My Afghan-German-Oxtralian friend sent me this link to an article headlined Lonely memorial for China's forgotten war.
Although China invaded Vietnam on February 15, 1979, launching a war that turned into a low-intensity border conflict through most of the 1980s, a look at the cemetery in Malipo reveals little of what transpired....
"When border treaties were signed two decades later, China tallied 26,000 dead combatants and Vietnam an estimated 37,000."
Me mate also told me he often talked to people in Guangxi about Vietnam and and at one dinner he attended with Viets, Chinese and Australians, he asked the Guangxi-nese if they could speak any Vietnamese.
One ex-Army guy got up and said: "Yes, I can speak some Vietnamese - 'Put your gun down, your hands up and come out slowly!"
Apparently everyone pissed themselves laughing, especially the Vietnamese.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The 64-million dollar divorce
An FPT mogul hands over 64 million in stock to his soon-to-be-ex-wife.
As I mentioned before the stock market has gone nuts here and there's a new fascination with multi-millionaires. Hitherto being wealthy would have been hush-hush but as everyone in Vietnam knows, in the last decade a more if-you-got-it-flaunt-attitude has developed (hey, if I could, I'd buy a BMW too), but the real kings of the castle (and you're the dirty rascals!) weren't best pleased to be publicly included in a list of "the top 100 wealthiest people in Vietnam."
From the DPA article, same one that's linked above:
Vietnam's infant stock market - which rose 144 per cent last year - has made overnight millionaires out of several executives at formerly state owned companies.
The rise of stock market millionaires in a country that didn't even have a securities exchange until 2000 has led to another new phenomenon: the 100-richest list.
Earlier this year, several Vietnamese newspapers printed lists of the country's wealthiest investors, based on their publicly disclosed stock holdings, though not including real estate magnates or other business leaders.
The list caused a minor outcry among some on the list, who complained they were exposed to kidnapping and extortion by being outed.
An FPT mogul hands over 64 million in stock to his soon-to-be-ex-wife.
As I mentioned before the stock market has gone nuts here and there's a new fascination with multi-millionaires. Hitherto being wealthy would have been hush-hush but as everyone in Vietnam knows, in the last decade a more if-you-got-it-flaunt-attitude has developed (hey, if I could, I'd buy a BMW too), but the real kings of the castle (and you're the dirty rascals!) weren't best pleased to be publicly included in a list of "the top 100 wealthiest people in Vietnam."
From the DPA article, same one that's linked above:
Vietnam's infant stock market - which rose 144 per cent last year - has made overnight millionaires out of several executives at formerly state owned companies.
The rise of stock market millionaires in a country that didn't even have a securities exchange until 2000 has led to another new phenomenon: the 100-richest list.
Earlier this year, several Vietnamese newspapers printed lists of the country's wealthiest investors, based on their publicly disclosed stock holdings, though not including real estate magnates or other business leaders.
The list caused a minor outcry among some on the list, who complained they were exposed to kidnapping and extortion by being outed.
Yo, yo, yo, cac ca si oi...
An opportunity for the zillion young wanna-be ca si out there in the shape of Vietnam Idol, sadly, for me at least, open only to Vietnamese nationals, but if, if, if I can somehow achieve fluency in the tieng viet department the role of oh-so cynical Simon could perhaps still be a goer, definitely wouldn't want to be that fella Randy who just says 'dawg' all the time, as saying yo, con cho oi all the time would just look plain silly.
An opportunity for the zillion young wanna-be ca si out there in the shape of Vietnam Idol, sadly, for me at least, open only to Vietnamese nationals, but if, if, if I can somehow achieve fluency in the tieng viet department the role of oh-so cynical Simon could perhaps still be a goer, definitely wouldn't want to be that fella Randy who just says 'dawg' all the time, as saying yo, con cho oi all the time would just look plain silly.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Crosstown traffic
In the urban jungle Teddy de Burca Jnr. spots a hitherto unknown species on the Hanoi streets – Zebra Crossings
Near the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum I almost knocked a pedestrian over. He was crossing in fits and starts, unsure whether I was going to the left of him or the right, straight down the middle, or, the highly improbable last possibility, actually stopping to let him cross.
I eventually went to the left, the polite choice I believed, as he was walking left to right, but then he decided to do a bit of a moonwalk and take two steps back – I almost clipped him but fair play to the young fellow, he half hurdled my front wheel, and made it to the pavement, slightly flustered but alive.
I heard him shout “Dien (Crazy)!” and I thought that was a bit harsh as I wasn’t driving very fast and had done my best to veer around him – he was the one walking forwards and backwards in the middle of the road. When I looked back to shrug my shoulders indifferently he was pointing down at something I’d never really noticed before – a creature known as the Zebra Crossing, hitherto unspotted in the little supervised wilds of Hanoi’s traffic, but not unfamiliar to me in my past life as a pedestrian back in the homeland.
How long had I been ignoring these hapless pedestrians rightfully, yet understandably gingerly, stepping out onto the Zebra Crossings? Well pretty much since the day I got here. Sheep-like, I’ve just been following the masses. No one else stopped so I didn’t either. There are no red lights, no traffic cops and no lollipop ladies with red-lettered STOP signs – what can I say, except I’m sorry?
I drove on, feeling a bit guilty, promising that I’d do my bit – forever more – and take note of these crossings and stand up (or slow down at least) for pedestrian rights, after all they have feelings too.
As I rounded the next corner a group of tourists stood on the side of the road, one took his chances with the Zebra Crossing and bounded across, I slowed to a near halt, feeling thoroughly upstanding with my new pedestrian-friendly persona. He half-acknowledged my courtesy with a flapping wave, and kept going, but arcing around me at about 50kmph a young man on his moped came through, still blithely unaware of what a Zebra Crossing is, where to look, what to do when you see one in the urban jungle.
Nonchalantly he swerved around the petrified tourist, who scurried to the other side, while behind me a large SUV lurched forward, honking at me – places to go, people to see, don’t you know. The tourist’s friends abandoned their crossing. The traffic surged forward, what could I do but roll away with it, leaving the endangered pedestrians and Zebra Crossings behind.
A couple of companion vids off youtube from HCM City:
In the urban jungle Teddy de Burca Jnr. spots a hitherto unknown species on the Hanoi streets – Zebra Crossings
Near the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum I almost knocked a pedestrian over. He was crossing in fits and starts, unsure whether I was going to the left of him or the right, straight down the middle, or, the highly improbable last possibility, actually stopping to let him cross.
I eventually went to the left, the polite choice I believed, as he was walking left to right, but then he decided to do a bit of a moonwalk and take two steps back – I almost clipped him but fair play to the young fellow, he half hurdled my front wheel, and made it to the pavement, slightly flustered but alive.
I heard him shout “Dien (Crazy)!” and I thought that was a bit harsh as I wasn’t driving very fast and had done my best to veer around him – he was the one walking forwards and backwards in the middle of the road. When I looked back to shrug my shoulders indifferently he was pointing down at something I’d never really noticed before – a creature known as the Zebra Crossing, hitherto unspotted in the little supervised wilds of Hanoi’s traffic, but not unfamiliar to me in my past life as a pedestrian back in the homeland.
How long had I been ignoring these hapless pedestrians rightfully, yet understandably gingerly, stepping out onto the Zebra Crossings? Well pretty much since the day I got here. Sheep-like, I’ve just been following the masses. No one else stopped so I didn’t either. There are no red lights, no traffic cops and no lollipop ladies with red-lettered STOP signs – what can I say, except I’m sorry?
I drove on, feeling a bit guilty, promising that I’d do my bit – forever more – and take note of these crossings and stand up (or slow down at least) for pedestrian rights, after all they have feelings too.
As I rounded the next corner a group of tourists stood on the side of the road, one took his chances with the Zebra Crossing and bounded across, I slowed to a near halt, feeling thoroughly upstanding with my new pedestrian-friendly persona. He half-acknowledged my courtesy with a flapping wave, and kept going, but arcing around me at about 50kmph a young man on his moped came through, still blithely unaware of what a Zebra Crossing is, where to look, what to do when you see one in the urban jungle.
Nonchalantly he swerved around the petrified tourist, who scurried to the other side, while behind me a large SUV lurched forward, honking at me – places to go, people to see, don’t you know. The tourist’s friends abandoned their crossing. The traffic surged forward, what could I do but roll away with it, leaving the endangered pedestrians and Zebra Crossings behind.
A couple of companion vids off youtube from HCM City:
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Bloody unbelievable
Saw this striking picture on flickr and it reminded me how I used to eat this stuff with the Baron in Truc Bach village, once upon a time, in a land where the duck was free to be eaten without any consequences (for you) - such as death by H5N1 flu strand.
