Bars, beers & birds

As most students are, I was quite partial to the odd intoxicating beverage during my university and backpacking years.  I wouldn’t say I ever hit it hard though, at least not compared to the majority of my acquaintances – you all know who you are!  Since those days, however, I’ve opted for quieter, more civilised surroundings – there comes a point when the crowded venues, sticky floors and headaches the following day simple outweigh the tipsy tales.

The same applies here.  I have previously mentioned (see ‘culture shock’ post – Friday, 15 April 2011) that the majority of my colleagues plunge straight in to a life of drunken debauchery.  For many, their favourite pastime is sitting outside one of the local bars, lounging on deck chairs and drinking poor quality watered-down vodka from containers resembling plastic Nutella jars.  If the noise, pollution and general mayhem weren’t enough to endure, try adding to the mix the many street hawkers selling books/DVDs/cigarettes/chewing gum/dried squid/massages/the kitchen sink.  This is not my cup of tea (or glass of rosé as the case may be).

At the opposite end of the scale we have the swanky expat bars downtown.  Having only visited 4 of these, I am in no rush to return to any of them.  Here I must stress the following is based purely on my limited personal experiences (as indeed is this entire blog), many may disagree with me, but hey ho – each to their own.

This will probably come as no surprise to anyone who has visited Asia, or who has ‘enjoyed’ a beverage in any bar around the Mathew Street area of Liverpool!

Expat bars full of Western middle-aged, balding, potbellied perverts ogling over beautiful, petite, Asian barmaids who wear little more than white vest tops, hotpants and killer heels.  These women flirt with anything in order to sell a pint or two.  Some wear tight little skirts and dresses with ‘Budweiser’, ‘Tiger’, ‘San Miguel’ etc emblazoned all over them.  And it came as quite a surprise to be immediately surrounded by four of these girls seconds after taking a pew.  Needless to say, the usual arm gestures worked a treat to shoo them away in the direction of some pervy expats.

For the next hour, whilst chatting and sipping my strawberry daiquiri I immersed myself in one of my favourite pastimes – people watching.  I’ve always been interested in others, some call it being nosey, I just think I’m inquisitive!  People watching tells allsorts about total strangers and often lets your mind wander to the possibilities and farfetched conclusions one can often jump to.

So, Budweiser bird is over by the pillar, leaning provocatively and flirting outrageously with a portly Western bloke.  San Miguel señorita strokes the arm of mullet man by the bar – he looks like he’s escaped from a Status Quo tribute act.  And Tiger, well she just pushes the buttocks of an un-branded waitress, who returns the gesture – cheek to cheek.  No wonder every Western wannabe Hugh Hefner has found his way in here!

After watching a few more ageing perverts behaving inappropriately with beer broads, my attention turns to the couple by the bar.  She is a young, slender, attractive Asian lady, wearing revealing clothes and a broad smile.  He is mid-50’s, obese, balding and sporting a pair of jeans and open necked shirt.  My guess is – he hasn’t been able to see his genitals past that paunch since the mid 90’s.  And what does she see in him I wonder?!

Vietnamese women are very open about their desire to bag a Western man.  Domestic violence is high here and many young girls view the financial stability and loving arms of a Western man as the pot of gold at the end of their rainbow.  Three weeks in to his contract, a colleague of mine met a 19 year old Vietnamese girl in a local bar that is well known as a regular ‘teachers’ haunt’.  Alone, dressed to the nines and very taken by my colleague, she made no bones about the fact she was looking for a Western boyfriend.  My friend, a reasonably good looking 29 year old Brit, would have no problems getting a Western girl here or at home. However, he actually liked her and the two managed to spend a turbulent four months together before something had to give.  He had been paying for everything – as is expected from most Vietnamese women I must point out.  That aside, the cultural differences and mood swings became too much and he ended it – leaving his lady of leisure high and dry.

But my real question is this – of the percentage of Asian women who are willing to sacrifice true love for financial stability, how many are truly happy with their choice?

