Things come together.

I will soon crawl through tunnels where young boys were killed fighting for a democracy they hardly understood...

I swim in the waters that my country graced with destruction in hope of salvation...

I read Shane Claiborne's plea for creative and humble nonviolence in a world where violence has become the most powerful currency...

I walk among the ruins of My Lai, a product of rage from a war of colonization disguised as democracy...

I sing the Beatles' words that cry out against the death of Vietnamese Prudence and the complacency of allowing strawberry fields to become the norm...

I see Ho Chi Minh's loving face and the sickle's reassuring strength in every town, Communism that we so fear but gives so much comfort...

I ride from foreign land to foreign land to foreign land to foreign land in a vehicle dependent on democracy's next guise...

And all I can say is, xin loi.

I am so sorry.

Pics from the first 10 days

A travelogue of Vietnam is quite lacking without some pics. Click on the link below to whet your appetite:
http://picasaweb.google.com/ken.martens.friesen/SundbirdsInTheNam

enjoy!

Bizarre...

From my journal on May 19:

"Today can only be categorized as absolutely bizarre.

We rode another night train and arrived in Hanoi around 5:30 am - walked around the strangely empty city without motorbikes - stopped into a pagoda service and Catholic mass - wondered if the people realized that the hymn they sing sounds horribly mournful to Western ears - stopped in for some tai chi and communal street aerobics - encountered multiple towels that can only cover about one shoulder - had a very awkward lunch complete with fish body, skin, eyes, and extra eggs, as well as a few chicken heads - again was attempted to be set up with a random Vietnamese man at least thirty years old - started off on an innocent "walk" through the rice paddies that transformed into the need to take off my mud-soaked shoes and instead trek for a very very long time barefoot in the alternating sensations of squishy mud and sharply painful rocks - had another awkward meal in which the presence of French fries was more redeeming than ever before - participated in a "cultural exchange" where many singers graced us with their lovely tonal and entirely unintelligible vocal skills.

New favorite song: Vietnam! Ho Chi Minh!"

Into the Country

From my journal on May 17:

“I love contrast.

Yesterday I spend much of the day walking around the busy, humid, and very very warm streets of Hanoi - riding on a motorbike downtown in rush hour, where we ran into entire streets roped off for pagoda anniversary celebrations, eating in a little hole-in-the-wall pho place that would be shut down immediately if seen by an American health inspector.

Now, we find ourselves in Sapa, possibly the most gorgeous mountain town I will ever encounter. The scenery is absolutely lush, the culture is traditional Hmong, the women are beautiful across their agespan, and the fog makes things so much cooler. I can’t wait to see the mountains when it lifts.”

Getting to Sapa after some crazy Hanoi times was certainly an experience of contrast... the difference between urban and rural Vietnam is immeasurable. But beyond the obvious contrast in weather and setting, time in the rural areas, especially in the Thanh Thuy District, gave us insight into an entirely different way of life. I wonder how different the definition of “community” would be between the two ways of life...

In Hanoi, it seems that community is defined by whose homes and businesses you find yourself next to - all the shoesellers are friends perhaps. In the rural areas the framework of community may be defined partly by locale, but the connection would have to stretch farther than one’s next door neighbors. The immense rice paddies make it a little difficult to visit a friend by simply walking down the street - I wonder if that makes for a more meaningful relationship when a muddy trek is necessary for interaction.

The way the communes are set up provides a foundation for connecting at least the leaders of each village or small unit of people. It’s interesting to see the different ways that political participation happens in the urban and rural areas - although Communism is very much an influencing factor in both areas, it takes a different form for each. In the city, clean-cut official-looking skyscrapers mark the places where politics happen... in the country, the official buildings were much more user-friendly, down-to-earth, and in tune with the surrounding simplistic rural areas. Ho Chi Minh is everywhere, in every place... But in the commune areas, his bust is placed at the front of each official building and gathering place, reminding the people continually of how the political system operates on a level that directly affects their day-to-day life.

Rural life is always slower to change than urban life... Maybe the fashions hit Hanoi and become plastered over each billboard the next day, while the same trend goes virtually unknown in Thanh Thuy. But the presence of young people will inevitably be a variable for change. As more young people in the rural areas take notice that there is a different world out there beyond their rice paddies and water buffalo, the change begins to happen. Sometimes it is demanded. I wonder what that looks like - young people abandoning the communes for city life and leaving the communes to their traditional ways... or the ideas and desires of a younger generation seeping into the rural communities and changing them from the inside.

The contrast is telling, and thought-provoking, and exquisite.

Day Four: 16 May

16 May: HANDICRAFT VILLAGE/NIGHT TRAIN TO LAO CAI.

AM: traditional cooking class in HanoiVisit Bat Trang ceramic village
PM21:00: Transfer to Hanoi railway station21.55: Night train to Lao Cai.