For those who don't know it's tiet canh - fresh blood which has been chilled so it congeals, it's made from a duck, goose or a pig, mostly, served with crushed peanuts and washed down with a glass of liquor or bia. It has the not unusual distinction of being "good for man" (what isn't "good for man" in this country I have yet to work out with the exception perhaps of wives... even sweetcorn is "good for man").
Has disappeared from the streets of Hanoi as it's a no-no (whether it's a law or collective responsibility I can't quite be sure, the official line is the authorities are still 'considering' banning it) due to bird flu but apparently, my reporter friend tells me, it's easily found on the outskirts or in Ha Tay province.
Here's another bloody photo by the same chap - look like wee bowls of paints in an artist's studio, but believe it or not, people eat that stuff up.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Music, songs bands that name drop Vietnam part III or IV
Turns out Pink (to make the boys wink) had a song My Vietnam, it's awful, as you might expect.
This is my Vietnam/ I'm at war/ They keeps on dropping bombs/ And I keep score
Anyway...
I'd hoped to make a set list of songs with the word Vietnam or another Vietnamese place in the title or simply bands with a Vietnamese place in their name but I'm struggling to find enough playable music. Ideas still welcome (you can see the other songs and bands already mentioned a few posts down).
Checked out Hanoi Rocks on youtube. Seems like Queens of the Stone Age ripped those poor auld Finnish rockers off - listen to the opening riff.
Big in Russia so they were.
Great hair-dos too.
Turns out Pink (to make the boys wink) had a song My Vietnam, it's awful, as you might expect.
This is my Vietnam/ I'm at war/ They keeps on dropping bombs/ And I keep score
Anyway...
I'd hoped to make a set list of songs with the word Vietnam or another Vietnamese place in the title or simply bands with a Vietnamese place in their name but I'm struggling to find enough playable music. Ideas still welcome (you can see the other songs and bands already mentioned a few posts down).
Checked out Hanoi Rocks on youtube. Seems like Queens of the Stone Age ripped those poor auld Finnish rockers off - listen to the opening riff.
Big in Russia so they were.
Great hair-dos too.
Who ate all the banh bao?
A few of the boys on their beat it seems, and now these cops are hitting the gym to get back in shape and back on the game. Cue the Rocky music!
A few of the boys on their beat it seems, and now these cops are hitting the gym to get back in shape and back on the game. Cue the Rocky music!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Another one for...
...the set list of songs name dropping Vietnam... this is just a snippet and what a whacky snippet it is - Elliot-o it's up your ngo/alley, but then it is the Fiery Furnaces, check them out there, official website, or at the myspace page.
...the set list of songs name dropping Vietnam... this is just a snippet and what a whacky snippet it is - Elliot-o it's up your ngo/alley, but then it is the Fiery Furnaces, check them out there, official website, or at the myspace page.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Highway to hell... and back again
A year and a half after an accident on the road from Phan Thiet to Ho Chi Minh City, Teddy de Burca Jnr. found himself reluctantly on an all-too-familiar road
The vans overtaking the trucks overtaking the cars overtaking the buses are making me nervous. The weather is hot and the AC is not firing on all cylinders, but that’s not necessarily why sweat is dribbling down my cheeks.
The fact that my driver is – judging by appearances – 12 years old is not helping matters. I look down to check his feet can reach the brake pads. Much to my surprise they can. Not that I'm reassured - this means he is actually going to drive and not just - as I hoped - keeping the seat warm for an adult with a driver's license.
My dearly beloved Mrs. De Burca is not speaking to me, because I’m not speaking to her. So we sit in silence. The sounds we hear are the familiar but not very reassuring sounds of Vietnam’s highways – the stretched out-sound of beeps as vehicles zoom past at a million miles per hour.
It reminds me of a joke: what’s the sound of a cat driving at 150 miles per hour? Answer: Meeeeeeeeeeeowwwwwwwwww… But I’m not laughing, and not because the joke isn’t funny, I just can’t relax. In my lap there’s a book I’m not reading. There’s no chance of me falling asleep. So I switch on the radio and we listen to some Cham music, but still my eyes never leave the road. Every car, bicycle, motorbike, truck, van, bus, SUV is an accident waiting to happen in my head.
Road trauma, I suppose, is expecting these accidents to happen. I believe they will. It’s just a matter of time. The 12-year old driving the car probably believes they won’t. I don’t know what Mrs De Burca thinks, because she’s not talking to me, but I’m to blame as I wasn’t talking to her first.
You see it has been about 18 months since I discovered without joy what happens when a very fast moving vehicle smashes into a much larger stationary one. Not quite the answer to the rhetorical riddle: what happens when the immovable object is hit by the irresistible force, but, nonetheless, of interest to some one out there, I’m sure.
You see I was inside a taxi with a driver hell bent on travelling at the speed of light (click that link, see three posts down) somewhere outside Xuan Loc town in Dong Nai province. Our course was interrupted by a rather large truck. On impact our bonnet crumpled, the truck didn’t budge. I was hurled into the front seat and smashed my humerus bone – which wasn’t very funny, ha-ha-ha – and my left foot too. Mrs De Burca was sleeping and bounced off a chair and was ok, apart from bruises; she is blessed with double jointed arms which are disturbingly flexible – rather like Elastigirl from The Incredibles. The taxi driver, while knocked unconscious, would live to explain his way out of jail. Only I was broken into smaller pieces.
My journey was far from over, after a makeshift fix up at a local hospital with two planks of wood and a hefty dose of painkillers (nhieu kudos) and a rescue run by International SOS (mucho kudos for you too) in Ho Chi Minh City, I ended up on my own chartered plane (the Mango-something-or-other which flies to Ko Samui every other day) jetting off to Bangkok where all the King of Thailand’s doctors and nurses tried to put my arm back together again.
But trauma takes a little longer to heal, if it heals at all, and ever since sitting in a car with another driver has not been easy for me. Even the relatively short trip from my house to Noi Bai airport is an excruciating experience, like getting slowly beaten up, I imagine.
This year after our Tet obligations were done and dusted, Mrs de Burca and I decided to head south for a quick holiday. Originally I was led to believe we’d be taking the train to Phan Thiet, but it was full.
With a room booked and friends meeting us there, we didn’t want to renege on our decision. Mrs De Burca assured me she’d hire a good car with a good driver. She had a number. That turned out to be the number of the 12-year old, which is why I’m not talking to her, which is why she’s not talking to me.
The journey takes over four hours, a spell during which I constantly picture pile ups, smashing windscreens and other gruesome possibilities, or probabilities, as I believe.
But then suddenly, just when I think this journey will not end, we’re winding down a drive way to our resort tucked in along the rugged coastline of Mui Ne. We have, much to my surprise, arrived in one piece. The 12-year old did it; the precociousness of youth, says you.
I step out and breathe the salty-sea breeze deep into my lungs. I’d feel refreshed but all I can smell is the nervous sweat which has soaked my shirt through. As we walk into reception I decide to start talking again.
“Well, I’m definitely never doing that again, let’s take the train back.”
The eager receptionist overhears me and, after welcoming us to Mui Ne, informs us that the train back to Ho Chi Minh City is fully booked for at least another week, which is why I’m still not talking to Mrs de Burca, which is why she’s not talking to me.
A year and a half after an accident on the road from Phan Thiet to Ho Chi Minh City, Teddy de Burca Jnr. found himself reluctantly on an all-too-familiar road
The vans overtaking the trucks overtaking the cars overtaking the buses are making me nervous. The weather is hot and the AC is not firing on all cylinders, but that’s not necessarily why sweat is dribbling down my cheeks.
The fact that my driver is – judging by appearances – 12 years old is not helping matters. I look down to check his feet can reach the brake pads. Much to my surprise they can. Not that I'm reassured - this means he is actually going to drive and not just - as I hoped - keeping the seat warm for an adult with a driver's license.
My dearly beloved Mrs. De Burca is not speaking to me, because I’m not speaking to her. So we sit in silence. The sounds we hear are the familiar but not very reassuring sounds of Vietnam’s highways – the stretched out-sound of beeps as vehicles zoom past at a million miles per hour.
It reminds me of a joke: what’s the sound of a cat driving at 150 miles per hour? Answer: Meeeeeeeeeeeowwwwwwwwww… But I’m not laughing, and not because the joke isn’t funny, I just can’t relax. In my lap there’s a book I’m not reading. There’s no chance of me falling asleep. So I switch on the radio and we listen to some Cham music, but still my eyes never leave the road. Every car, bicycle, motorbike, truck, van, bus, SUV is an accident waiting to happen in my head.
Road trauma, I suppose, is expecting these accidents to happen. I believe they will. It’s just a matter of time. The 12-year old driving the car probably believes they won’t. I don’t know what Mrs De Burca thinks, because she’s not talking to me, but I’m to blame as I wasn’t talking to her first.
