Things are winding down. I've started to gather all my things and pack them in the box and luggages that I've come with. I weighed them on the scale the landlady lent us and literally prayed I'd make the weight limit, shifting around the goods among my three bags to balance the weight.
We spent some time at Maximart, doing last-minute souvenir shopping now that we knew approximately how much weight we were packing. I got a pair of pink heels and a pair of designer flip-flops that made me very happy, since U.S. shoe stores usually run out of my size.
Some guests and family members on Tung's side came to bid us farewell. At night, we ate at a "bun bo hue" (spicy beef noodle) diner that Tung's mom used to frequent with his dad when they lived in Viet Nam. After a relaxing shower and a snack on "banh tieu" that our landlady freshly fried up, I passed out to the droning sound of the TV that Tung had on.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Town
In the morning, we went to Tung's grandma's house to say goodbye, since we'll be flying back to the States in a few days. However, I got a surprise when my Ba 1, whom I had invited to dinner, dropped by our hotel early at 6:30AM to drop off gifts I was supposed to bring back to America for my family and relatives. So much dried shrimp would put me over the limit for my already-stuffed check-in box, but I had no choice but to accept it after she had come the long way to call on me.
"Long ago," she told me, "our house used to be packed with family during reunion nights when we gathered to pay respect to our ancestors. Now, everyone's either dead or moved away. It's not really money that I'm lacking to comfortable live out the rest of my days. It's the love and companionship from family long gone; I don't know if I'll ever lay eyes on them again before I die."
At Tung's grandma's house, we had a breakfast of noodles and chicken. He spent some time chatting with his uncle and neighbors and grandma. Seven years ago, on his last visit, Tung's dad was supposed to bring home a big wooden plaque with his family surname etched in gold lettering. It was a board made for a traditional, daily tear-off calendar to be screwed on, and it was supposed to be shipped with their order of furniture, but somehow it got left behind. So today, Tung bade farewell to his grandma and carried home the wooden placard bearing his family surname.
After Di Oanh got off from work, she dropped by my place to pick me up. Together, we went to get my mom's "ao dai" that we ordered during our first week in Viet Nam.
Di Oanh also took me to see two houses. One was the one in which my mom grew up with my uncles. This house is on Ba Hat street, where we dropped off our other "ao dai" fabric. I hadn't realized I've been passing my mom's old house every time we came by taxi along this street.
The other house was on Hai Thuong Lang Ong Street, a commercial district where I grew up. Di Oanh couldn't remember the exact address of the second house, so I took a few pictures of the street and went with Di Oanh to her neighborhood to bid farewell to my relatives.
After I lit incense at my grandfather's altar and asked hime to safeguard our journey home, Di Oanh took me to eat dinner at a little diner specializing in "Mien Trung" (central Viet Nam) food. I had my last bowl of "bun ca," vermicelli seeped in broth, eaten with fish and plenty of green onions. We went out for dessert later at Che Hue Cung Dinh, where I had a strange combination "che" topped with toasted coconut that was quite tasty.
After a brief tour of the city, Di Oanh dropped me off back home. It was my first ride on a motorbike since coming back to Viet Nam. When I was a little girl, I sat on a motorbike wedged between my father (who drove and sat at the front) and my mother at the back. It was so different than riding in a sheltered vehicle; on a bike, I could smell the city as it whizzed past in a blur of lights and sounds. Passing by bakeries, the sweet, warm smell of bread and milk cooked with sugar awakened my senses. At night, the city sat aglow with lights, strung up since Christmas and left on to welcome the Western New Year.
Colorful red "li xi" pouches hung with lanterns and golden mai flowers for sale for the upcoming Lunar New Year. The brisk breeze carressed my face as our motorbike bumped along the road, and though I hadn't ridden one for 24 years, somehow the steady pace of a motorbike zooming along during the city's evening traffic made me feel very much at home. Even the balloon vendors marching slowly up and down the streets brought back memories; colorful inflatable plastic cartoon characters bubbled up around a skeletal man, making him seem heavy but light, weighed down by quantity, buoyed up by air.