This morning we went to Viet Cuisine and had a Vietnamese cooking class. First off, the chef took us on a tour of the Old Quarter farmer's market--not to buy, but just to see the wide range of products available. The level of hygiene was not exactly what we are used to in the states, what with raw meat and fish and seafood being prepared right on the floor of the stalls. Takes some getting used to, esp. the smells.We returned to the restaurant and, after we all washed our hands, they ushered us upstairs to the second floor where a horseshoe-shaped set of tables was set up. We each got a chef's hat and an apron. We learned how to make four dishes:Fresh spring rolls and dipping sauceChicken with lemon leavesFish with Tamarind sauceSweet potato puddingThe spring rolls were easy once you learned not to overload them: chopped lettuce, cilantro, rice noodles, pork (stir-fried with peanut butter!!!) and a cooked shrimp (artistically arranged), wrapped in a rice paper wrapper.The dipping sauce had fish sauce, water, sugar, garlic, and lime juice, plus one hot pepper for flavor.The lights went out during the stir-frying phase, but came back on after a minute or soWe ate the spring rolls right after making them for our appetizer.We had to debone the chicken quarters--I had an advantage over the students because I do this often at home, as it is much cheaper to buy the chicken quarters bone-in, so I got some praise from the chef. Then we put some plum sauce on the non-skin side, and pressed a few lemon leaves (maybe they were actually lime leaves, as they referred to lime juice as "lemon juice"). These were to marinate for about 15 minutes, and then pan-fried.
The fish was catfish, filleted and cut into three-inch square pieces. We scored cross-hatch marks into the flesh and put finely sliced ginger on top. The tamarind sauce was already prepared, but they gave us a recipe for making it from scratch. Then you steam the fish.

The most surprising dish was the sweet potato pudding. We began by finely dicing (white!) sweet potatos and puttign them into boiling water to cook. When they are easily "mushed" they are done, but midway through this process the lights went out, and this time it was for good. So the chef finished the pudding on a gas burner. You add coconut milk, cornstarch, sugar, and finely julienned ginger to the sweet potato mixture to finish.Then we all trooped down to the first floor to enjoy the fruits of our labor, eating by candlelight.Everything tasted wonderful, esp. the chicken. The chef fried the lemon leaves as well, and the crispy leaves tasted just like (really!) Fruit Loops.This would be an easy meal to make at home (add steamed rice), and I will definitely make it for Marshall upon my return.

Sorry about the typos and lack of formatting, I am on a very ancient computer!!

Day Three in Vietnam: 15 May

Hanoi Ninh BinhRoad HOA LU/TAM COC/PHAT DIEMAM:
Travel to Phat Diem (~150km), visit Phat Diem Stone Church in the morning.
Back to Ninh Binh town for lunchPM: Sampan rowing trip along Ngo Dong river.

A very long bus trip today, on some pretty bumpy roads. Our destination, Phat Diem Stone church, is actually part of a large complex including several shrines as well as the cathedral. During the French ocupation, this area became heavily Catholicized, and the Cathedral itself dates to 1891. Built of massive greyish-black stone, it is an imposing and somewhat ominous edifice. On the weekday we visited, it was pretty much deserted except for a few other tourists and a couple of beggars at the gate, and a group of Vietnamese women who either wanted me to buy their their babie or (more likely) subsidize their maintenance. The church is massive, weighty, and except for the ornate altarpiece, very simple in style. Massive wooden columns hold up the vaulted ceiling, and plain benches and kneelers fill the church. We entered from the sides, which open up to allow in light (a good idea--I did not see any electric lights on inside the church.The main idea I got from the church is the fusion of Christianity with Vietnamese culture. Although the Mdonna and Child--indeed, virtually all the statues (Peter, Paul, the four Evangelists) were all depicted with western features, nonetheless the architecture itself is an interesting mix of western and eastern. I'll try to post some pictures tomorrow as I managed to download them onto Ken's computer.

After lunch we went to the Ngo Ding River for a sampan (small rowboat) trip through the three grottos on the river. We all climbed into the boats, which were rowed by the local women (indeed, Vietnamese women seem to do the lion's share of all the hard work here!). Some of them are able to row with their feet--an impressive accomplisment and a logical one considering female anatomy). Ken, who speaks pretty good Vietnamese, chats with our rower, and we both lend a paddle. The grottos are large hollows in the limestone rock above the river, and in places are so low that one needs to watch one's head to prevent decapitation. At the midway point schools of vendor-sampans converge on us for the big sell: drinks, fresh fruit, candy...and encourage you to buy refreshments for the rowers as well.

