Feb 17, 2007
TET Fireworks
After the cancellation, debate and then reinstallment, it was time to settle down and enjoy. By 11.00pm, there was nowhere to move. The early birds had set up along Ton Duc Thang , waiting for midnight. This is taken outside the Majestic Hotel looking up TDT, with Dong Khoi off to the left.
Feb 16, 2007
New Years Eve
For the first time I feel part of this holiday, having been dragged into it by my wife's enthusiasm. One things for sure, I wish it was TET all the time because the streets are deserted (relatively). No buses and no businessmen riding solo in 7 seater SUV's. Today I managed Q11 to Binh Thanh in under 15 minutes and Binh Thanh to Phu My Hung in 17 minutes, surely a record. This morning we visited Dam Sen, as I had read about two 1 ton rice cakes that would be on display. I misread as it was still being cooked. This thing looks primed for 18th century iron smelding, in fact it's an industrial size wood fired oven that was cooking the aforementioned cakes.
Back in the city, and the entire Nga Bay Roundabout is awash with red, flags and ballons bobbing in the breeze.
So, the two cakes weighing 1000 kgs each took 40 members of staff to prepare. They cook for 48 hours. One will be taken into District One tonight for the celebrations, and one will remain at Dam Sen to be eaten at a later stage.
Not really part of the TET celebrations but these models have been cleverly created using all kinds of cutlery -- plates, spoons, bowls and dishes.
Back in the city, and the entire Nga Bay Roundabout is awash with red, flags and ballons bobbing in the breeze.
Chi, my trouble and strife, promised we'd be having a big lunch, but I had no idea this entailed cooking enough food for the next ten days and putting it all on display 'just because we can'.
Everything has been cleaned, polished, buffed and scrubbed and looks good as new. The larder is stocked, the rice and salt are in. Got me new set of clothes, as did the family. So, looking good. Feeling good. No want for food, drink, cleaning, or anything else in the next week or so....ahhh perfect..I got that TET feeling. Well, that's the idea anyway...we're off to Cambodia on Sunday morning!
Feb 14, 2007
Tet Prep: Essentials
Sorry thong, it's another TET post ;).
On Hai Ba Trung, vendors line the roadside seilling decorations for the traditional new year tree...hopefully bringing good luck. I think with the pig n all we already have enough luck, but there you go....
On Hai Ba Trung, vendors line the roadside seilling decorations for the traditional new year tree...hopefully bringing good luck. I think with the pig n all we already have enough luck, but there you go....
Feb 11, 2007
Tet Prep : Pig Crazy
A blogger in Vietnam commentating on the TET holiday? The first of many in the coming week I'm sure. However, it was a choice of all or nothing for TFW. The preparations in town are well underway, concentrated as usual on Le Loi and Nguyen Hue, the latter being closed off completely apart from the bike lanes.
These ones have their own security. I think the red one on top is the driver.
Has HCM ever looked this colorful?
The lanterns are out on Le Loi as well.
Feb 9, 2007
An Everyday Journey
A bleary eyed man climbs out of his bed, walks through to his kitchen, and gingerly sips on some hot green tea prepared earlier by his wife (she’s always up earlier than him, no matter how hard he tries). If it’s one of those days when he was too lazy to do some morning exercise, then a few stretches have to suffice. He needs to get cracking – don the work clothes, pick the least smelly pair of socks and splash his face with water. Grab the keys, money, and the godforsaken parking ticket – forgetting things when you live on the 16th floor and have two padlocks and a door to get through isn’t funny, he thinks.
Down in the elevator and out into the parking garage. It’s cramped down there, likelihood is that the bike is buried behind three Honda SH machines, each weighing as much as a baby elephant. It’s one of the worst things about living in these apartments, he thinks, on top of the smelly canal that separates District One and Binh Thanh and runs directly around the building. However, his pad is high enough to be above the whiff.