I had hoped to feel as sense of familiarity as my feet touched the streets in front of the house where I grew up, but everything is so much changed that I was caught up in the hustle and bustle of the evening market scene. I kept telling myself that once upon a time, I ran up and down the sidewalks hugging these wide commercial streets of Hai Thuong Lang Ong, refusing to eat anything but a simple meal of rice and bananas, my mom chasing me with a bowl and spoon. It's been so long and I've forgotten, all except for the sweet taste and milky color of the "vu sua" fruit; the light, mellow flavor and chewy texture of "chuoi xiem" bananas that I've been addicted to since Week 1 of my stay; the refreshing, juicy sweetness and slightly crunchy seeds of "thanh long" (dragon fruit), the overwhelming smell of a hundred food vendors selling their wares on the street in an overpopulated city; the sense of neighborliness among clusters of houses built high and close to each other; the hospitality of families distant and near.
"Long ago," she told me, "our house used to be packed with family during reunion nights when we gathered to pay respect to our ancestors. Now, everyone's either dead or moved away. It's not really money that I'm lacking to comfortable live out the rest of my days. It's the love and companionship from family long gone; I don't know if I'll ever lay eyes on them again before I die."
At Tung's grandma's house, we had a breakfast of noodles and chicken. He spent some time chatting with his uncle and neighbors and grandma. Seven years ago, on his last visit, Tung's dad was supposed to bring home a big wooden plaque with his family surname etched in gold lettering. It was a board made for a traditional, daily tear-off calendar to be screwed on, and it was supposed to be shipped with their order of furniture, but somehow it got left behind. So today, Tung bade farewell to his grandma and carried home the wooden placard bearing his family surname.
After Di Oanh got off from work, she dropped by my place to pick me up. Together, we went to get my mom's "ao dai" that we ordered during our first week in Viet Nam.
Di Oanh also took me to see two houses. One was the one in which my mom grew up with my uncles. This house is on Ba Hat street, where we dropped off our other "ao dai" fabric. I hadn't realized I've been passing my mom's old house every time we came by taxi along this street.
The other house was on Hai Thuong Lang Ong Street, a commercial district where I grew up. Di Oanh couldn't remember the exact address of the second house, so I took a few pictures of the street and went with Di Oanh to her neighborhood to bid farewell to my relatives.
After I lit incense at my grandfather's altar and asked hime to safeguard our journey home, Di Oanh took me to eat dinner at a little diner specializing in "Mien Trung" (central Viet Nam) food. I had my last bowl of "bun ca," vermicelli seeped in broth, eaten with fish and plenty of green onions. We went out for dessert later at Che Hue Cung Dinh, where I had a strange combination "che" topped with toasted coconut that was quite tasty.
After a brief tour of the city, Di Oanh dropped me off back home. It was my first ride on a motorbike since coming back to Viet Nam. When I was a little girl, I sat on a motorbike wedged between my father (who drove and sat at the front) and my mother at the back. It was so different than riding in a sheltered vehicle; on a bike, I could smell the city as it whizzed past in a blur of lights and sounds. Passing by bakeries, the sweet, warm smell of bread and milk cooked with sugar awakened my senses. At night, the city sat aglow with lights, strung up since Christmas and left on to welcome the Western New Year.
Colorful red "li xi" pouches hung with lanterns and golden mai flowers for sale for the upcoming Lunar New Year. The brisk breeze carressed my face as our motorbike bumped along the road, and though I hadn't ridden one for 24 years, somehow the steady pace of a motorbike zooming along during the city's evening traffic made me feel very much at home. Even the balloon vendors marching slowly up and down the streets brought back memories; colorful inflatable plastic cartoon characters bubbled up around a skeletal man, making him seem heavy but light, weighed down by quantity, buoyed up by air.
I had hoped to feel as sense of familiarity as my feet touched the streets in front of the house where I grew up, but everything is so much changed that I was caught up in the hustle and bustle of the evening market scene. I kept telling myself that once upon a time, I ran up and down the sidewalks hugging these wide commercial streets of Hai Thuong Lang Ong, refusing to eat anything but a simple meal of rice and bananas, my mom chasing me with a bowl and spoon. It's been so long and I've forgotten, all except for the sweet taste and milky color of the "vu sua" fruit; the light, mellow flavor and chewy texture of "chuoi xiem" bananas that I've been addicted to since Week 1 of my stay; the refreshing, juicy sweetness and slightly crunchy seeds of "thanh long" (dragon fruit), the overwhelming smell of a hundred food vendors selling their wares on the street in an overpopulated city; the sense of neighborliness among clusters of houses built high and close to each other; the hospitality of families distant and near.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Dam Sen
I got to ride on an elephant today at Dam Sen Amusement Park. It was strange to see the culmination of Eastern and Western cultures in the same park; rollercoasters imitating the Vortex at Great America spiraled though the air, above a lane of interesting sculptures of Asian animals and mythical creatures made entirely from diningware: spoons, plates, saucers, and teacups.