A xx

Sun, sea, sand & Sankara

Not having seen a decent beach since our summer holiday to Kos last year, Mr Amy was craving some R&R, so I duly booked us a few days in Mũi Né.  I’d already visited this little haven back in March during an all expenses paid staff trip with the school.  It’s a nice little spot, which lay largely unspoilt before the solar eclipse of 1995; when the coastline around Mũi Né & Phan Thiết provided the perfect viewing point on the south coast of ‘Nam.  Since then, high end resorts and water sports companies have sprung up all along the beach.  But it still retains a certain charm and peacefulness that I haven’t found on any other beach here.

Having scoured the internet a few weeks before Mr Amy’s arrival, I‘d booked a room at a centrally located, Aussie-owned place, close to a fair few restaurants and my favourite bar – Sankara.  On arrival, we found the English manager had a sea view beach hut available – newly renovated, we couldn’t resist.  A little luxury in paradise.

The view from our beach hut

If you’re not a kite surfer, there is little action in Mũi Né.  The two main sight-seeing spots are the Cham Towers (which I had visited back in March) and the Fairy Stream and waterfall which run between the sand dunes.  After sinking a few cocktails in Sankara to mark the end of day one, we opted for a relaxed wander and spot of fairy finding the following day.

Greeted by a small army of Vietnamese school children, who reminded me somewhat of Peter Pan’s lost boys, we found ourselves the target of yet another Vietnamese money making scam.  “No shoes: 3,000 dong to keep shoes” one of them says – because apparently you can’t walk down the stream wearing them.  I tell them it's fine, we’ll carry them.  “I guide you, very deep, dangerous, I know, I live here”.  I almost want to commend the small boy on his excellent, although broken English.  I tell him we’ll be fine and go it alone (also saving ourselves some money).  I’m sure it may be a little deep if you are a young, vertically challenged Vietnamese child, but at 6’ and 5’10” respectively, Mr Amy and I found ourselves paddling ankle deep in the water.

The Fairy Stream

After a few dreamy days filled with sun, sea, sand and sunbathing, it was time to return to Saigon.  Mr Amy departs this evening (volcanic ash clouds permitting) and it’s back to work for me this weekend.  So, our varied and thoroughly enjoyable three weeks comes to a close – and just in time as rainy season and summer school are both looming!

A xx

Oggy, oggy, oggy, Han-oi oi oi!

With Mr Amy not warming to life in Saigon, what better time to take a trip to Hanoi.  A cleaner, cooler, less humid and more relaxed city, Mr Amy adapted far more easily to these surroundings.  The French influence here is more obvious than in Saigon and all I had read about it developing more gracefully than its Southern counterpart appear accurate.

Our £12 a night room was amazing, I was quite chuffed with my little self at the find.  Conveniently located on a quiet street in the centre of the city, we didn’t use any xe-oms at all.  After exploring Hoan Kiem Lake, The Opera House and Temple of Literature day one had run away with us.

The ceremonial drum at the Temple of Literature

Uncle Ho’s dying wish was to be cremated, his ashes scattered half in the north of the country, half in the south.  However, the Vietnamese ‘yes phenomenon’, meaning “yes I have heard what you have said, but will do as I please regardless” means even Uncle Ho was ignored and fobbed off.  As such, he is now preserved in a glass cabinet in the centre of Hanoi for all to gawp at.  Naturally, we fancied a gawp to satisfy our morbid curiosity, so day two saw us pottering down to the mausoleum, ensuring legs and booby bits were suitable covered.  Alas, the queue was colossal – fellow gawpy hopefuls lined Hung Vuong Street, needless to say we didn’t stop to stare, a visit to the Presidential Palace and Uncle H’s former house on stilts were just a stone’s throw away.

The following two days were spent cruising Halong Bay.  A three hour drive from Hanoi, holiday makers flock here for a relaxing break away from the sensory assault of the cities.  Unfortunately, with so many people having the same idea, it can become somewhat of a tourist conveyor belt, losing the idyllic charm most seek.  After lunch onboard we cruised around the limestone formations and stopped off to see inside the local caves, lit with a multitude of disco lights!  The remainder of the trip was spent chatting with fellow passengers, sunbathing and admiring the scenery.  All in all, we have some nice photos, but the experience itself wasn’t all it is marketed as.

