Dialogue

Yesterday, outside of my favourite bar/cafe, we watched a heated discussion between a bunch of those scary night cops, a mouthy kid, his girl, his fancypants Vespa, and his outrageously involved haircut. It wasn’t clear to me what the nature of the altercation was, but I think it might have been something along the lines of the cops disagreeing with the kid’s reasoning that his hair was far too pretty to contain under a helmet.

Picture taken at a recent anti-helmet protest

(It’s also possible that this is a picture of a Taiwanese band called Fahrenheit.)

In true Vietnamese style, a crowd gathered to watch (and be) the spectacle. Further in true Vietnamese style, everyone in the crowd had an opinion and shared it loudly and generously. It was hilarious – and strangely….democratic, could be the word I’m looking for.  I mean, I sure as heck have never seen cops engaging in debate before. Emboldened by all that multi-party chitchat, I’d trotted over to nosy around, but left at high speed when I realised how close that put me to a bunch of large guns. Needless to say that sort of thing makes me a bit itchy. There’s something about seeing cops packing heat that brings back memories of my days on the corner…oh, wait, that’s not my life; that’s The Wire. Regardless, itchy.

In other news, I was wondering how long it would take, and here it finally is. Vietnamese ISPs have been “requested” by the govt to block Facebook, along with a few other social networking type sites. The letter is here, and the low-down is here.

Mind you, it seems that the letter went out at the end of August, and people are only just now kind of sporadically experiencing loss of access.

My feeling is that the popular response is likely to be similar to the popular response to the 11pm curfew; that is, something along the lines of “Meh, we’ll find a workaround” eventually leading to “What, there’s a curfew?!”

In the meantime, I might stick to talking about tiny dogs, and maybe boy-bands.

Entertaining

I think this is a pretty common scene – people leave their front doors open, and they typically open into the sitting room, where you might see guests being entertained with tiny cups of eye-wateringly strong tea.

But in Tam Đảo it seems that dogs run the place. Not the itty-bitty dogs you see in Hà Nội, but these great big gorgeous mountain dogs.

This puppy was presiding over afternoon tea (and the one on the background seems to be presiding over the old guy’s foot):

Hosting

Unfortunately my first reaction of “Eeeeee!” is usually closely followed by “Ack! Wormy rabies!!” When that happens, you have to abort Operation Pat The Dog by doing this embarrassing hurried hand retraction, while pretending that it was part of an elaborate – and sudden – dance you happened to be engaging in near the dog. You might also have to execute an even more embarrassing back-and-forth shimmy to make sure that onlookers truly understand that you’re actually dancing for them, which might at first be confused with changing your mind about patting the dog.

People don’t understand how hard life is for a delicate flower like me.

Risk exposure

Yo players – did I just say that? Yes, yes I did.

I’m back online. Yah! And better than ever. Goodbye Windows, hello Ubuntu (thanks to the genius concept of separate desktops,  I can surreptitiously switch screens easily and thus blog at work).

To pick up where we left off: there are a couple things that I’m better at. Namely:

1. Using chopsticks. I no longer depend on speed, luck and a frantic scissor motion. Rather, I am a lady now, and can pick peanuts up with the best of them.

2. Riding my bike faster. Actually, I may not necessarily be riding my bike faster. But I am riding my bike faster than I am riding motorbikes, so I’m going to go ahead and give that one a tick in the “Triumph” column anyway.

3. Dealing with the unsolicited opinions. It’s cool, you can tell me I look tired and older. I’m very sweaty? Really, I hadn’t noticed, it’s lucky you’re here to inform me.

The unsolicited opinions bring interesting information too. For example, last week I found out that I’m a potential menace, a spousal public enemy.

My co-worker pointed out that I am tanned, which Vietnamese people consider of the peasant class. Nothing new there. Then she pointed out that I’m skinny, which, historically, Vietnamese people considered also of the peasant class. Fatty boomsticks = can afford food and are also more like to survive in times of famine = more desirable. Then she said I have high cheekbones. I thought to myself, yes! Finally, I might get a compliment!

She then told me that Vietnamese people consider high cheekbones a dangerous thing in a woman. Apparently, if a lady has high cheekbones, it means her husband has a higher chance of dying prematurely…

Wow. I know I can be inconsiderate, but it’s a new record even for this fool. On behalf of prominently bony-faced women everywhere, we’re sorry. Truly.

 

Disaster!

Hi everyone – my computer is taking a bit of a break. That is to say, I broke it. Hopefully this is a temporary situation, and I’ll be back soon, with more stories of unsolicited comments and what your face shape says about you, your life, and how you will affect on those around. Yes, you, and your high cheekbones, are that powerful.

