observations in Vietnam

Vietnam’s tropical fruits are amazing. My relatives took me to buy mangos, durian, and oranges (which are in season) from the market. I have never had such richly flavorful fruit before – it really makes a difference when it’s grown in an actual tropical climate vs. a hothouse.

Traffic in Saigon: everyone rides motorcycles or mopeds, and people don’t pay much attention to traffic regulations. Interspersed between the motorcycles are cyclos (like a bicycle with an attached carriage for a passenger; human powered taxi), some taxis and cars, and the odd truck or two. No one stops for anything – everyone deftly weaves around obstacles and cross traffic. The scariest thing to do is make a left turn – you just plunge into a wall of oncoming traffic. As a pedestrian crossing the street, you’ll be waiting a long time if you’re looking for a break in traffic. You just have to step off the sidewalk and walk at a constant pace, making eye contact with moped drivers. They’ll dodge around you, so long as you don’t change your pace or direction (so don’t stop or break into a run).

In China & Hong Kong I was usually addressed in Cantonese or Mandarin when I was only with other Asian students, but when I was with white friends we were all addressed in English, even if the local person only spoke a couple words of it. I don’t know whether it’s because I look partially Vietnamese, or whether it’s because the people are not as accustomed to Asian tourists, but everyone expected me to be able to speak Vietnamese, from the official changing money on the ship to every shopkeeper and passerby.

Ben Thanh Market & Cai Rang Floating Market

[I wrote the following report for my Ancient Technology of Food class]

In Vietnam, I had the chance to both explore the Ben Thanh Market in Ho Chi Minh City and the Cai Rang Floating Market in the Mekong Delta. In Ben Thanh Market, past the aisles of shops selling every manner of durable good there are food stalls, and beyond that there are stands selling produce. In the back, there is a “wet market” where you can buy meat. The produce stands had every kind of vegetable and fruit neatly stacked on display. Some of the stalls had little display racks that look exactly like short supermarket aisles in the US. Everything was sold by weight, and often bundled for easy purchase. Nearby the produce stalls were bulk goods stalls that sold dried beans, flour, rice, and related items by weight out of open sacks. I counted at least 5 varieties of white rice, a sack of black rice, and a sack of brown rice at one stand. The most interesting section, however, was the “wet market” where organs were laid out on plates for purchase (including brain, kidney, liver, heart, intestines, stomach, and other organs I couldn’t identify). Chunks of muscle, of course, were also for sale. Nothing was refrigerated or on ice. There were also buckets of live seafood and fish in water for sale. If you wanted to buy a fish, the woman would gut it right there for you in front of your eyes.

On the bus ride out to the Mekong Delta, we passed acres of flooded rice paddies lining the highway. Though we didn’t see any water buffalo, presumably because this wasn’t a time of year when their labor is required, we were told that one of the most common ways for children to earn a little pocket money is by watching water buffalo after school and during their vacations. We visited a farm in the delta and got to see women weeding plots with small hand tools. We also saw a man chest deep in the river, harvesting something that looked like watercress. The produce is placed in baskets that are hung one on each end of a pole, which is carried over the shoulder to small motor-powered watercraft (like canoes) to be taken to market. As we drove up the river we passed many such vessels, mostly transporting fruit (especially lychee and logan); there were also some transporting pineapples and herbs. We got to the floating market early, at 8 am, and observed locals buying and selling produce. The floating market is located at the juncture of seven canals, and is composed of a collection of boats anchored near one another. Most boats only sell one item, though I saw some larger vessels selling two or three types of vegetables. Every boat advertises what it is selling by securing a sample to a long bamboo rod that is tied like a flagpole to the boat. There were pineapple boats and potato boats, watermelon boats and orange boats. I noticed a proliferation of tubers (sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, radishes, turnips, and beets); there was also a lot of fruit. Noticeably lacking was rice. There was a grocery boat that sold amenities like salt and sugar, but residents must obtain their rice in some other fashion. As we made our way back, we also observed some fishermen taking crabs out of a trap in the river.

Both of these situations show that in Vietnam the markets are still closely tied to the consumer. There are very few intermediary steps between the farmer and the consumer – particularly in the delta, where food goes is sold directly by the farmer to the consumer. For urban consumers, trade lines must be relatively efficient, and new product is delivered daily; otherwise, raw meat could not be kept unrefrigerated and live animals could not be sold. Presumably, meat is bought fresh and consumed on the same day. All parts of the animal are used, including all the internal organs & hooves we saw for sale; they are not wasteful.