Floating fruit stall - Halong Bay

After another two days of mooching around the vaguely interesting points on our map, we find ourselves back in Saigon.  Thumbs up for Hanoi, shame a transfer to my company’s school there is out of the question.

Off to Mũi Né tomorrow for some R&R.

A xx

Seeing Saigon for the first time… again

Last Tuesday saw the arrival of Mr Amy.  It’s been a testing 6 months being so far apart and even daily chats on Skype, emails and text messages just aren’t the same as being able to spend quality time with each other in person.  His time here will see us exploring Hanoi, Halong Bay and Mũi Né together, as well as experiencing the many unique things Vietnam constantly offers up.

Six months down the line from my arrival in Saigon, it’s now difficult to remember the many things that immediately struck me as being so vastly different from home.  I definitely noticed the smells here – they’re something you can’t quite put your finger on (and definitely wouldn’t wish to in the literal sense).  Mr Amy’s observations and comparisons have, however, reawakened my consciousness and I’m noticing the differences all over again, in a very humorous way.

A prime example of this was when we ventured out to do an Amy-lou style tour of the city.  Starting at the Opera House and working our way back to my digs required a xe-om.  Mr Amy is no stranger to motorbikes, but it did make me chuckle when he tried to hold the driver’s waist rather than the handle at the back of the seat.  Having been here for 6 months, I now perch nicely without the aid of handles (unless I have a particularly erratic driver).  After pointing out an alternative to cosying up to the driver, we were on our way. 

“I’ll bring my own cutlery” – the words of a defeatist Mr Amy at the thought of three weeks using chopsticks.  It is now a rarity for me to use eating irons – wooden chopsticks have become far quicker and more convenient.  It was, however, inevitable that my significant other would, at some point, have to bite the bullet.  After a short demo and with a strong desire to fill his belly, I can proudly say that Mr Amy is now a chopstick enthusiast - even requesting to visit my favourite ‘chopstick-only’ Thai restaurant.

The traffic, scooters, heat, humidity, food, people and very different style of living all now seem to be the norm for me – it’s quite strange seeing these differences again through someone else’s eyes.

More travel tales from Hanoi and Halong Bay to come…

A xx

Forty winks

As someone who once slept through an earthquake in Mexico (measuring 7.0 on the Richter scale) and was regularly unaware of my family burglar alarm going off in the wee small hours, I consider myself a pretty sound sleeper; but the Vietnamese put me to shame.  Anywhere and everywhere here people doze.  Whether they’re lying flat out on the seats of their scooters or using a makeshift hammock strung under a truck – nothing will come between them and their afternoon nap.  And rightly so might I add, most locals rise about 5:00am and in my opinion well deserve a power nap by the time 12:30pm arrives.  I myself have on the odd occasion taken to having a wee snooze in the arvo – well, if you can’t beat them you may as well join them!

A xx

Trivial truths

1. I’m working with a former Mr Canada (who could pass as Hulk actor Lou Ferrigno).

2. I’m also working with Dustin Hoffman’s doppelganger.

3. Uncle Ho used to work as a pastry chef in London's Carlton Hotel.

That is all - over and out. 

A xx

Viet-vision

Vietnamese TV: something I have yet to mention, probably due to the adequate number of English language channels showing the usual American teen programmes and movies.  But one restless night, somewhere between Junior Masterchef Australia and Shaun the Sheep (my logic being it would ease me to a satisfying slumber faster than counting imaginary equivalents); I stumbled upon a curious soap opera. 

There was an Asian lady (presumably Vietnamese) with amazing overacting skills, whining incessantly to her partner, who then appeared on screen sporting a duvet and a rather sleepy-eyed look.  It wasn’t immediately apparent what she was requesting, pointing to her back she presumably wanting assistance unzipping her dress.  But no, her husband tossed her way a strange handheld massage instrument (which wouldn’t have looked out of place in one of Amsterdam’s sex/torture museums).  After a little more whining to coax her Romeo out from behind his duvet, not a lot was happening and I turned over to a music channel showing…

Equally mind-numbing: K-pop.  Korean pop singers found on many music channels and adored by tonnes of my teenage students.  All female solo artists appear to sing melancholy ballads whilst sitting on armchairs, hugging cushions to provide some kind of comfort during this obviously terribly distressing episode.  The hazy lens only adds to the overall wrist-slittingly sorrowful effect.  All set off by a wide-angle shot of said fair maiden wearing an off the shoulder over-sized jumper whilst leaning uncomfortably against a wall – ever so naturally, as you do.  Not to mention the flower petals and confetti defying gravity, floating up the screen.  And to top it off… the lyrics don’t even appear to rhyme!