Someone else’s shoes

So folks, I have to warn you. This one is personal, and might make you uncomfortable. It’s also not particularly cogent – there are many underdeveloped thoughts here (for example, I am uncomfortable with a possible conclusion that what I am advocating is that “everyone should just hate on everyone else”). It also trades on “us” and “them”, it is prejudiced and anecdotal. Which is why I’m a little antsy about posting it: it makes me feel like I’m riding my bike in my underwear while also wearing white socks and sandals. However, in line with my ambition to be honest about what’s what in Hanoi, I think it needs to be said. So, here it is.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my anger at the privilege enjoyed by so many expats here. I’ve been doing this thinking because I know that my sentiments are probably not fair and are more often than not based on very broad-brush stereotypes. For example, many people would argue that as whiteys, they’re discriminated against by having to pay foreigner prices. My instant reaction nearly always is, My heart bleeds – ok, now try being colonized. I think this even if I agree that it sucks to be ripped off!  Anyway, I’m trying to work through this, as having this sort of sustained and undirected anger makes me uncomfortable. It doesn’t fit in with who I want to be. I’m a lover not a fighter. Well, if you want to be pedantic, I’m an eater, not a fighter.

Other eats and pieces

On Saturday I ate frog. What part of exactly, I’m not sure. To quote a skeptical French girl holding the piece gingerly in her chopsticks, “I do not know any part of a frog that comes een zees shape.” She claimed expertise on this, and I was happy to defer to her. I was only thankful that it was deep-fried beyond recognition, and swallow-without-chewing-sized. I always thought I was adventurous with food, but I guess I just showed myself. Booyah! (Is it acceptable to use booyah when you’ve proven *yourself* wrong? I don’t personally see why not: it might be my only opportunity to use it ever).

In other news, I was working diligently in my office, trying to ignore the sounds of people chatting behind me. Then, the unmistakeable popping sounds of burning filled the air, together with a smell of something vigorously unwashed being held to your nose by your older boy cousins (“Smell it! It smells like foot!”) I couldn’t help but turn around, and was confronted with this sight:

Office fire

It’s not everyday there’s a mini squid-fuelled inferno at your work.

To be clear, it’s squid that’s been doused with rice wine, then set alight and allowed to burn. Presumably, when the hapless piece of squid has reached desired burnage, the fire is extinguished, and crushed in a piece of paper – preferably scrap from the printing recycling pile. I think the laserjet ink adds to the flavour, a tradition that’s been carried forward from generations past.

And that’s how I found myself drinking shots of Ukrainian honey vodka with strips of the best squid from Quan Lạn Island, Hạ Long Bay before 11am on a Wednesday morning.

Morning tea

This is some ways from the tea-and-biscuit-trolley ladies at 10.30 every morning. It’s so much more fun, and only a bit more dehydrating. Score!

All’s well

I’m wearing socks today, and almost-long sleeves! Finally, a day where I’m not sweating while sitting perfectly still.

Also, something else weird happened. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve been able to listen to those sweet sliding tunes of The Band without feeling off about it.

Things are all right.

Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool

Direct advertising

Ở đâu?

There are a couple of things that puzzle me about this ad. Firstly…where is this Hotmen Spa you speak of?

And, secondly…no, that’s it actually.

Don’t yuck someone else’s yum

That’s a rule I generally try to abide by. Duck egg foetus might not be my idea of a party circa 1992 (Blue Light discos yeah!) but when you think about it, sausages are pretty disgusting. Ground up meat in a poop tube. Delicious. And also, mouldy cheese. Seriously. We’ll wait for the cheese to go rotten. Not just rotten, but blue, stinking and hairy, and only then will we eat it.

Here are a few menu items at a pretty run-of-the-mill place. Mostly they’re funny to me because of the rather bald, and/or completely opaque translations, but some are there for pure surprise value.

I have no idea what a steam board is. It could very well be the spa and massage exotical services section of the menu.

And I didn’t even know fish had bladders, let alone ones so popular you have to book in advance. Apparently they’re very useful, and are full of gas. I feel a strange sense of kinship and empathy coming on. I’m very useful and….well, the similarities end there, don’t they.

Birdy Robusta Black

I think it might be a good time for a few bike pics to surface; I’m just trying to figure out the best way of doing that. Maybe I’ll  git me one of them newfangled Flickr accounts.

In the meantime, I have a small confession to make. I drank canned coffee. It said “Canned Coffee” on it, so I was pretty sure this was true. It was sweet. It was cold. I drank it all. And I liked it oh yeeaahh.

Hit me up, truck stop guy!