You see it has been about 18 months since I discovered without joy what happens when a very fast moving vehicle smashes into a much larger stationary one. Not quite the answer to the rhetorical riddle: what happens when the immovable object is hit by the irresistible force, but, nonetheless, of interest to some one out there, I’m sure.
You see I was inside a taxi with a driver hell bent on travelling at the speed of light (click that link, see three posts down) somewhere outside Xuan Loc town in Dong Nai province. Our course was interrupted by a rather large truck. On impact our bonnet crumpled, the truck didn’t budge. I was hurled into the front seat and smashed my humerus bone – which wasn’t very funny, ha-ha-ha – and my left foot too. Mrs De Burca was sleeping and bounced off a chair and was ok, apart from bruises; she is blessed with double jointed arms which are disturbingly flexible – rather like Elastigirl from The Incredibles. The taxi driver, while knocked unconscious, would live to explain his way out of jail. Only I was broken into smaller pieces.
My journey was far from over, after a makeshift fix up at a local hospital with two planks of wood and a hefty dose of painkillers (nhieu kudos) and a rescue run by International SOS (mucho kudos for you too) in Ho Chi Minh City, I ended up on my own chartered plane (the Mango-something-or-other which flies to Ko Samui every other day) jetting off to Bangkok where all the King of Thailand’s doctors and nurses tried to put my arm back together again.
But trauma takes a little longer to heal, if it heals at all, and ever since sitting in a car with another driver has not been easy for me. Even the relatively short trip from my house to Noi Bai airport is an excruciating experience, like getting slowly beaten up, I imagine.
This year after our Tet obligations were done and dusted, Mrs de Burca and I decided to head south for a quick holiday. Originally I was led to believe we’d be taking the train to Phan Thiet, but it was full.
With a room booked and friends meeting us there, we didn’t want to renege on our decision. Mrs De Burca assured me she’d hire a good car with a good driver. She had a number. That turned out to be the number of the 12-year old, which is why I’m not talking to her, which is why she’s not talking to me.
The journey takes over four hours, a spell during which I constantly picture pile ups, smashing windscreens and other gruesome possibilities, or probabilities, as I believe.
But then suddenly, just when I think this journey will not end, we’re winding down a drive way to our resort tucked in along the rugged coastline of Mui Ne. We have, much to my surprise, arrived in one piece. The 12-year old did it; the precociousness of youth, says you.
I step out and breathe the salty-sea breeze deep into my lungs. I’d feel refreshed but all I can smell is the nervous sweat which has soaked my shirt through. As we walk into reception I decide to start talking again.
“Well, I’m definitely never doing that again, let’s take the train back.”
The eager receptionist overhears me and, after welcoming us to Mui Ne, informs us that the train back to Ho Chi Minh City is fully booked for at least another week, which is why I’m still not talking to Mrs de Burca, which is why she’s not talking to me.
Vietnam... the band
Well, they're from New York, but they're called Vietnam and if rock isn't your bag, than perhaps you'd prefer Vietnam Disco all the way from Chester in Wales.
Can't vouch for either of them as I haven't listened to the tracks yet, so don't shoot the messenger if they're pants.
Speaking of Vietnam related band names, worthy of a mention, of course, are Helsinki's finest, Hanoi Rocks.
I've also heard a few tracks by Unkle Ho - you can download their songs here.
Probably a few Saigon-influenced band names out there too - a quick google brings up Saigon Distress Signal, a Canook "Hardcore / Melodramatic Popular Song / Shoegaze" outfit and also a rap act Saigon : Tha Yard Father, a Brooklyn fella it seems (you can download his single, Pain in My life for free on the myspace page, and Saigon Kiss from Norwich... who knows why boys from Norwich chose Saigon Kiss. If I get a chance I'll try and email them.
Also, gets me thinking about a top 10 Vietnam-related songs (but not counting actual Vietnamese songs, anthems, not that I'm not a HUGE fan of Vina-pop - I mean Tays who don't live here stuff). Suggestions on a postcard if you can be bothered.
Number one - Jimmy Cliff - Vietnam Listen to that track here
Well, they're from New York, but they're called Vietnam and if rock isn't your bag, than perhaps you'd prefer Vietnam Disco all the way from Chester in Wales.
Can't vouch for either of them as I haven't listened to the tracks yet, so don't shoot the messenger if they're pants.
Speaking of Vietnam related band names, worthy of a mention, of course, are Helsinki's finest, Hanoi Rocks.
I've also heard a few tracks by Unkle Ho - you can download their songs here.
Probably a few Saigon-influenced band names out there too - a quick google brings up Saigon Distress Signal, a Canook "Hardcore / Melodramatic Popular Song / Shoegaze" outfit and also a rap act Saigon : Tha Yard Father, a Brooklyn fella it seems (you can download his single, Pain in My life for free on the myspace page, and Saigon Kiss from Norwich... who knows why boys from Norwich chose Saigon Kiss. If I get a chance I'll try and email them.
Also, gets me thinking about a top 10 Vietnam-related songs (but not counting actual Vietnamese songs, anthems, not that I'm not a HUGE fan of Vina-pop - I mean Tays who don't live here stuff). Suggestions on a postcard if you can be bothered.
Number one - Jimmy Cliff - Vietnam Listen to that track here
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Love me long time tea?
Back at home over Christmas I delivered tea to my old mucker's parents, I didn't really check the brand out or pay any attention to what flavour it was. Some sales assistant recommended it when I was down in sunny HCM City and why that was good enough for me. I just threw it in my bag and split.
(It might be this one...)
It turns out it was Phuc Long tea and my old mucker's dad couldn't resist emailing me the other day just to say "strange tea, but what a name!"
I hadn't ever thought of it, but there you go, uttered in the quaint Irish brogue, or by any one speaking English I suppose, or saying Vietnamese words without tones, it could mean something quite different than its real meaning, which is, for the record, Blessed Dragon.
I had to restrain myself from asking him if it worked. I was just happy he was tickled pink and I like picturing him welcoming guests and suggesting, " Phuc Long anyone?"
Phuc, which means blessed by itself, is also a boy's name but in this modern world it may soon be more of a curse than a blessing.
You can imagine the possibilities... "Go get Phuc will ya!" and so on.
Back at home over Christmas I delivered tea to my old mucker's parents, I didn't really check the brand out or pay any attention to what flavour it was. Some sales assistant recommended it when I was down in sunny HCM City and why that was good enough for me. I just threw it in my bag and split.
(It might be this one...)
It turns out it was Phuc Long tea and my old mucker's dad couldn't resist emailing me the other day just to say "strange tea, but what a name!"
I hadn't ever thought of it, but there you go, uttered in the quaint Irish brogue, or by any one speaking English I suppose, or saying Vietnamese words without tones, it could mean something quite different than its real meaning, which is, for the record, Blessed Dragon.
I had to restrain myself from asking him if it worked. I was just happy he was tickled pink and I like picturing him welcoming guests and suggesting, " Phuc Long anyone?"
Phuc, which means blessed by itself, is also a boy's name but in this modern world it may soon be more of a curse than a blessing.
You can imagine the possibilities... "Go get Phuc will ya!" and so on.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Angelina minus Brad Part I: Lawyer needed for mother of four
Well, this is from some celebrity mag under the headline, Jolie breaks Vietnam law to adopt kid, but I can't find a link: Under Vietnamese law single parents who are co-habiting cannot adopt... to which International adoption official Tatiana Beams has commented: "This is a clear contradiction of Vietnamese law, and such situations would not be allowed for other couples."
So a spot of legal bother on the horizon, perhaps, or perhaps not. One quick pout from Angelina's bee-stung gums, supported perhaps by a back up pout from her partner if deemed neccesary, should see them slip out of this fine pickle of a conundrum and into the clear.
I promise never to post anything about them ever again...
Well, this is from some celebrity mag under the headline, Jolie breaks Vietnam law to adopt kid, but I can't find a link: Under Vietnamese law single parents who are co-habiting cannot adopt... to which International adoption official Tatiana Beams has commented: "This is a clear contradiction of Vietnamese law, and such situations would not be allowed for other couples."
So a spot of legal bother on the horizon, perhaps, or perhaps not. One quick pout from Angelina's bee-stung gums, supported perhaps by a back up pout from her partner if deemed neccesary, should see them slip out of this fine pickle of a conundrum and into the clear.
I promise never to post anything about them ever again...
Brangelina Part II: Are they really, really keo kiet?
Well, they sure don't tip...
Ok, it's official we have no soul and we're turning into a trashy-celebrity obsessed blogspot, but hot news just in - a scoop! a scoop! - from HCM City where the identity of the owner of the Yamaha Nouvo, which the Hollywood duo drove around a few months back has just been confirmed.