Sunglasses on. Helmet on. Out onto the street, immediately passing the countless array of coffee shops that smatter ground level around the huge apartment block. A few seconds later the full reality of the early morning traffic slaps his face as he joins the flow on Dinh Tien Hoang. Straight into the routine: pull the throttle, glide, pull the throttle, glide, weave this way, weave that way. As soon as he’s moving, he’s stopped, usually on the bridge just outside his residence. Some days, the water on the canal is so still he can see a perfect reflection of the small trees that line the bank. Drifting thoughts are abruptly shattered as the traffic groans forward with a monstrous communal roar. At this time in the morning, cream clad traffic cops override the signals, commanding red and green with the flick of a switch. Drivers wait on the starting line, suspiciously eyeing their imposing compatriots, waiting for the movement towards that magical grey switch box. And they’re off again -- but not at any particular pace.
In the queue at the junction of Vo Thi Sau and Hai Ba Trung, he feels like he could easily be part of a Hollywood disaster movie. It’s like the whole of the city is trying to escape a doomsday event behind them, using the same road. Ugly green buses crammed with people line the street while noisy motorbikes supporting all manner of pillion swarm like an army of ants. Cyclists join the fray, and seem completely unaware of the lunacy around them as they wobble their way up onto the peddles. A droning crescendo signifies another gargantuan effort by the masses -- the process of inching closer to an unknown final destination is once again underway. The engines spew clouds of nasty chemicals into the air, clearly visible in drifting clouds. He holds his breath through the worst ones, for what good it does.
Down Hai Ba Trung, onto Nguyen Dinh Chieu. Not too bad this road, even in rush hour. He swings left onto Nam Khi Khoi Nghai which will take him out of Q3, through the heart of Q1 and into Q4. On occasion he shares a nod with the boys at the motorcycle garage – sometimes, time permitting, he’ll grab an oil change and a bike wash here. Crossing over Nguyen Thi Minh Khai into District 1, the street leads down past the Independence Palace. Traffic slows as people take time to gaze in through the gates. Some early morning tourists are wondering around in shorts, cameras hanging from necks. He’s catapulted back in time. How alien this morning chaos must seem to them, how normal it is to him now. Seeing them often returns that smell, that feeling, that taste of what it is to experience Vietnam for the first time. He can’t hold onto the nostalgia for long, he’s soon waiting to dash across the wide expanse that is Le Loi. On the street side, a breakfast noodle stand sits in front of a pastel yellow, rain worn wall. It’s the kind of scene common on postcards he feels, but no time to dwell, must push on.
Eventually he breaks free from the shackles of the city centre, passing the construction site of the city’s largest engineering project on the way into D4…maybe one day the tunnel will make Ton Duc Thang a more enjoyable ride. He hopes so. At last, after twenty minutes, the Yamaha has a chance to stretch its legs. The bike turns onto Nguyen Tat Thanh. The sun has risen high and beams directly along the long stretch of this dangerous thoroughfare, reflecting off the asphalt. Heavy trucks sound their horns as they ruthlessly scream by. He picks up the speed, but not without caution, hunching over the handlebars keeping the kind of lookout that a circling hawk would be proud of. The world and his wife seem to participate in this frenzied up-and-down, from 40 foot juggernauts to 50cc machines carrying huge baskets of fruit; from the blue overalled, yellow helmeted construction workers on their Hondas to the slow moving labourers with their motorized wheelbarrows. The heat, dust and noise on this street doesn’t sit well with him – luckily it’s still a little cooler in the AM. To try this in the afternoon you may as well put yourself inside a tumble dryer on a hot wash, having rubbed detergent into your eyes before you climbed in.