The importance of the ocean as a source of seafood was highlighted by the abundance of live crabs, mussels, squid, and other animals we saw in the wet market, and their presence in many local dishes. Concerning the variety of produce, I noticed many tubers (sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, radishes, turnips, carrots, and beets) for sale. However, I did not find that many tubers in Vietnamese cuisine. There were some pickled turnips and carrots, and I tried some sweet potato chips, but otherwise they were curiously absent. Especially striking is the lack of potato in food, when I saw many boatloads of potatoes in the market. There was also a proliferation of fruit: watermelon, pineapple, oranges, lychee, logan, durian, mango, dragonfruit, and others I did not recognize. The availability of fresh fruit is evident in the diet: fresh fruit juices are relatively inexpensive and easy to obtain, and fruit is served with every meal. Fruits have also been worked into savory dishes, such as pineapple in sour soup and winter melon soup. Finally, rice continues to be an important part of Vietnamese diet as well as a major export, as shown by the miles of rice paddies and the abundance of rice varieties available at the Ben Thanh Market.

pirates!

We are refueling in Singapore (though not allowed to get off the ship) and going through the Strait of Malaca (I think). These are apparently the most pirate-infested waters in the world, so we’re pushing through at 26 knots, nearly our top speed (we usually go around 17 knots). There’s a pirate watch stationed, and our ship is being escorted by police boats. We have been reassured that it is extremely unlikely that we’ll be targeted, because there are so many people on board. Usually they go for cargo ships with a lot of valuable freight and only 4-5 crew aboard. Nevertheless, we peer around in the gloomy mist that has shrouded our ship and reduced visibility.

Homeland

Vietnam was an incredibly emotionally intense experience. It was my first time visiting the land where my parents were born and grew up, a place I had heard so many stories of, but which had never taken on reality for me, like a fantasy land. My sister and I as children pictured this land in sepia and white, the tones of the old photographs we had seen.

We docked in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) on 9/27 and I wandered around with a friend on the first day. I got measured for an ao dai (traditional Vietnamese dress) and we explored Ben Thanh Market, which had everything from bolts of silk in every shade and hot pho (Vietnamese rice noodle soup) to live fish (gutted in front of your eyes when you purchase them for dinner) and animal organs on trays for sale. We then took cyclos (small carriages for one person which is peddled by the driver) in search of the house where my mother grew up. It took about an hour and involved a lot of backtracking and asking directions, but eventually we settled on a location and got out. As we sipped coffee at the café across the street, stories poured into my mind, of the everyday and the lifechanging moments, stories I had not thought about for a long time.

The second and third days I went to the Mekong Delta with an SAS trip. We took sampans through the maze of interlocking canals to see a floating produce market, coconut candy factory, & brick factory, and walk around in a farmer’s fields. On the fourth day I met up with relatives in Saigon, and on the last day I went to the Cu Chi tunnels, the famous extensive underground network of the Viet Cong.

I didn’t know what to expect when I met up with my relatives. My other experience with distant extended family (in southern California) was awkward, with little to talk about, compounded by my sister’s and my broken Cantonese. It had been a relief to leave that house. This time, I waited outside the gates of the port, scanning the flow of traffic for someone to make themselves apparent. Four people broke away from the crowd on motorcycles and came and greeted me with grins, tossing me on the back of one of the bikes and zooming back into traffic. Over the course of the next couple of hours I was introduced to a bewildering number of people, and even my relatives themselves argued over how exactly they were related to me (Chinese kinship is very complicated). What I managed to eventually sort out was that the 4 middle-aged women who spent the most time with me were sisters; they are my father’s cousins (my second aunts once removed? I don’t really know the American system either). Their mother (my grandfather’s sister) was also there, and a couple other people who’s relationship to me I didn’t ever quite put my finger on. Regardless of how the formal relationship actually works, all of these people were incredibly warm and welcoming. I didn’t feel like a guest at all; I wasn’t fussed over or scrutinized, just swept into the conversation flow. There was good-natured teasing all around and my aunts acknowledged etiquette I might be expected to abide by (such as pouring tea for my elders), only to waive such tradition. As a consequence, I didn’t feel pressured to figure out what I was supposed to do next, and could just enjoy their company. One elderly woman fussed over me, taking my hand when we crossed the street and nagging me to get home safely (and early). I’m not sure exactly how she’s related to me, but she made me think about my grandmothers, neither of whom I ever knew because they both passed away before I was born, never having left Vietnam. The whole experience gave me a glimpse of the warmth and security of an extended family, which I have never experienced before (I have one cousin in the States; our family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas are never more than 8 people). Coming out of a culture where family is so important, it was a huge sacrifice for my dad to leave this network, striking out on his own in pursuit of the possibility of freedom and a better life. I wonder how different he would be if he stayed in the same city as his cousins, aunts and uncles.

During these past three months, I’ve sometimes been tired and lonely, missing my friends and family at home. My parents left Vietnam knowing they might not ever see their friends and family again. When they missed them, it was across oceans, without relief in sight. What fortitude it must have taken to face each day, in a completely foreign country, surrounded by strange sounds, smells, foods, and a foreign language. When they headed off it was into great uncertainty, with no idea what it would be like or where they’d end up. And people say I’m brave for going to Ecuador with fellow students for two months.