The man, who's name cannot be revealed for fear of the tabloid press hunting him down like a defenceless animal (ok, we don't know his name, and we're sure he'd happily sell his story if you can track him down), is the Bellboy at the Park Hyatt. Our on-the-spot asscoiates asked him how much he rented his bike for.
"Well, I didn't get anything," he meekly confessed. He was after all just following orders from his eager-to-please superiors.
But surely a tip from two of the hottest stars in show business who are worth a gazillion Vietnam dong?
"Um..., well, no."
Khong co gi indeed. The poor man. Still he can't be doing too bad if he has a Nouvo but - how cruel fate mocks us - that photo of them riding the bike was probably sold for thousands of dollars.
Still, hopefully Pittstop Works can spur one of you wannabe-tabloid Ho Chi Minh City residents into getting down to the Park Hyatt and fishing for the lowdown and selling his story to ... Hello?
Go on make him famous, give him his 15 minutes, and hopefully a nice fat tip too. What goes around should come around.
Well, they sure don't tip...
Ok, it's official we have no soul and we're turning into a trashy-celebrity obsessed blogspot, but hot news just in - a scoop! a scoop! - from HCM City where the identity of the owner of the Yamaha Nouvo, which the Hollywood duo drove around a few months back has just been confirmed.
The man, who's name cannot be revealed for fear of the tabloid press hunting him down like a defenceless animal (ok, we don't know his name, and we're sure he'd happily sell his story if you can track him down), is the Bellboy at the Park Hyatt. Our on-the-spot asscoiates asked him how much he rented his bike for.
"Well, I didn't get anything," he meekly confessed. He was after all just following orders from his eager-to-please superiors.
But surely a tip from two of the hottest stars in show business who are worth a gazillion Vietnam dong?
"Um..., well, no."
Khong co gi indeed. The poor man. Still he can't be doing too bad if he has a Nouvo but - how cruel fate mocks us - that photo of them riding the bike was probably sold for thousands of dollars.
Still, hopefully Pittstop Works can spur one of you wannabe-tabloid Ho Chi Minh City residents into getting down to the Park Hyatt and fishing for the lowdown and selling his story to ... Hello?
Go on make him famous, give him his 15 minutes, and hopefully a nice fat tip too. What goes around should come around.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Baby boom
All across Asia it's a baby boom - here's the first batch this year for Vietnam, as well as an explanation... basically the Year of Pig is considered a good, lucky year for having a kid anyway (in Vietnam, Korea and China), but this Lunar Year is the GOLDEN YEAR OF THE PIG, which means it's qua duoc...
Plus, from last week, I missed this story in the Snooze
on the current mania for trading stocks:
"The VN-Index is hotter than my girlfriend," joked Xuan Phong, a bank official. .
Which means his girlfriend must be pretty hot (though he prefers selling and buying more... ) as everyone and everyone's mother is into it at the moment. No joke.
As the article says, housewives and students are doing it... and, worryingly, no one I speak to thinks they can lose.
All across Asia it's a baby boom - here's the first batch this year for Vietnam, as well as an explanation... basically the Year of Pig is considered a good, lucky year for having a kid anyway (in Vietnam, Korea and China), but this Lunar Year is the GOLDEN YEAR OF THE PIG, which means it's qua duoc...
Plus, from last week, I missed this story in the Snooze
on the current mania for trading stocks:
"The VN-Index is hotter than my girlfriend," joked Xuan Phong, a bank official. .
Which means his girlfriend must be pretty hot (though he prefers selling and buying more... ) as everyone and everyone's mother is into it at the moment. No joke.
As the article says, housewives and students are doing it... and, worryingly, no one I speak to thinks they can lose.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
HCM Trail on the Cambodian side
Ex-Hanoian bon vivant Edward Pollard gave up the hedonistic pleasures of city life for a hammock in the jungle in Cambodge. He's quoted in this AP story titled "Rebirth in Cambodia: Wildlife on the Ho Chi Minh Trail is making a comeback"
Another recent AP brief writes that Edward's group, the Wildlife Conservation Society, has pledged to "boost tiger numbers by half across six Asian sites over the next 10 years". Estimates reckon "as few as 5,000 tigers survive in the wild in Asia, down from about 100,000 a century ago".
Go tiger.
Ex-Hanoian bon vivant Edward Pollard gave up the hedonistic pleasures of city life for a hammock in the jungle in Cambodge. He's quoted in this AP story titled "Rebirth in Cambodia: Wildlife on the Ho Chi Minh Trail is making a comeback"
Another recent AP brief writes that Edward's group, the Wildlife Conservation Society, has pledged to "boost tiger numbers by half across six Asian sites over the next 10 years". Estimates reckon "as few as 5,000 tigers survive in the wild in Asia, down from about 100,000 a century ago".
Go tiger.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Friday, March 02, 2007
Sensationalist headline of the year
Thanh Nien runs a very peculiar story under a baffling headline.
It's not just the spelling ("People of Afro-decent com to Vietnam...", the whole article is, as those North Americans say in their quaint vernacular, pretty whack.
Plus, news just in, here comes the Vatican!
Thanh Nien runs a very peculiar story under a baffling headline.
It's not just the spelling ("People of Afro-decent com to Vietnam...", the whole article is, as those North Americans say in their quaint vernacular, pretty whack.
Plus, news just in, here comes the Vatican!
Nothing to do with Vietnam but...
History was made last week in Dublin - in all sorts of ways - with England playing Ireland in a rugby match at Croke Park, the home of Gaelic sports and a place where all other sports besides GAA ones were banned until recently. Rugby may not have been one of the "effeminate follies" T. W. Croke, the Archbishop of Cashel, was referring to in 1884 when he laid out his plans to restore Irish sports and shrug off English influences - he mentions "lawn-tennis, polo, croquet, cricket, and the like" - but still...
Here's the beeb's take on it (pre-match)if you're interested and a Guardian link on the fears over the singing of God Save The Queen, which was a pre-match concern.
Fittingly O'Gara and Shaggy showed their Gaelic football skills to finish the English off.
Been smiling all week.
History was made last week in Dublin - in all sorts of ways - with England playing Ireland in a rugby match at Croke Park, the home of Gaelic sports and a place where all other sports besides GAA ones were banned until recently. Rugby may not have been one of the "effeminate follies" T. W. Croke, the Archbishop of Cashel, was referring to in 1884 when he laid out his plans to restore Irish sports and shrug off English influences - he mentions "lawn-tennis, polo, croquet, cricket, and the like" - but still...
Here's the beeb's take on it (pre-match)if you're interested and a Guardian link on the fears over the singing of God Save The Queen, which was a pre-match concern.
Fittingly O'Gara and Shaggy showed their Gaelic football skills to finish the English off.
Been smiling all week.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Reading not writing
Ok, It would be better if I wrote my own articles but seen as Messers Elliott-o, Oslo and Witloof enjoyed my last link to Vietnam, I found another one for their reading pleasure. Perhaps a bit long and dull, but hey it's the New York times on Hanoi's art scene - what would you expect?
Spot your own pet-hate clangers and cliches. Personally I just wonder why it is they always end up in Bobby Chinn's (Hanoi c'est surprisingly chic!). Other spots namedropped are the Metropole (old world class oozes from the taps) and quite astonishingly the PARIS EFFING DELI:
I took in the street scene below as I sipped a glass of Beaujolais nouveau, which had just arrived that week, right on time.
Hence the nouveau! Thank heavens for the Oriental express!
Another good one is: “We come to Duc to create contemporary art and to talk about ideas with him,” said one of them, who like the others, had never left the country, though each of them had a Yahoo e-mail address.
Vietnam - c'est online!
Very sadly, the journo saves the best till last when she says: No wonder most tourists try it once (walk across a street), and then spend the rest of their trip either in the back seat of a taxi or in the cramped quarters of a tuk-tuk
Tuk-tuk?
Anyway, I promise not to just slag off articles written by people who were here for three days and write an article myself one of these days, but the post Tet malaise is deep in my bones. And it's so easy being lazy and cynical.
Ok, It would be better if I wrote my own articles but seen as Messers Elliott-o, Oslo and Witloof enjoyed my last link to Vietnam, I found another one for their reading pleasure. Perhaps a bit long and dull, but hey it's the New York times on Hanoi's art scene - what would you expect?
Spot your own pet-hate clangers and cliches. Personally I just wonder why it is they always end up in Bobby Chinn's (Hanoi c'est surprisingly chic!). Other spots namedropped are the Metropole (old world class oozes from the taps) and quite astonishingly the PARIS EFFING DELI:
I took in the street scene below as I sipped a glass of Beaujolais nouveau, which had just arrived that week, right on time.
Hence the nouveau! Thank heavens for the Oriental express!
Another good one is: “We come to Duc to create contemporary art and to talk about ideas with him,” said one of them, who like the others, had never left the country, though each of them had a Yahoo e-mail address.