He crosses the new bridge near the Tan Thuan Industrial Area, and motors along Nguyen Van Linh Parkway. Nearly there. Crusing to a halt at the junction outside FV hospital, he takes the chance to lean on the handlebars. He watches the red light counter tick down from 30 as cars and bikes sail past him regardless. No matter, the final stretch of the journey – the last 25 minutes have been like wading through waist deep water, but now its like sprinting along a deserted beach, barely leaving a footprint. The rider takes in the remaining green patches of land in this rapidly developing area whilst gulping down lungfuls of clean air as if he’s just emerged from the desert and been handed an ice cold beaker of fresh lemonade. The light glints off the river which snakes away to the south through a landscape of tropical marshes.
The morning ride to work may only take around 30 minutes, but in that time he travels through the heart of a bustling city rush hour to it’s very edges where he can see the green countryside coming to meet sparkling, still vacant apartment blocks which now scatter HCM’s first true suburb – it’s a vision of the future yet come to pass.
Down in the elevator and out into the parking garage. It’s cramped down there, likelihood is that the bike is buried behind three Honda SH machines, each weighing as much as a baby elephant. It’s one of the worst things about living in these apartments, he thinks, on top of the smelly canal that separates District One and Binh Thanh and runs directly around the building. However, his pad is high enough to be above the whiff.
Sunglasses on. Helmet on. Out onto the street, immediately passing the countless array of coffee shops that smatter ground level around the huge apartment block. A few seconds later the full reality of the early morning traffic slaps his face as he joins the flow on Dinh Tien Hoang. Straight into the routine: pull the throttle, glide, pull the throttle, glide, weave this way, weave that way. As soon as he’s moving, he’s stopped, usually on the bridge just outside his residence. Some days, the water on the canal is so still he can see a perfect reflection of the small trees that line the bank. Drifting thoughts are abruptly shattered as the traffic groans forward with a monstrous communal roar. At this time in the morning, cream clad traffic cops override the signals, commanding red and green with the flick of a switch. Drivers wait on the starting line, suspiciously eyeing their imposing compatriots, waiting for the movement towards that magical grey switch box. And they’re off again -- but not at any particular pace.
In the queue at the junction of Vo Thi Sau and Hai Ba Trung, he feels like he could easily be part of a Hollywood disaster movie. It’s like the whole of the city is trying to escape a doomsday event behind them, using the same road. Ugly green buses crammed with people line the street while noisy motorbikes supporting all manner of pillion swarm like an army of ants. Cyclists join the fray, and seem completely unaware of the lunacy around them as they wobble their way up onto the peddles. A droning crescendo signifies another gargantuan effort by the masses -- the process of inching closer to an unknown final destination is once again underway. The engines spew clouds of nasty chemicals into the air, clearly visible in drifting clouds. He holds his breath through the worst ones, for what good it does.
Down Hai Ba Trung, onto Nguyen Dinh Chieu. Not too bad this road, even in rush hour. He swings left onto Nam Khi Khoi Nghai which will take him out of Q3, through the heart of Q1 and into Q4. On occasion he shares a nod with the boys at the motorcycle garage – sometimes, time permitting, he’ll grab an oil change and a bike wash here. Crossing over Nguyen Thi Minh Khai into District 1, the street leads down past the Independence Palace. Traffic slows as people take time to gaze in through the gates. Some early morning tourists are wondering around in shorts, cameras hanging from necks. He’s catapulted back in time. How alien this morning chaos must seem to them, how normal it is to him now. Seeing them often returns that smell, that feeling, that taste of what it is to experience Vietnam for the first time. He can’t hold onto the nostalgia for long, he’s soon waiting to dash across the wide expanse that is Le Loi. On the street side, a breakfast noodle stand sits in front of a pastel yellow, rain worn wall. It’s the kind of scene common on postcards he feels, but no time to dwell, must push on.