So all things considered, I think I’ll stick to watching HBO and Starworld – I’d far rather be an American Idol fan, than a K-pop enthusiast!

A xx

Hair today, gone tomorrow

This may be the most terrifying experience of my time in ‘Nam to date, but it’s inevitable due to the imminent arrival of Mr Amy. Yes, that’s right it’s time to visit a Vietnamese hairdresser! Having had a few fairly average haircuts in Australia (where no obvious language barrier exists) you can see why I’m a little apprehensive about the prospect of putting my lush long locks in the hands of a foreign scissor wielder! If you don’t hear from me for a while it’s cos I’m scouring Saigon for a wig maker!

A xx

Back from Dalat

Xin chào blog fans! I’m back!

In the interests of not sowing expectations to reap disappointments I heeded the words of a culture shocked colleague’s experience of Dalat: “It’s nice, but it’s still Vietnam”, and went on my merry way with few preconceived ideas about what awaited me in the central highlands.  The early start and 7 hour bus journey was made more bearable when I moved to the back of the vehicle to secure a double seat and reclined to my lanky legs’ delight.

On arrival, after checking in to my guesthouse – a comfortable little place in backpacker-ville – I went for a wander and soon became the latest target of the Easy Rider brigade.  I’d heard of this crew, and indeed had already decided to do one of their day tours of the Dalat countryside before leaving Saigon.  They’re essentially a bunch of middle aged bikers (real bikes that is, not the little scooters you find in the rest of ‘Nam) who offer anything from day tours of Dalat to 21 day tours up to Hanoi and Sapa in the far north.  As with everything in ‘Nam, fakes flourish everywhere and I wanted to make sure I got the real deal.  After shaking off 3 of these clowns I was directed to their office and after checking price, itinerary and official ID cards I arranged to meet Mr Quân the following morning.

Something dawned on me that evening – it was a bit nippy. At around 24°C this was by far the coldest temperature I’d been exposed to since leaving the UK.  I had Goosebumps!  This does not bode well for my return to the UK in December.

The next day was amazing – starting with a visit to the Dragon pagoda, followed by coffee and tea plantations, a flower farm, silk spinning factory, Elephant waterfall, old railway station and Linh Phuoc pagoda – which is decorated with old beer bottles and ceramics.  Getting to know each other a little over the course of the day, I learned Mr Quân had been making a living this way for the past 20 years or so.  I contemplated asking what he did pre 1975, but thought this may be shaky ground, especially as we had the rest of the day with only each other for company.  Mr Quân was, however, audibly shocked to learn my age, after estimating me to be a youthful 22: I knew my gut instinct was right to choose this guy as my guide! 

Coffee beans

Elephant waterfall

Not long after, we stopped off at a vantage point to take photos of the valley below, Mr Quân offered to take my photograph sitting on his bike – no sooner had he taken a few snapshots on my camera, than he did the same with his own handheld Lumix.  Apparently, it might end up on the website.  Now I don’t have a problem with plugging the Easy Rider company – indeed Mr Quân had done a sterling job as my guide, and word of mouth is a powerful thing, but being the new face of the Easy Riders was not on my agenda, particularly as I wasn’t feeling my most glamorous after being led through coffee plantations and vegetable patches, not to mention the helmet that had well, quite frankly ruined my straightened hair.  Let’s just hope the picture comes out blurry and never sees the light of the Easy Rider's webpage!