Vietnam - c'est online!
Very sadly, the journo saves the best till last when she says: No wonder most tourists try it once (walk across a street), and then spend the rest of their trip either in the back seat of a taxi or in the cramped quarters of a tuk-tuk
Tuk-tuk?
Anyway, I promise not to just slag off articles written by people who were here for three days and write an article myself one of these days, but the post Tet malaise is deep in my bones. And it's so easy being lazy and cynical.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Advertorial
By the way, if you're in TPHCM and feel like climbing up a wall, a couple of friends have a wall with your name on it.
By the way, if you're in TPHCM and feel like climbing up a wall, a couple of friends have a wall with your name on it.
New year sabbatical
Mr. Witloof in Brussels tells me he's been worried sick - sleepless nights no doubt - over the recent flatline here at Pittstop HQ. At least we know if a blogger drops dead someone will notice. Eventually over time, alas, they will move on to pastures new and abundant - perhaps in this case to our blog directory neighbours pitstop or even pittstopp.
But fear not Meneer Witloof - We've been busy, busy, busy what with all that Tet Lunar New Year malarkey.
Now that we're back hopefully we'll be posting with the frequency of a 16-year old internet nerd, reassured that despite our sabbatical, we're still ahead of the print press. Then again you wouldn't have to get out of bed too early in the afternoon to be quicker than the Seattle Times (and also CNN - both pieces via AP) who finally caught wind of the North vs South furore that a teenage blogger kicked off aaaaaaagess ago. In November to be exact.
The Seattle Times article has a few cliches I groaned at:
Southerners with money take their friends out to dinner; northerners tend to be thrifty and prefer to visit friends at home, said Kim Dung, a journalist who moved to Ho Chi Minh City from Hanoi 12 years ago. (She obviously hasn't been back to Hanoi since.)
and...
But northerners generally are more concerned about status and will buy one expensive motorbike while the southerner is more likely to buy two cheap ones, she said.
??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!????
The article concludes with one man from the south comically complaining... "The service is terrible [in the north/Hanoi]!" he said. "If you go to a restaurant and ask for an extra chopstick, the owners get angry at you."
Which if you were this poor couple who dined out in TPHCM one night a while ago, you'd probably find a wee bit hard to believe.
Mr. Witloof in Brussels tells me he's been worried sick - sleepless nights no doubt - over the recent flatline here at Pittstop HQ. At least we know if a blogger drops dead someone will notice. Eventually over time, alas, they will move on to pastures new and abundant - perhaps in this case to our blog directory neighbours pitstop or even pittstopp.
But fear not Meneer Witloof - We've been busy, busy, busy what with all that Tet Lunar New Year malarkey.
Now that we're back hopefully we'll be posting with the frequency of a 16-year old internet nerd, reassured that despite our sabbatical, we're still ahead of the print press. Then again you wouldn't have to get out of bed too early in the afternoon to be quicker than the Seattle Times (and also CNN - both pieces via AP) who finally caught wind of the North vs South furore that a teenage blogger kicked off aaaaaaagess ago. In November to be exact.
The Seattle Times article has a few cliches I groaned at:
Southerners with money take their friends out to dinner; northerners tend to be thrifty and prefer to visit friends at home, said Kim Dung, a journalist who moved to Ho Chi Minh City from Hanoi 12 years ago. (She obviously hasn't been back to Hanoi since.)
and...
But northerners generally are more concerned about status and will buy one expensive motorbike while the southerner is more likely to buy two cheap ones, she said.
??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!????
The article concludes with one man from the south comically complaining... "The service is terrible [in the north/Hanoi]!" he said. "If you go to a restaurant and ask for an extra chopstick, the owners get angry at you."
Which if you were this poor couple who dined out in TPHCM one night a while ago, you'd probably find a wee bit hard to believe.
Friday, January 26, 2007
A moment
Around town you can see the vans lurk. Inside the eyes of men in uniform scan the paths. Ahead street vendors hightail it with their baskets of strawberries or water melons or flowers or whatever is ripe or in season. Old ladies at tea stalls pack up their miniature stools and shove their kettles inside the door. Deliverymen run out of shops mid-delivery to drive around the block. You see, blocking the paths is illegal. Any object blocking the path is subject to confiscation. Which is why street cafes have such cheap chairs - so it doesn't matter if they're taken. It's nothing new, if you live here in Hanoi you've seen the chairs, fruit, bicylces and pots being hurled in the back of the van, heard the pitiful pleas of the owner begging for clemency.
But the other day, a first of sorts. On a winter's morning, as the boys in the back of the van sat shivering in the cold, a woman cooking (chesnuts roasting on a open fire? Perhaps it was sweetcorn or chao) with a bep than is spotted on the street. Her stove is duly confiscated - nothing else.
One of the men then places it carefully in the middle of the back of the van, which lurches forward, and rolls away; the men in the back then huddle around their heater and warm their icy hands, the sounds of the woman shouting are soon left behind, soon unheard, soon forgotten.
I just wanted to say, I've never seen a bep than confiscated before. That's all.
Around town you can see the vans lurk. Inside the eyes of men in uniform scan the paths. Ahead street vendors hightail it with their baskets of strawberries or water melons or flowers or whatever is ripe or in season. Old ladies at tea stalls pack up their miniature stools and shove their kettles inside the door. Deliverymen run out of shops mid-delivery to drive around the block. You see, blocking the paths is illegal. Any object blocking the path is subject to confiscation. Which is why street cafes have such cheap chairs - so it doesn't matter if they're taken. It's nothing new, if you live here in Hanoi you've seen the chairs, fruit, bicylces and pots being hurled in the back of the van, heard the pitiful pleas of the owner begging for clemency.
But the other day, a first of sorts. On a winter's morning, as the boys in the back of the van sat shivering in the cold, a woman cooking (chesnuts roasting on a open fire? Perhaps it was sweetcorn or chao) with a bep than is spotted on the street. Her stove is duly confiscated - nothing else.
One of the men then places it carefully in the middle of the back of the van, which lurches forward, and rolls away; the men in the back then huddle around their heater and warm their icy hands, the sounds of the woman shouting are soon left behind, soon unheard, soon forgotten.
I just wanted to say, I've never seen a bep than confiscated before. That's all.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Quickies
Chicken Run continues into TPHCM
If you're having a party and are the little boy who lives down a lane this website might help your friends find your house. Click on your street while "holding the Shift-Key down. A link is then generated which you can include in your email or web site..."
The design isn't magnificent but it's handy enough - here's a link to point you in CAMA's direction come this weekend (the last ever).
Chicken Run continues into TPHCM
If you're having a party and are the little boy who lives down a lane this website might help your friends find your house. Click on your street while "holding the Shift-Key down. A link is then generated which you can include in your email or web site..."
The design isn't magnificent but it's handy enough - here's a link to point you in CAMA's direction come this weekend (the last ever).
It's 2007
So 2007, underway and isn't that lovely. If you've been clicking on and finding nothing here is new you've obviously been spending too much of the festive season surfing the web when you should have been eating and drinking - what were you thinking? You'd do well to remember the internet turns you into a nerd.
Anyway, we were eating and drinking, which is why we weren't posting anything.
First good news for the Pittstop Team this year is founding-blogger-man Connla Stokes's story the Lover's Nest has been translated into Turkish, which is of no use to any of you probably, but on the off chance you are a) Turkish b) speak Turkish c) know someone who is a) or does b), well you can let them know their soon-to-be-favourite journal is called Esik Cini.
Anyway just felt like bragging.
You can buy and read the original in Tieng Anh here at Total Cardboard HQ
Or you can read it for free here.
More Vina stories coming soon.
So 2007, underway and isn't that lovely. If you've been clicking on and finding nothing here is new you've obviously been spending too much of the festive season surfing the web when you should have been eating and drinking - what were you thinking? You'd do well to remember the internet turns you into a nerd.
Anyway, we were eating and drinking, which is why we weren't posting anything.
First good news for the Pittstop Team this year is founding-blogger-man Connla Stokes's story the Lover's Nest has been translated into Turkish, which is of no use to any of you probably, but on the off chance you are a) Turkish b) speak Turkish c) know someone who is a) or does b), well you can let them know their soon-to-be-favourite journal is called Esik Cini.
Anyway just felt like bragging.
You can buy and read the original in Tieng Anh here at Total Cardboard HQ
Or you can read it for free here.
More Vina stories coming soon.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Heads, helmets...