A mini Splash Mountain ride coexisted with a habitat for cows, water buffaloes, and goats. We dub the shot below the "Ziggy and Argos" picture--Tung's dog Ziggy is the color of the goat, and my dog Argos is about the size of the boar.
Entering Dam Sen, we walked through a large area showing beautiful varieties of cultivated orchids and bonsai trees.
We also got to see the lovely lilies (after which the park was named) shyly open their petals to drink in the morning sun before shutting them again to "go to sleep" after noon.
This is also a popular destination for brides and grooms--before the wedding because the scenery made for good engagement photos, and for the wedding because there were several restaurants in the park with a large seating capacity. It was strange to go to an amusement park and be the only ones eating lunch at a restaurant so empty we initially thought it was closed. Our various taxi drivers told us that this year, there were less "Viet Kieu" visiting than before, and they've been closely following the U.S. economy because it makes a big impact on their own business. There was so much to see in Dam Sen:
Interconnected shady pavilions modeled in the Chinese style. . .
Dragon sculptures. . .
Sculptures of historical leaders. . .
Exotic flora. . .
Creative architecture (the "lan" below has scales made from CDs). . .
Prehistoric creatures in a dinosaur park (that homosapien on the right is just Tung). . .
A cactus garden. . .
A film crew shooting a movie. . .
Disgusting clusters of snakes. . .
Lovebirds. . .
However, we promise Co Xuan we'd come back to make a brief visit to her, so we only covered a little more than half of the park. That night, we visited some of Tung's former neighbors in a housing complex where only those who worked for the government can live. Here's a little cutie of some-relation-or-another. She can nail the splits way better than I can.
Here is Tung's mom with her goddaughter, whom she hasn't seen in many years:
Bac Loan and Bac Dung invited us over for yet another very filling dinner of several courses: seafood and asparagus soup, chicken soup with peas and a French bread loaf, boiled prawns, and spicy-sour Thai hot-pot. This was how we ate most nights, with friends and family eager to see us again and treat us out, and with us eager to treat them back and return the favor.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Dinner
Tonight I treated my relatives out to a dinner at Ngoc Lan Restaurant on Ly Thuong Kiet Street. There was my Ong 2, Ba 1, Di Oanh, Di Suong, her husband, and our party, minus Co Ha. What I learned is that it's very hard to refuse gifts from my relatives, despite all methods of pleading, begging, and explaining that the limit per check-in luggage is 50 pounds max without a penalty. Di Oanh had my name put on a sign at the front of the restaurant, and she gave me a basket of fresh flowers for the event. Ong 2 gave a long lecture about the importance of families reuniting and keeping in touch. He is definitely my grandfather's brother, no doubt.
One of the interesting dishes we ordered include prawns sauteed in salt and onions, presented on an impressive plate near a glass of dry ice.
After the very big meal and several family members clambering for my attention, I must admit to being glad that the night came to an end.
One of the interesting dishes we ordered include prawns sauteed in salt and onions, presented on an impressive plate near a glass of dry ice.
After the very big meal and several family members clambering for my attention, I must admit to being glad that the night came to an end.
Monday, January 5, 2009
KFC
In the morning, we saw Co Ha to the airport so she could fly back to America. She only took two weeks off, so she had to go back earlier than us. Unlike the San Francisco airport, only flyers could make it past the front door.
In the afternoon, we went to Maximark, a large supermarket that sells international names, including several known in the U.S. such as Dove, Toblerone, Hershey's, and Gillette. If you walked in carrying any items, you had to leave them to the care of the staff at the locker area before security would let you past the turnstiles. The prices are about expensive as in the U.S., so not a lot of locals shop there. At the entrance, there was a little platform advertising crackers with a koala logo similar to Hello Panda. The advertising staff was giving out free samples, and for some reason, the Chicken Dance song was blaring through the stereo--and that's not a fun one to get stuck in your head. At every station (sunglasses, shoes, handbags, etc.), at least one saleslady stood by, waiting to offer service to any customer showing the slightest bit of interest in the merchandise.