Eventually he breaks free from the shackles of the city centre, passing the construction site of the city’s largest engineering project on the way into D4…maybe one day the tunnel will make Ton Duc Thang a more enjoyable ride. He hopes so. At last, after twenty minutes, the Yamaha has a chance to stretch its legs. The bike turns onto Nguyen Tat Thanh. The sun has risen high and beams directly along the long stretch of this dangerous thoroughfare, reflecting off the asphalt. Heavy trucks sound their horns as they ruthlessly scream by. He picks up the speed, but not without caution, hunching over the handlebars keeping the kind of lookout that a circling hawk would be proud of. The world and his wife seem to participate in this frenzied up-and-down, from 40 foot juggernauts to 50cc machines carrying huge baskets of fruit; from the blue overalled, yellow helmeted construction workers on their Hondas to the slow moving labourers with their motorized wheelbarrows. The heat, dust and noise on this street doesn’t sit well with him – luckily it’s still a little cooler in the AM. To try this in the afternoon you may as well put yourself inside a tumble dryer on a hot wash, having rubbed detergent into your eyes before you climbed in.
He crosses the new bridge near the Tan Thuan Industrial Area, and motors along Nguyen Van Linh Parkway. Nearly there. Crusing to a halt at the junction outside FV hospital, he takes the chance to lean on the handlebars. He watches the red light counter tick down from 30 as cars and bikes sail past him regardless. No matter, the final stretch of the journey – the last 25 minutes have been like wading through waist deep water, but now its like sprinting along a deserted beach, barely leaving a footprint. The rider takes in the remaining green patches of land in this rapidly developing area whilst gulping down lungfuls of clean air as if he’s just emerged from the desert and been handed an ice cold beaker of fresh lemonade. The light glints off the river which snakes away to the south through a landscape of tropical marshes.
The morning ride to work may only take around 30 minutes, but in that time he travels through the heart of a bustling city rush hour to it’s very edges where he can see the green countryside coming to meet sparkling, still vacant apartment blocks which now scatter HCM’s first true suburb – it’s a vision of the future yet come to pass.
Feb 4, 2007
Ho Chi Minh Museum
Sitting at 1 Nguyen Tat Thanh, the Museum of Ho Chi Minh provides a view of the city that you can't get from anywhere else. The old colonial building sits on a corner of the Saigon River as it sweeps out of District One down to the port passing Q4 and Q7, eventually arriving at the delta around Can Gio. From the vantage point of the second or third floor balconies, it's possible to see up and down the river, look back over Ton Duc Thang into city center and also see the cargo ships moored in the city's port. It's also by far the best spot for viewing the progress of the tunnel.
The building is set in small but well kept gardens which are lined with interesting pictures depicting Saigon 'then' and 'now'.
The building itself is old French-Colonial.
The view from the balcony takes in the gardens below, the tunnel project and the river running along the edge of District 1.
The building is set in small but well kept gardens which are lined with interesting pictures depicting Saigon 'then' and 'now'.
The building itself is old French-Colonial.
The view from the balcony takes in the gardens below, the tunnel project and the river running along the edge of District 1.
Inside the museum itself, you'll find all kinds of artifacts relating to Uncle Ho's life, and the third floor houses a huge collection of HCM portraits.
Feb 3, 2007
Another One Bites The Dust
For expats, the journey of life in Vietnam is usually temporary. Contracts end, circumstances change. Few end up here for good, only those stupid enough to marry some local talent have that burden...oops. As another friend leaves behind the life she created here starting seven long years ago, it's time to reflect. The tears she cried were tears of uncertainty (or maybe it was the alcohol). When a period of your life comes to an end, you start to look back, you think of all the friends you've made, all the characters you've met, and all the good times you've had. How hard is it to leave all that behind? Very. The heart knows that new challenges and fresh horizons are essential -- the mind says they aren't. So, good luck...onwards, you'll never forget this place.
For those of us who remain, even those yet to arrive, let's remember to live and not to observe. Be in the moment a little more, maybe then when it's time to leave, reminiscing needn't be so painful.
For those of us who remain, even those yet to arrive, let's remember to live and not to observe. Be in the moment a little more, maybe then when it's time to leave, reminiscing needn't be so painful.
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