After Mr Quân had completed his tour, he dropped me off at Hang Nga’s Crazy House.  Something of an eyesore as far as the fine folk of Dalat are concerned, it is designed and owned by the daughter of a former president.  The photos of her family enjoying the company of Uncle Ho only serve as a reminder that the town folks’ objections to these new constructions will fall on deaf ears.  A fine example of how money and power reign in this country.  The house (which really consists of 4 separate buildings – some still very much under construction) is uniquely decorated.  With only 12 or so rooms few tourists actually choose to stay here, although many pop in during their time in Dalat to satisfy their curiosity.

The following days were filled with visits to the Flower gardens, lake, Lam Ty Ni pagoda and Bao Dai’s Summer Palace.  Lam Ty Ni doesn’t look like much from the outside – a fairly small, unimpressive and rundown pagoda surrounded by large metal gates.  But inside lives a strange and intriguing individual – the mad monk.  Vien Thuc lives here with his dog and 100,000 self-portraits! I was itching to meet him, but alas, the gates were locked on my arrival and Mr Thuc didn’t appear to want to let me in (if indeed he was even resident at the time).

In contrast, Bao Dai’s Summer Palace with its exquisitely manicured grounds was warm and welcoming.  After taking a tour around the building, wearing slip on socks to protect the floor (and unknowingly helping to polish the floorboards) I headed out to explore the gardens.  To my surprise I was met with the sound of Blue’s greatest hits (for those of you who are not aware of his ‘pop phenomenon’ they were a mediocre boy band from the early noughties who are now has-beens).  I wasn’t aware that Emporer Bao Dai had been a fan of such British boy bands, but you learn something new every day!

Bao Dai’s Summer Palace

So all in all a very relaxing and enjoyable change of scene, refreshingly different from the cities and beaches I’ve already experienced here.  Open spaces, clean air and friendly locals who are wiser than to try and rip you off when you mention you live in Saigon!  But a friend was right when he told me the wine was crap – even if some of it is 16% proof!

A xx

Dalat-s all folks!

With a weekend of National Holidays at my disposal, what better way to honour Liberation Day than by making the most of the time off and booking a short break to Dalat?  Home to not a lot apart from pine forests, coffee plantations, open spaces and misty mornings, I feel a trip to the central highlands is just what I need after seeing what the cities and beaches of ‘Nam have to offer.  So I’ve packed my jeans and jumper (yes, you only require one in your wardrobe around this neck of the woods) and am departing until next week.

More tall travel tales to come…

Much love, your wannabe Bill Bryson.

A xx

Keeping your cool

Today is a warm 32°C, full sun and no cloud cover.  I like many other westerners in the city find wearing as little as possible the easiest option in such clammy climates.  A vest top and short shorts is usually the order of the day, when I’m not teaching.  To be honest, it’s a wonder I haven’t become a naturist since moving to ‘Nam.  In stark contrast, however, the Vietnamese women choose to cover up to protect themselves from the sun. After all, paler skin is very desirable here, the paler the better in the eyes of many Asian people. 

I’m used to seeing women wearing traditional áo dài (the elegant tight-fitting silk tunics worn over pantaloons) and many others wear thin, long sleeved cotton gloves to protect their arms from the sun whilst riding their bikes.  So, imagine my surprised when I exited school one lunch time, working my way through the maze of proud parents on bikes waiting patiently for their little darlings, only to be distracted by – well, a walking wardrobe.  This lady was wearing the following: closed toed court shoes, socks, full length jeans, a long sleeved tracksuit top, woollen gloves, a scarf, face mask and sunglasses; a large brimmed sunhat under her helmet finished off the outfit.  There wasn’t a peep of visible flesh and she reminded me of the scene when ET is dressed up in the movie of the same name.  A little extreme in my opinion, but each to their own.  I contemplated suggesting – “try some sun cream love; it might prevent the heat exhaustion”!

A xx

You know you’re an expat in Vietnam when…

1. Anything less than 25°C is considered cold.
2. Letting traffic dodge you is perfectly normal.
3. Riding on the back of a xe-om is no longer a white-knuckle ride.
4. 'Cảm ơn' is a more natural response than 'thank you'.
5. You're content with your pale complexion - after all, it's prestigious here.
6. Using chopsticks is quicker and more convenient than cutlery.
7. You now love fish sauce, having previously detested the stuff.
8. Paying more than £3 for a meal in a restaurant is expensive.
9. Paying more than £6 a night for an en-suite room in a guesthouse is expensive.
10. You place bets with your friends about how many rats, ‘roaches and urinating men you will see on your walk home of an evening.