The two professors' respective recent accidents, one fatal, in Hanoi, which I mentioned previously, has apparently caused quite a stir according to this article. Nothing else new stated in the article. "Lots of motorbikes, lots of crashes, lots of deaths... etc, etc"
Wonder how many of those upset people wore helmets to work today. My friend who used to work in traffic safety along with Mr Greig Craft, who's mentioned in the above link, said even the Viet Duc emergency ward doctors, despite seeing countless serious if not fatal head injuries from day to day, don't wear helmets - if they won't, who will? Especially when so many other Hanoians have such glamorous haircuts, which a helmet would just do no justice to, if not ruin for the night.
*****************************************************************
This is from a Boston Globe article on Papert(full piece here):
Strangely, shortly before the accident, Papert had been discussing how to build a computer model of Hanoi's notoriously chaotic traffic. He found it an interesting instance of a theme closely associated with his work: "emergent behavior," or the way that large groups of agents following simple rules, with no central leader, can spontaneously create sophisticated systems and activities. Examples include schools of fish, anthills, bee swarms, and, apparently, Vietnamese motorbike drivers. Like bees, Hanoi motorbikes move in swarms, unrestrained by laws, lanes, or traffic signals. Somehow, the swarm self-organizes to keep people moving and, mostly, not crashing into one another. Papert was fascinated, and spent his first days in Hanoi talking with his former student, Northwestern computer scientist Uri Wilensky, about how to model the city's traffic flow. As the two were crossing a six-lane road separating their hotel from the university, Papert was hit by a motorbike. Traffic in Hanoi is a self-defining flow of merging groups. Lights are few and often ignored, and divisions between lanes are determined less by lines on the ground than by a shifting, implicit group consensus. "Hanoi is one of the first places I've been where traffic really is organic," says Wilensky. "It really is more like a herd of buffalo." The system would be impossible without a large reserve of tolerance and informality. Newcomers to Hanoi, who are often unable to figure out how to cross the street, are told to step into traffic at a steady pace; the motorbikes will part around you. When the city began introducing traffic lights some years ago, a Vietnamese performance artist went to one of the busiest intersections in town and videotaped himself repeatedly crossing against the light to see whether traffic would make way for him; it did. "People were still nice," as he put it -- they hadn't yet embraced the tyranny of traffic lights. But there's a problem: as Vietnam grows richer, the number of motorbikes and cars on the street is rising furiously. From 2002 to 2004, the percentage of Vietnamese households owning motor vehicles went from 22 percent to 33 percent. These new vehicles are pouring into a hopelessly inadequate grid of winding alleyways, ancient dike roads, and Soviet-style highways. And as density rises, drivers behave more aggressively: 9,400 Vietnamese died in traffic accidents in the first nine months of this year.
The two professors' respective recent accidents, one fatal, in Hanoi, which I mentioned previously, has apparently caused quite a stir according to this article. Nothing else new stated in the article. "Lots of motorbikes, lots of crashes, lots of deaths... etc, etc"
Wonder how many of those upset people wore helmets to work today. My friend who used to work in traffic safety along with Mr Greig Craft, who's mentioned in the above link, said even the Viet Duc emergency ward doctors, despite seeing countless serious if not fatal head injuries from day to day, don't wear helmets - if they won't, who will? Especially when so many other Hanoians have such glamorous haircuts, which a helmet would just do no justice to, if not ruin for the night.
*****************************************************************
This is from a Boston Globe article on Papert(full piece here):
Strangely, shortly before the accident, Papert had been discussing how to build a computer model of Hanoi's notoriously chaotic traffic. He found it an interesting instance of a theme closely associated with his work: "emergent behavior," or the way that large groups of agents following simple rules, with no central leader, can spontaneously create sophisticated systems and activities. Examples include schools of fish, anthills, bee swarms, and, apparently, Vietnamese motorbike drivers. Like bees, Hanoi motorbikes move in swarms, unrestrained by laws, lanes, or traffic signals. Somehow, the swarm self-organizes to keep people moving and, mostly, not crashing into one another. Papert was fascinated, and spent his first days in Hanoi talking with his former student, Northwestern computer scientist Uri Wilensky, about how to model the city's traffic flow. As the two were crossing a six-lane road separating their hotel from the university, Papert was hit by a motorbike. Traffic in Hanoi is a self-defining flow of merging groups. Lights are few and often ignored, and divisions between lanes are determined less by lines on the ground than by a shifting, implicit group consensus. "Hanoi is one of the first places I've been where traffic really is organic," says Wilensky. "It really is more like a herd of buffalo." The system would be impossible without a large reserve of tolerance and informality. Newcomers to Hanoi, who are often unable to figure out how to cross the street, are told to step into traffic at a steady pace; the motorbikes will part around you. When the city began introducing traffic lights some years ago, a Vietnamese performance artist went to one of the busiest intersections in town and videotaped himself repeatedly crossing against the light to see whether traffic would make way for him; it did. "People were still nice," as he put it -- they hadn't yet embraced the tyranny of traffic lights. But there's a problem: as Vietnam grows richer, the number of motorbikes and cars on the street is rising furiously. From 2002 to 2004, the percentage of Vietnamese households owning motor vehicles went from 22 percent to 33 percent. These new vehicles are pouring into a hopelessly inadequate grid of winding alleyways, ancient dike roads, and Soviet-style highways. And as density rises, drivers behave more aggressively: 9,400 Vietnamese died in traffic accidents in the first nine months of this year.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Traffic, traffic, traffic...
This is woeful. A few days ago a 78-year old mathematician, Professor Papert, from the US was knocked into a coma. HORRIBLY ironically he was talking with another prof about the traffic when it happened, at least that's how I understood the following from the article - "The accident occurred when Professor Papert talked with Professor Wilensky about a math model, imitating the current situation of Hanoi’s traffic, where transport lights are not enough, and motorbikes speed dangerously..."
Or does that mean he was lecturing on that topic prior to the incident? The article isn't the Mae West I'm afraid. A shorter International Herald Tribune version here.
This is woeful. A few days ago a 78-year old mathematician, Professor Papert, from the US was knocked into a coma. HORRIBLY ironically he was talking with another prof about the traffic when it happened, at least that's how I understood the following from the article - "The accident occurred when Professor Papert talked with Professor Wilensky about a math model, imitating the current situation of Hanoi’s traffic, where transport lights are not enough, and motorbikes speed dangerously..."
Or does that mean he was lecturing on that topic prior to the incident? The article isn't the Mae West I'm afraid. A shorter International Herald Tribune version here.
Friday, December 08, 2006
What a guy!
When he came the first time back in 2000 one man in Hanoi said this kind of visit "happened once in a thousand years". But smoke him a kipper he's back for breakfast. Mr Bill Clinton that is, showing up Dubya's comparatively stale APEC visit by braving the traffic and walking through the streets towards Hoan kiem lake (surprised the turtle wasn't sticking his head up) and speaking to the folks along the way as well as shaking their hands.
"It feels great to be back," Clinton said as he set off for his stroll.
Reminds me of that Red Dwarf episode (or episodes?) where Rimmer's alternative self from another dimension arrives, ACE Rimmer. Everywhere he goes everyone says... "What a guy!"
Clinton was in town to sign an agreement between his foundation and the Vietnamese to get more drugs to AIDS/ HIV drugs to children. Here's the AP article in full.
When he came the first time back in 2000 one man in Hanoi said this kind of visit "happened once in a thousand years". But smoke him a kipper he's back for breakfast. Mr Bill Clinton that is, showing up Dubya's comparatively stale APEC visit by braving the traffic and walking through the streets towards Hoan kiem lake (surprised the turtle wasn't sticking his head up) and speaking to the folks along the way as well as shaking their hands.
"It feels great to be back," Clinton said as he set off for his stroll.
The feeling among most Vietnamese was mutual.
"I love you!" a young man shouted, reaching over the crowd for a handshake.
"There are no words to describe how happy I am," squealed 17-year-old Nguyen Thu Hang, jumping up and down and clutching Clinton's freshly signed autograph. "I'm going to frame this and hang it on my bedroom wall!"
Apparently his smart attire was also commented on by a tailor. He visited Bac Ho's Mausoleum and generally didn't put a foot wrong.Reminds me of that Red Dwarf episode (or episodes?) where Rimmer's alternative self from another dimension arrives, ACE Rimmer. Everywhere he goes everyone says... "What a guy!"
Clinton was in town to sign an agreement between his foundation and the Vietnamese to get more drugs to AIDS/ HIV drugs to children. Here's the AP article in full.
Zippos and paper planes
Artist Bradford Edwards explains here why he's fascinated by the US marines' zippos found in Vietnam and their slogans. A few classics are mentioned, such as - “If you got this off my dead ass I hope it brings you the same luck it brought me.” Edwards' personal favourite makes reading the article worthwhile in itself. I won't spoil it for you.
Edwards, whose dad flew for the US army in the Vietnam war, also had a show last week in Hanoi with a Vietnamese artist, Nguyen Manh Hung, whose father also flew (in a different direction, naturally) in the same war.