Every time I interacted with a young woman in Vietnam, I looked at her and thought, “I could have been her”. For every person who successfully got out of Vietnam, many others never made it out or perished in the attempt. I felt uncomfortable being waited on and called “madam”; so easily the tables could have been turned and I would have serving the privileged foreign girl her drink or helping her buy silk. One of my aunts told me that she and her family had planned to flee the country as well, and were supposed to go a week after my dad and uncle left. The government cracked down during that intervening week: my dad and uncle got out and my aunt is still there.

I have never before identified as a daughter of this beautiful country. I grew up culturally Chinese, was sent to a Chinese school to learn Mandarin, was taught about Chinese history, celebrated Chinese festivals. I am ethnically Chinese, but coming to this country has showed me that I am also Vietnamese. My family history is intimately tied to Vietnam, its war, and its people. When Chinese people ask me what part of China my family is from, I say Guangzhou, a southern province, but I have no identity with that place. Many of my friends have been to China several times and have family there. My parents have never been to China. It used to make me feel rootless, like I was Chinese without a homeland. Now I realize that my homeland is Vietnam, where my parents grew up, were I still have family.

shipboard website

I’m on the website team for our Semester at Sea shipboard website. There’s a lag in updating because it has to be approved by the Powers that Be, but it’s pretty nifty.

http://www.semesteratsea.com/voyages/fall2006/fa2006_onboardwebsite.html

(by the way, we’re in Vietnam, which is turning out to be an amazing and mind-bending experience).

typhoon!

We left Japan in a hurry and are chugging along to Hong Kong at a rapid clip to avoid the typhoon that was supposed to hit the Japanese coastline the day after we left. We’re supposed to be the fastest passenger ship in the world, and the captain has assured us that we can outrun the storm, should it change course. We have changed our itinerary and are bypassing Qindao (China) entirely, going directly to Hong Kong. This unfortunately cuts 2 days that we were supposed to be in China, but for SAS field programs, like the Beijing university visit I’m signed up for, ISE (Institute for Shipboard Education, which runs SAS) will be shouldering the extra cost of changing our plane tickets, as well as giving us a 50% discount on our trips since they’re going to be shortened.

This gives us all an extra 2 days on ship without classes, which is good for catching up on sleep and work, but the ship is pitching and rolling and a lot of people are feeling seasick. I’m fine unless I try to do focused work, such as reading. Which is what I have to do. We’re skirting the worst of the storm – in the center, winds are over 100 nautical miles an hour, and the swell (waves) can get up to 13 meters. We’re staying where the swell is under 2 meters, but it’s windy enough that at times they’ve closed all the outside decks, and we’ve been told to secure everything in our cabins.

update 9.25.06: We made it to Hong Kong and have already left again; now we’re moving past a tropical cyclone en route to Vietnam. We only have two days between China & Vietnam, so I’ll be posting about China after we leave Ho Chi Minh City.

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum

At the last minute, I got a cheap ticket to Hiroshima and went off at 5 in the morning to see the Peace Memorial Museum. I will try to recount what I saw there, but I won’t be able to adequately convey the sense of chaos, destruction, and loss caused by the bomb, and its continuing legacy today in cancer victims.

When the bomb exploded just above Hiroshima, the heat of nuclear fission vaporized people and buildings, killing thousands instantly. A pressure wave of 19 tons per square meter swept out from the hypocenter, caused by the extreme expansion of superheated air. Nearly all buildings – wood, steel, stone – within a 1 km radius were completely flattened. Flying shards of glass from exploded windows knifed deep into walls and organs. People were burned beyond recognition, their skin flayed to the bone, hanging in shreds off their limbs, dripping blood. Everyone left alive struggled to get out of the city, seeking shelter and water to cool their burns. As they fled before the flames that swept through what was left of Hiroshima after the explosion, survivors begged forgiveness from those they left pinned under debris to burn alive, unable to free them before they were engulfed. Black rain poisoned the rivers with radiation.

The city has since been rebuilt, but the consequences of the atomic bomb are still harbored in the bodies of the hibakusha, the bomb survivors. Cancer continues to claim them, one by one. A whole generation of babies with microencephaly – brain damage due to radiation exposure in the womb – have grown up, and their aging relatives worry about who will take care of these victims of the radiation after they pass away.

To me, one of the most poignant moments was the realization of why there were bottles of water left along with flowers in front of the Cenotaph, the memorial containing the names of the victims. After the blast, people who were not killed instantly struggled to get medical attention, to flee from the raging fires, but most desperately they begged for water to quench thirst and bodies sucked dry by the intense heat. One little boy tried to suck the puss from the stubs of his fingers as he stumbled home. The water offerings are a request for forgiveness by survivors who could not provide that water to those victims.

Why is it that I had to come here to be concerned, really concerned, about war and violence? Yes, as a child I was taught that war is bad and I condemn violence, but I have never before acted to end it. What is it about our humanity that we must experience these horrors so closely in order to arouse the kind of passion that leads to action? I am reminded of the white moderates Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. refers to in his Letter from a Birmingham Jail – the population Dr. King said posed the biggest obstacle to his mission, for while they agreed with him, their apathy was the inertia holding the social institutions firmly in place.