There's great little "restaurant" a few steps away from where we're staying. In the afternoons, they sell combination rice where you can pick which dishes you wanted to eat; in the evenings, they sell fried chicken drumsticks "roti" style with sauce to die for. The few times when we're at home, we like to drop by to buy some rice to-go and eat in our room.
Tung, however, wanted to try the 5-story Kentucky Fried Chicken in Vietnam. We ordered 25 pieces of chicken and 5 pieces of fried fish cakes, which shocked the hell out of the young workers there because apparently no one visiting that KFC usually orders that much. They gave us complimentary Cokes and asked us to sit and wait while they prepared the order. The ironic thing is, of all the Vietnamese food that Tung ate, he didn't have to break unto his prescription stomach meds until KFC night. I'm glad to say that the rest of the party were unaffected.
In the afternoon, we went to Maximark, a large supermarket that sells international names, including several known in the U.S. such as Dove, Toblerone, Hershey's, and Gillette. If you walked in carrying any items, you had to leave them to the care of the staff at the locker area before security would let you past the turnstiles. The prices are about expensive as in the U.S., so not a lot of locals shop there. At the entrance, there was a little platform advertising crackers with a koala logo similar to Hello Panda. The advertising staff was giving out free samples, and for some reason, the Chicken Dance song was blaring through the stereo--and that's not a fun one to get stuck in your head. At every station (sunglasses, shoes, handbags, etc.), at least one saleslady stood by, waiting to offer service to any customer showing the slightest bit of interest in the merchandise.
There's great little "restaurant" a few steps away from where we're staying. In the afternoons, they sell combination rice where you can pick which dishes you wanted to eat; in the evenings, they sell fried chicken drumsticks "roti" style with sauce to die for. The few times when we're at home, we like to drop by to buy some rice to-go and eat in our room.
Tung, however, wanted to try the 5-story Kentucky Fried Chicken in Vietnam. We ordered 25 pieces of chicken and 5 pieces of fried fish cakes, which shocked the hell out of the young workers there because apparently no one visiting that KFC usually orders that much. They gave us complimentary Cokes and asked us to sit and wait while they prepared the order. The ironic thing is, of all the Vietnamese food that Tung ate, he didn't have to break unto his prescription stomach meds until KFC night. I'm glad to say that the rest of the party were unaffected.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Clothes
We went to Ben Thanh Market in the morning to get some souvenirs. At lunch, we met up with Co Xuan's family at Ngoc Suong Restaurant. Some famous dishes there include "goi ca" (fish salad wrapped in thin rice paper) and chicken barbecued on split bamboo poles.
In the afternoon, Tung's aunt and uncle brought his little cousins over to our hotel room for a visit. The little girl in pink is the adopted daughter of his aunt, Co Lan, who never married because she devoted her life to help care for Tung's aging grandma.
His aunt also brought over a huge "banh duc" rice-flour cake that we ordered. It was topped with fragrant browned onions and was eaten with fish sauce. The cake was so big that it could have seriously fed a family for several days.
We also got so freshly-made "banh it tran," sticky-rice dumpling cakes with a water-chestnut-and-mushroom filling.
We spent the evening picking up the clothes that we dropped off fabric for during the first week of our stay. The tailors are especially busy around Lunar New Year, which comes early this year at the end of January, since it's become almost a tradition for even poor families to get new outfits to try and welcome a prosperous year. Our clothing, including suits and traditional "ao dai," came to us with marker thread still lined in the seams that less-busy tailors would have removed for us.
This is my first sleeveless "ao dai"!
In the afternoon, Tung's aunt and uncle brought his little cousins over to our hotel room for a visit. The little girl in pink is the adopted daughter of his aunt, Co Lan, who never married because she devoted her life to help care for Tung's aging grandma.
His aunt also brought over a huge "banh duc" rice-flour cake that we ordered. It was topped with fragrant browned onions and was eaten with fish sauce. The cake was so big that it could have seriously fed a family for several days.
