hours, the exposed upholstery nail in the seat, unintelligible karaoke at ear bleeding decibels, and many other trials.
But all things exterior to the bus are out of my control and therefore, inconsequential. Sometimes I picture the blank stare I’d expect to receive from a bus driver if I told him in well-mannered English, “Kind sir, if I could so much as request – and I say this with the utmost respect – if you could be so kind to slow down just a tad and maybe tone down the reckless overtaking, we'd all just be so pleased. Thanks for all you do. Good day.” And so, I stare out the window with zen-like complacency, much different than the backseat driver I feel like when a Westerner drives.
But this chaos becomes much more tangible when crossing a road by foot in HCMC, which is sort of like a live-action version of Frogger. The strategy is to walk into the road at the right time, continue walking no matter how terrifying it is, and hope everyone sees you and can avoid you. If you are Vietnamese you can shorten this process by not looking at all, which always makes me cringe. For beginners, the key is picking when to start walking...
 |
| To be honest, a mildly busy street in China Town during midday, HCMC. |
One of the main ways of getting around HCMC is on a local green bus -- at least I assume that is the case, because I've never ridden one in HCMC. For the time being, I've gotten over seeking out that type of authentic "cultural" experience. I’ll save that sort of stuff for the crazy German backpackers that carry hand-carved walking-sticks, who come off as cultishly devout WWOOFers, and smell like the open sewers in # 4 above. (Note: I’ve met only one of these types of Germans in the course of a year, on a local bus, which is one more such person than any other country). Anyway, I was told that the green buses pay an annuity for life-lasting injuries, and pay a one-lump sum if someone is killed in an accident. Apparently the latter is the preferred option, which sounds really scary to a Westerner. My guess is that if you get hit by an equally reckless Vietnamese driver whose vehicle isn't government owned, the victim gets nothing, so getting hit by a green bus isn't as bad as it sounds in Vietnam. Regardless, unless you have a morbid fascination with pavement and ground meat, careful with that first step.
 |
| No roughing it in hostels on this trip. A placid pool waiting to be disturbed. |
Well, I didn't only cross roads in Vietnam for two and a half weeks. I was here for a true non-backpacker vacation and I was happily accompanied by a French traveler I met in Malaysia many months ago. We took an excursion to the Cao Dai Great Temple, Tay Ninh Holy See. Cao Dai is a monotheistic religion blending Western and Eastern religious themes and concepts, but also integrating some secular figures as well. How would you like to have Jesus, Buddha, Victor Hugo and Napoleon as saints in your religion? Welcome to the psychedelic religion of Cao Dai. By judging their tastes in interior decoration, psychedelic is the perfect word.
 |
| The Cao Dai during worship in the Great Temple. |
 |
| The guy in the chapeau is Victor Hugo, one of the prominent modern saints of the religion. |
But most of our time was spent relaxing, primarily pool-side, or eating delicious food. The low-key holiday was mixed up with some trips to Ho Chi Minh City, celebrating Christmas and partying it up at the Hard Rock Cafe for New Years.
Between band acts on New Years Eve, there were stage contests for the audience. During the first three contests, I found myself watching the spectacle -- a speed contest to eat an apple hanging from a string, picking things out of a hat, taking a shot of alcohol without using your hands. Somewhere during that third act, I got intoxicated enough to think, "I'm more coordinated than those drunk idiots."
So I volunteered for the fourth. By volunteer I mean I walked up to the front of the stage, declared myself picked, and bowed to the audience. In retrospect, maybe I was a little drunker than I thought at the time. There was a formal selection process which ended up with three Vietnamese/Asian ladies and three foreign guys, one being me. I stood on stage, blinding stage lights shining in my face, waiting for the contest to be declared. I reflected on this and realized that masked by those stage lights are more than a hundred people watching in near silence. It was at this point that my fear of public speaking/performance started to drift to the surface. My pulse increased, little butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I thought, "What the fuck am I doing up here?"
The contest was declared: A battle-of-the-sexes dance off, 30 seconds per person, points deducted for laughing while the opposing sex dances. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that. Okay, I feel awkward dancing in dark rooms, by myself, so this was especially distressing.
The ladies started first, I was to be second, and alternating through the remaining people. Not laughing was easy. I was terrified. I didn't have much time to think. There were 10 seconds of blank panic. 10 seconds of wondering what kind of dance move is funny or embarrassing for a guy. And 10 seconds of "Holy shit, I'm gonna do a booty dance on stage." Then it was my turn.
I boogied the two paces closer to my opponent, playing it cool, about faced, bent over, put my hand on the floor and did my best impression of Beyoncé jiggling it. I can't say that I actually did a booty dance, and thankfully, no one I personally know captured any pictures of the act to shame me with. I truly hope no one else did either, but if so, I hope they never surface when I run for President. Ultimately the girls won, why?, I don't know, but I think it was rigged -- my dance was hilarious, good or bad. For second place each volunteer received a gift voucher equivalent to US$10. Not. Worth. It.
The rest of the night and the rest of the vacation was a lot of fun, and I've learned a valuable lesson. If I start the night with an extremely embarrassing dance move on stage, the normal awkwardness of my dancing doesn't feel that bad. A pretty good philosophy to apply to other uncomfortable things in life.
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