I am reminded of that scene in Apocalypse Now when they are journeying down the river, but this is quite a different atmosphere. For one, there are no hostile locals (there will be later when the tips are not what they expect, but that is proleptic) and the scenery is lush but not overgrown. On the way back our rower brings out what she acknowledges herself is the main moneymaker for her: hand-embroidered tablecloths and other linens. We (or Ken, rather) haggle for a while, and then let the matter rest, then discuss it a bit more, he wants a tablecloth for his wife, and I want a gift for my aunt Jane-Ann in Georgia. By the end of the ride all parties are satisfied, and I have in the bargain a lovely small spring-green pillowcase to fill with lavendar as a sachet. Not all the others have such a good experience: their rowers are quite aggressive in their request for tips and make their disappointment very plain. Although it can be offputting, when one is objective it's is hard to fault them: what seems to us like pocket money is an entire day's wage or more to them and they have come to look upon Westerners as their bread and butter...On the long trip back I once again find the endless lines of small shops on each side of the road fasicnating. How many com pho shops can one kilometer support? Ten? Twenty? How do they make a living???

We arrive home road-weary and when we got off the bus I find I am still moving up and down from the hours of motion. In our room it is difficult to stay awake long enough to jot down some notes from the day without nodding off.

Day Two: May 14

AM: Visit to the “most important attractions of Ha Noi city: (Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, One pillar pagoda, The temple of Literature. PM: Visit Ethnology Museum & Cyclo tour into the old quarter of Hanoi.

Good Morning Vietnam! It is Wednesday, ostensibly the second day of our travels in Vietnam, but the chronology got a little muddled yesterday.

Today we visited the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. No shorts, no
sleeveless shirts allowed. Long lines of very small schoolchildren (girls in their best pink dresses) each one clutching the garment of the one in front--fussed over, like so many chicks, by their guardians, who occasionally pour cold water down their beaks. Some groups are wearing color-coded hats. Ken talks and jokes with them in Vietnamese. The long line snakes under a thoughtfully provided canopy which shields us from the worst of the sun. No Cameras Allowed. Keep a Dignified Demeanor. No Jokes. We proceed quietly and in a dignified manner up the stone steps into the cool of the Mausoleum and into a large, dark. cube of a room. No Hands in Pockets. In the center, in a large glass coffin, lies the body of Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam's great Leader-Hero, bathed in golden light, improbably well preserved. Four guards stand, implacable, in a well surrounded the body. Two lines file past, the young children gazing with puzzlement, with curiosity, at the body.

As we emerge into the sun, we pass the four guards who will relieve the other group. (Drat! We miss the changing of the guards by seconds!) I try to think of some sort of comparandum to what we have just seen: perhaps if we had been of an age to remember the funeral of JFK, our own martyr-hero? [Would we have felt the same awe and respect?] Princess Diana? The death of Pope John-Paul? But we do not mummify our rulers and put them on display. Relicts...saints...improbable stories of incorruptible flesh and the odor of sanctity..but they were never packed up and sent off for two months to Moscow for maintenance...Maybe we need more heroes.

After the mausoleum we point out into the plaza where Ho Chi Minh declared independence in..[hmm where is my Lonely Planet Guide?] 1954: time for a group photo (I'll try to post photos when I can.) The we visit the humble house on stilts where H.C.M. spent the last days of his life. The area is idyllic: botanical gardens with huge ancient trees, birds, chirping, butterflies...I want my own house on stilts.

[Price of bottled water for Westerners: 10,000 Dong (about 60 cents). Price for Vietnamese: 5,000 Dong]

Now we are off to the Temple of Literature, built to honor scholars who passed their royal exams. The lists of names of the successful students are inscribed on stelae, and it is considered very good luck for students to rub the head of the turtles (symbol of longevity) upon which the stelae are supported. Comparisons are odious, says John Donne, but where is our Temple of Literature? (One of our students is disappointed by the false advertising, expecting a sort of manuscript museum, with actual literature)

Welcome to Vietnam

We are on a bus barreling its way to the heart of Hanoi's Old Quarter. The outskirts of the city are an emerald checkerboard of rice paddies, interrupted occasionally by the odd patch of corn or garden plot with all sorts of vegetable. There is not a brown spot to be seen, except for the small dirt roads that connect the fields. (Dorothy, we are not in Fresno any more!) This outlying area is still predominantly rural.


The simile is overworked, but appropriate: Hanoi is very much like a frenetic anthill of activity--even more appropriate when you see the small motor bikes laden with impossibly large cargo: a huge TV, fifty dozen eggs, teetering stacks of all manner of vegetables, large blocks of ice, and, of course, human cargo: two, sometimes, three to a bike, babies and children too, all waving in and out of the larger vehicles with what appears to be suicidal abandon. Horrendous accidents seem inevitable (although in reality they rarely happen) and the air is punctuated with the almost constant beep of truck and motorbike horns: warning, chiding, complaining, retaliating.

This, more than anything else, is my first impression of Vietnam: a dizzying blur of traffic; a cacophonous symphony of horns.

Welcome!

This website will chronicle our trip to Vietnam in May-June of 2008 under the expert guidance of our Fearless Leader, Ken.