What did they do? Why they built an enormous replica plane of course (crossed between a US F-4 and a Ruski MiG 21). Entirely made out of paper and bamboo it was supposed to be set on fire... "We wanted to make our own version of a fighter jet and burn it in a symbolic effort to exorcise this ‘instrument of destruction’ from our own lives.”
...but, alack, permission was denied for the fire. Rumour has it it's now flying on eBay, though I couldn't find it. Drop us a link in the comments if you can.
Artist Bradford Edwards explains here why he's fascinated by the US marines' zippos found in Vietnam and their slogans. A few classics are mentioned, such as - “If you got this off my dead ass I hope it brings you the same luck it brought me.” Edwards' personal favourite makes reading the article worthwhile in itself. I won't spoil it for you.
Edwards, whose dad flew for the US army in the Vietnam war, also had a show last week in Hanoi with a Vietnamese artist, Nguyen Manh Hung, whose father also flew (in a different direction, naturally) in the same war.
What did they do? Why they built an enormous replica plane of course (crossed between a US F-4 and a Ruski MiG 21). Entirely made out of paper and bamboo it was supposed to be set on fire... "We wanted to make our own version of a fighter jet and burn it in a symbolic effort to exorcise this ‘instrument of destruction’ from our own lives.”
...but, alack, permission was denied for the fire. Rumour has it it's now flying on eBay, though I couldn't find it. Drop us a link in the comments if you can.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
I drank bia with the Hoan Kiem turtle (or more accurately how an old man told me a tall story I'd like to believe)
Here's a piece about the Hoan Kiem turtle - a lot of articles I've read claim the big fella often magically appears on big days; it is conveniently a symbol of good luck, so it's a good omen when he pops his wee head up on days of national importance.
However there maybe another reason for this synchronicity. I say this 'cos I met the turtle at the old Tong Dan bia hoi (RIP - we still remember you well) a couple of years ago. He went by the name Nam, he drank a lot of bia and smoked Vinataba and resembled a 50-year-old man. I didn't understand it when he said he was a turtle (goo goo goo joob), so he explained...
...the story was that he was an army man. In some division of the navy. A sub-aquatic diving minesweeper chap or something (none too exact translations by a local friend means I'm conveniently sketchy on the details). Retired he still had his contacts from his "hello Sailor!" days which had led to him being asked by an old friend to put on a wet suit and swim around Hoan Kiem on holidays with a fake turtle on his back so the crowd would "ooo" and "oi gioi oi" at the sight of the legendary turtle swimming across the lake. He got well paid, the spectators went home feeling lucky. So everyone's happy. That day he was celebrating his latest gig (for what day I can't recall).
When I pulled a few doubting Thomas looks he tried to prove he was a diver (and therefore potentially a good candidate for pretending to be a turtle) by pulling his top up and making his beer-belly continually undulate (if that's the right word). He said this was good for breathing underwater. I tried not to look. Perhaps, more convincingly, he bought a large round of bia for me and all my friends, which is pretty rare as he didn't know anyone of us.
We thanked him and tried to buy him one back but he "thoi"-ed us. He'd earned $100 that day and he was buying.
Who could argue with a turtle anyway? Le Thai To didn't so why should I?
Here's a piece about the Hoan Kiem turtle - a lot of articles I've read claim the big fella often magically appears on big days; it is conveniently a symbol of good luck, so it's a good omen when he pops his wee head up on days of national importance.
However there maybe another reason for this synchronicity. I say this 'cos I met the turtle at the old Tong Dan bia hoi (RIP - we still remember you well) a couple of years ago. He went by the name Nam, he drank a lot of bia and smoked Vinataba and resembled a 50-year-old man. I didn't understand it when he said he was a turtle (goo goo goo joob), so he explained...
...the story was that he was an army man. In some division of the navy. A sub-aquatic diving minesweeper chap or something (none too exact translations by a local friend means I'm conveniently sketchy on the details). Retired he still had his contacts from his "hello Sailor!" days which had led to him being asked by an old friend to put on a wet suit and swim around Hoan Kiem on holidays with a fake turtle on his back so the crowd would "ooo" and "oi gioi oi" at the sight of the legendary turtle swimming across the lake. He got well paid, the spectators went home feeling lucky. So everyone's happy. That day he was celebrating his latest gig (for what day I can't recall).
When I pulled a few doubting Thomas looks he tried to prove he was a diver (and therefore potentially a good candidate for pretending to be a turtle) by pulling his top up and making his beer-belly continually undulate (if that's the right word). He said this was good for breathing underwater. I tried not to look. Perhaps, more convincingly, he bought a large round of bia for me and all my friends, which is pretty rare as he didn't know anyone of us.
We thanked him and tried to buy him one back but he "thoi"-ed us. He'd earned $100 that day and he was buying.
Who could argue with a turtle anyway? Le Thai To didn't so why should I?
By Yorkie P.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Make blog, not war...
For all of you expats who have trifling little north vs. south rows (usually concerning the weather and food!), well, check out how this local blogger created an all out war on the blogosphere.
Over 5,000 comments reported in the article plus the thread was picked up in other internet forums.
The blogger is a teenager, her next post will probably be about a boyband, but she trod on a very large nerve with this one.
For all of you expats who have trifling little north vs. south rows (usually concerning the weather and food!), well, check out how this local blogger created an all out war on the blogosphere.
Over 5,000 comments reported in the article plus the thread was picked up in other internet forums.
The blogger is a teenager, her next post will probably be about a boyband, but she trod on a very large nerve with this one.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
All singing, all dancing...
The HITS group has organised another performance, this time a musical comedy, the Little Shop of Horrors. It's on this weekend in Hanoi - all the times, dates info here.
HITS' insiders have told Pittstop Works that a certain Peter Mahomet will be blowing Steve Martin's portrayl of the sleazy dentist Orin Scrivello out of the water...
You heard it here first.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
All hail the weather...
Hadn't ever experienced hail in Vietnam until last night, in fact, I still haven't. I was safely indoors. Proof that worse things definitely happen at sea at this link.
While I'm here, a round up of Dubya images in Vietnam, looks like he'd a bit more fun down south to me.
Hadn't ever experienced hail in Vietnam until last night, in fact, I still haven't. I was safely indoors. Proof that worse things definitely happen at sea at this link.
While I'm here, a round up of Dubya images in Vietnam, looks like he'd a bit more fun down south to me.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Teacher’s Day
Teddy De Burca Jnr. gets sentimental, guilty and even a wee bit philosophical over Teacher's Day, a school holiday in Vietnam
I don’t seem to recall ever being in the habit of gift-giving as a pupil. No flowers, no thank you cards, no apples on the desk, no-nothing. I think it was one of those “something that happened when I was a child” incidents that possibly put me off.
You see, laying back on my imaginary chaise longue here, speaking to my inner psychiatrist, I do remember, once, bringing a present for a Ms. White, my first class teacher on the last day of summer term.
“Tell me about this day.”
Ok. Well, I was 6, she was in her twenties. She was all things nice, sugar and spice (never even raised her voice), everything a 6-year old boy looks for in a teacher. But it was more than that. I mean, she wasn’t up there with Wonder Woman, but my feelings for her were strong; in extremely relative terms, I had a crush.
So I gave her Chocolate mints at the end of the year – was it my idea, or my mother’s idea? Who knows. But I remember she smiled, patted my head and said, “Oh, these are my favourite!” I believed her, of course. But as I proudly sat down, back at my desk, I overheard her say the exact same thing to one of the three Dereks in my class who was giving her a box of Chocolate Marshmallows (no class). I was crestfallen. On the way home I opened up to my mother, who is a counsellor by profession and a good listener by nature, how technically you can’t have two different favourites. She tried to tell me how Ms. White probably thought all her pupils were special, so every gift was a favourite, plus who's to say you can't have two favourites - I liked Apple tart, she said, as much as I liked Apple Crumble, for example. But I was too young to understand all that, just old enough to feel betrayed.
So post-first class, at the ripe old age of 6, my generosity for teachers dried up. Tough luck for Mrs Thompson, Mrs Greene, Mrs Oldham and Mr Morton, who saw me through the rest of primary school. I never became emotionally attached to any of them; at the end of the year it was no hard feelings, goodbye and good luck.
Of course, they wouldn't have noticed one less box of cheap chocolates on the pile back home, or even if they did, as presents were presented (jinx) as a final fare thee well then there could be no consequences, no repercussions or no begrudgery.
But for Vietnamese pupils there's no such escape into the summer sunset. On Teacher's Day, aka Ngày nhà giáo Viet
There's also, so I’m told, the odd wink-wink-envelope being passed over from kids' parents – separately. Everyone has a different take on this, though I'm led to believe it’s common enough. One Hanoian described it as a "corruption that became a custom". Plus, no one wants to look like the family who doesn't appreciate a teacher's hardwork and investment into their kids' future, especially if they think everyone else's doing it.