A xx

Fingers crossed – or maybe not!

Gestures – some are universally understood, others can be totally misconstrued when used in different countries.  This was never more apparent than when one of my colleagues stood in front of her class, hoping the temperamental CD player would work and crossed her fingers for good luck.  She was totally dumbfounded when the room erupted in a cacophony of gasps, laughter and screams.  Little did she know that crossing your fingers in Vietnam symbolises the female genitalia and is the ultimate obscene gesture! Now there’s a mistake she won’t make again.

A xx

Culture shock

This is a term loosely bandied around and often joked about by British northerners travelling south of Birmingham, but it really does exist and is a natural process all expats experience in varying degrees.  Differences in language, food, climate, customs and social roles are all aspects that contribute to culture shock.  After a tip off from a friend a few months back, I read a very interesting blog written by two expats living in Beijing.  Their account outlines the different stages of culture shock and ways in which people deal with it.

These stages are as follows:

1.    The ‘honeymoon period’ –

All is new and exciting; the world’s your lobster and its fun to embrace all this new ‘stuff’ you’re encountering.

2.    The ‘distress’ stage –

Cultural differences become apparent and it’s all gone a bit Pete Tong.

3.    ‘Re-integration’ stage –

Frustration and rejection of your new culture, i.e. you value your own culture and identity with it in a way you never have before.

4.    ‘Acceptance’ stage –

Familiarity with the new culture puts you at ease: “bring it on; I can do this after all”.

5.    ‘Independence’ stage –

Similarities and differences are identified and appreciated. “It’s all good, we’re not all the same and I’m fine with that”.

I wouldn’t like you to think that all expats suddenly feel the compulsion to jump off the nearest bridge – the stages sound extreme, but can in fact just be small, frustrating, isolated experiences, such as my encounter with the local washer woman (see ‘losing face’ post/rant - Monday, 4 April 2011).

If you fail to spot it in yourself, it’s crystal clear when looking at friends and colleagues.  People you previously saw as being mild mannered, majestic members of society can be somewhat possessed by their tired, frustrated inner expat monster.  On arrival at our hotel during the Tet holiday, my friend was tired and just wanted to go to sleep in the room we had booked 2 weeks earlier.  After taking a copy of the email booking confirmation (in anticipation of communication difficulties) I was surprised when she suddenly started shouting and swearing at the hotel owner who was having difficulty locating our booking.  While my friend sharply inhaled on her cigarette outside, I calmly gestured toward the calendar, seeing my name written on that days date. All was well, situation diffused and a good night’s sleep had by all.

Interestingly, I find many of my colleagues have learnt to deal with culture shock by turning to alcohol. They immerse themselves in nights out with fellow teachers in a bid to con themselves in to thinking they’re back in any sticky-floored, dark and dingy club in their hometown.  I somehow feel this could only make matters worse and lead to heated exchanges with street sellers whilst drunk or nursing hangovers from hell, not to mention putting a fair old dent in their bank accounts, but hey ho, each to their own.

For me, routine is key.  As someone who has often been likened to Monica from ‘Friends’ and nicknamed ‘OCD’ due to her obsession with all things being ‘just so’, I like to run a tight ship. This helps greatly and having a regular teaching timetable as well as weekly orphanage visits and Vietnamese lessons helps to keep me on track.

Amy-lou 1-0 culture shock

…until I return to UK and experience reverse culture shock at wearing jumpers and eating with a knife and fork!

A xx

Gio to Hung Vuong Day

Today is a ‘traditional’ holiday adopted by the government on 28 March 2007 commemorating the mythical Hùng Kings.  In case you’re wondering why we didn’t celebrate it on 28 March this year, the date varies due to the lunar calendar.  Anyway, work thought it was appropriate to celebrate by throwing an all expenses paid barbecue and pool party for all the staff at a very exclusive local tourist village. 

Long live the mythical Hùng Kings is all I have to say – ooh, wait a minute, that doesn’t work…

A xx