We also got so freshly-made "banh it tran," sticky-rice dumpling cakes with a water-chestnut-and-mushroom filling.
We spent the evening picking up the clothes that we dropped off fabric for during the first week of our stay. The tailors are especially busy around Lunar New Year, which comes early this year at the end of January, since it's become almost a tradition for even poor families to get new outfits to try and welcome a prosperous year. Our clothing, including suits and traditional "ao dai," came to us with marker thread still lined in the seams that less-busy tailors would have removed for us.
This is my first sleeveless "ao dai"!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Suoi Tien
We headed to Suoi Tien, an amusement park with a big artificial mountain carved in the face of Hung Vuong, the king that developed Vietnam as a country back when it was still a monarchy.
Bus #19 at the main station near Ben Thanh Market took us on an hour-long ride to Suoi Tien. It was a popular field trip destination for grade-school students, and we saw several groups while we were there. The Vietnamese are used to riding on motorbikes, bicycles, or just plain walking; a jolting ride on a bus with poor shock absorbers got so many of the kids carsick, which definitely made for an interesting ride.
We were charged an entry fee at the park, and each themed entertainment center also charged an average of $5,000-$10,000 dong per person (30-60 U.S. cents). Food in the theme park was the worst we've eaten yet in Vietnam and of course overpriced. The seasoning was bland, and our soy milk came with what must have been 3 tablespoons of soy milk padded with 3 pounds of ice. By far, it made the chili-dogs at Disneyland seem like fine dining.
Here is Tung and me taking a picture next to our Chinese zodiac, the Monkey.
Here I am at the foot of a row of "lan" of different sizes. "Lans" are a mix of dragon and lion, and a male and female pair would often be seen guarding the gates of many Vietnamese buildings. The lans in the photo are male--you can tell by the pearl and money ingots under their paws. Traditionally, males are the "money makers" in the family, so they guard the family jewels. Female lan are seen with a lan cub underneath their paw, signifying the nurturing female instinct. Together, they are yin and yang, and they balance each other out for a well-rounded family. If there were female lan in the U.S., they'd probably have both the pearl and the cub underneath their paws, haha!
Tung and I step across "lily pads" amidst a pond to take a picture against a waterfall backdrop.
And in the Hall of Monarchs, we get to be King and Queen for 2 minutes.
At one of the show exhibits, I witnessed a bad case of animal abuse. They had several monkeys put on a show of riding a bike, wearing a conical hat, jumping across a barrier, and giving audiences high-fives in exchange for $2,000 dong. The whole time, the trainer was chasing the monkeys with a bamboo stick, threatening to beat them at every wrong turn. The first monkey riding a bike must have gotten beaten a lot; one of his eyes was swollen half-shut, and the pinky on his right hand looked maimed. After two minutes of the show, Tung went to wait outside. The animal abuse soured the rest of our experience in the theme park, even though there were so many monuments and picture-taking opportunities left to see.
I was bracing myself to see animals treated cruelly in a country known for dog-eating and sacrificing the family water buffalo for food after it's gotten too old from long years of service, but seeing trainers so openly beat their charges while using them to make money still churns the stomach. In Sea World in the U.S., there's a certain relationship between the trainer and the marine life that merits love and respect. Even in Saigon, people tether their young puppies briefly to trees to keep them from getting killed by running into the traffic-heavy street, but they quickly un-tether them and take them back into the house after a brief time. My Bac 3 has prized, purebred German shepherds from Australia that he takes good care of, and when we left our family dog behind after immigration, Bac 3 snuck past the Viet Cong who guarded our house in the act of governmental confiscation to feed our trapped dog a meal of rice and pork chops.
When we got home from Suoi Tien, we visited Tung's uncle, Vo Si Ba. He and his relations hire workers to make clothes by the bulk, which they sell to stores at wholesale prices. Here is a worker checking out the stitches on embroidery machines.
Vo Si Ba treated us out to an interesting dinner of "lau nam" (mushroom hot-pot) at Ashima Restaurant. The broth was made from a myriad of ingredients that were supposedly healthy and had "cooling properties" for the body. The restaurant was upper-scale, with beautiful interior lighting and modern decorations, and the wait staff dressed in neat brown-and-yellow uniforms. It was a unique meal, but it tasted quite bland. I did, however, get a good sleep that night.
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