However, teacher's low salaries are another part of this particular equation. Which is why some locals I've spoken to don't seem to see it as corruption, per se; perhaps it's more like a restaurant waiter in the west's 15 per cent tips beefing up an otherwise paltry income. If the cash gift comes from their heart it doesn’t matter, one friend said. Plus, rather than give the teacher a crappy gift then why not just let them spend the money themselves, she added. There’s deeply embedded cultural factors as well. In less well off days, teachers might have been given silk for an ao dai or decorations for their house, etc. So, there is a strong tradition of cherishing one's teacher and wanting to take care of them in Vietnam, unlike back in sunny Ireland, for example, where often teachers look like they could do with a good hug not to mention a nice bunch of flowers and sincere thank you. (Is that what the Teacher's Unions are for - support group therapy?)
It can also be a great evening.
During my stint as an English teacher Ngày nhà giáo meant heading to the Bia Hoi after class with the kids (adult kids I should say) and 28 bouquets of flowers tied to my old Minsk (Boris R.I.P.), trying to think of a good excuse to avoid being dragged to karaoke or ways to avoid answering those a-wee-bit-too-personal-for-my-liking-questions. But how can't you love a country where a 50-year-old man gives you flowers and says "thank you my teacher" then challenges you to knock back your beer in one before driving home redfaced and merry?
The above would be despite asking students not to bother bringing me gifts or flowers, arguing technically it was just for Vietnamese teachers. But they were having none of it. Private students even rang me for years after I finished teaching them just to remind me of their gratitude for me teaching them back in the day. Just today a junior reporter at the paper gave me a gift, her way of saying thanks for my guidance or minor-mentoring since she started. I know Vietnamese folk in their mid-twenties who still go to their old favourite teachers' houses – for lots of 20-somethings it sort of doubles up as a class reunion. It’s all very sweet and the more I think about it the more it makes me feel a bit guilty about all those teachers post-Ms White that I spurned.
And Mrs Fleming - my arch nemesis, we will meet again! - in case you noticed I left you out, that's because I didn't like you. But that's another story for the inner psychiatrist to wheedle out on another day.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
More on "ai cung biet la ai day"
From the NY Times - On Saturday, Mr. Bush’s national security adviser, Stephen J. Hadley, conceded that the president had not come into direct contact with ordinary Vietnamese, but said that they connected anyway.
And another piece from AP here.
From the NY Times - On Saturday, Mr. Bush’s national security adviser, Stephen J. Hadley, conceded that the president had not come into direct contact with ordinary Vietnamese, but said that they connected anyway.
“If you’d been part of the president’s motorcade as we’ve shuttled back and forth,” he said, reporters would have seen that “the president has been doing a lot of waving and getting a lot of waving and smiles.”
Read moreAnd another piece from AP here.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Bits and bobs
With "ai cung biet la ai day" in town all eyes are on Viet Nam at the moment - lots of articles bouncing around, here's one from The Guardian.
A snippet:
The Vietnam war was over, and the two villagers from north of Hanoi had witnessed what would have once been unthinkable: the humbling of a superpower by a peasant army. In the paint factory on the outskirts of Hanoi where the two men work now, Mr Vu says the significance of the victory was apparent even then. "When a small country like Vietnam is invaded by a big country like America and wins, then all the other countries can learn a lesson - that they can win a war against America," he says.
With "ai cung biet la ai day" in town all eyes are on Viet Nam at the moment - lots of articles bouncing around, here's one from The Guardian.
A snippet:
The Vietnam war was over, and the two villagers from north of Hanoi had witnessed what would have once been unthinkable: the humbling of a superpower by a peasant army. In the paint factory on the outskirts of Hanoi where the two men work now, Mr Vu says the significance of the victory was apparent even then. "When a small country like Vietnam is invaded by a big country like America and wins, then all the other countries can learn a lesson - that they can win a war against America," he says.
"They ran like cowards," says Mr Nguyen.
Dubya in the house
First spotting of "ai cung biet la ai day" on Kim Ma by Mr. Dockery Jnr., who's - far more importantly - been working through the night on Highway4 the third - opening next Wednesday. Watch that space.
Classics on the former here.
And more here too!
What a guy. Never misunderestimate him.
First spotting of "ai cung biet la ai day" on Kim Ma by Mr. Dockery Jnr., who's - far more importantly - been working through the night on Highway4 the third - opening next Wednesday. Watch that space.
Classics on the former here.
And more here too!
What a guy. Never misunderestimate him.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Beating the sound barrier
First of all I'd like to apologise for writing about the traffic once again, but I wouldn't be doing it unless I had made somewhat of a revolutionary discovery, which I'll get to later.
As we all know for expats that have to ferry themselves around on motorbikes, the traffic in Vietnam's major cities is kind of a barometer for how long left they have in the country.
People who keep throwing tantrums at the traffic lights or screaming at mild mannered xe om drivers are gently encouraged to take a break by their friends, a long weekend in Thailand, perhaps (the country that, if it didn't exist, would have been invented by exasperated expats in Vietnam).
People who start losing hair or show disturbing signs of diminished mental health, over facing the daily traffic, perhaps, know themselves it's time to start checking for jobs in lands afar. (You will inevitably receive an email from them in two or three months complaining about sitting on buses wherever they end up – no pleasing some people).
While for those who spontaneously combust in the middle of the motorway after one too many industrial-sized horn beeps in their ear, sadly it is one day after the day they should have left. "Alas poor Protec helmet, I knew your owner well."
But, all of this can be avoided, and I am here to help.
For the last year I've been collecting earplugs, even occasionally buying them (although this happens when I'm abroad as chemists don't seem to stock them in Hanoi). Vietnam Airlines are also very obliging (Cho xin cai nut tai! "Please can I have some ear plugs").
Then all you have to do, back on the roads in Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City, is pop the little blighters into your ears. The deafening city will be instantly neutralised.
It's not like you're listening to music and are now blithely unawares to the out of control bus careering in your direction. You can still hear the beeps. It just doesn't hurt so much.
Instantly, your whole riding-in-the-traffic-persona changes. You mellow out. You take in the sights. Breathe the fumes with a nonchalant air. Smile at passing commuters. Stop for pedestrians. Whistle at the traffic lights. Arrive for work with a "look who got out of bed on the right side this morning" air.
It will change your life. In fact, without the slightest bit of evidence I would bet you a bundle of small denominations of dong that people who wear earplugs probably live longer, happier, more rewarding lives.
When you take them out is optional and depends on how much you enjoy listening to your work mates complain about the traffic.
(Don't people talk about anything else in this town?)
First of all I'd like to apologise for writing about the traffic once again, but I wouldn't be doing it unless I had made somewhat of a revolutionary discovery, which I'll get to later.
As we all know for expats that have to ferry themselves around on motorbikes, the traffic in Vietnam's major cities is kind of a barometer for how long left they have in the country.
People who keep throwing tantrums at the traffic lights or screaming at mild mannered xe om drivers are gently encouraged to take a break by their friends, a long weekend in Thailand, perhaps (the country that, if it didn't exist, would have been invented by exasperated expats in Vietnam).
People who start losing hair or show disturbing signs of diminished mental health, over facing the daily traffic, perhaps, know themselves it's time to start checking for jobs in lands afar. (You will inevitably receive an email from them in two or three months complaining about sitting on buses wherever they end up – no pleasing some people).
While for those who spontaneously combust in the middle of the motorway after one too many industrial-sized horn beeps in their ear, sadly it is one day after the day they should have left. "Alas poor Protec helmet, I knew your owner well."
But, all of this can be avoided, and I am here to help.
For the last year I've been collecting earplugs, even occasionally buying them (although this happens when I'm abroad as chemists don't seem to stock them in Hanoi). Vietnam Airlines are also very obliging (Cho xin cai nut tai! "Please can I have some ear plugs").
Then all you have to do, back on the roads in Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City, is pop the little blighters into your ears. The deafening city will be instantly neutralised.
It's not like you're listening to music and are now blithely unawares to the out of control bus careering in your direction. You can still hear the beeps. It just doesn't hurt so much.
Instantly, your whole riding-in-the-traffic-persona changes. You mellow out. You take in the sights. Breathe the fumes with a nonchalant air. Smile at passing commuters. Stop for pedestrians. Whistle at the traffic lights. Arrive for work with a "look who got out of bed on the right side this morning" air.
It will change your life. In fact, without the slightest bit of evidence I would bet you a bundle of small denominations of dong that people who wear earplugs probably live longer, happier, more rewarding lives.
When you take them out is optional and depends on how much you enjoy listening to your work mates complain about the traffic.
(Don't people talk about anything else in this town?)
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