Watching the world go by

If you are big, you do what you want.

If you are small, you do what you can.

Everybody honks, but only once.

I waited for the bus for about half an hour today, watching the people and watching the traffic.  I find both fascinating.

Our guide told us yesterday that there are 3,000,000 motorbikes in Saigon.  There are 8,000,000 people, and half of them are children, so this adds up to a lot of motorbikes. 

Our guide, Huang, said his grandmother walked from the Mekong Delta (about 40 miles away) to sell her wares at market.  His father road a bicycle and he has a motorbike.  He hopes that his children will one day drive cars.

"No, no!" we said.  "Fight for public transportation!"  Saigon has no subways or light rail and not much of a bus system.  You see a surprisingly small number of bicycles, and they are almost always transporting senior citizens.  Most of the cars are taxis, transporting Western tourists.  More than 95% of the vehicles on the road are motorbikes.

It's hard to get a picture, because they are darting in and out of traffic.  Here are some verbal snapshots.

Helmets are required, but there does not seem to be any standard for helmets.  I saw ones that looked like batting helmets for baseball, and others where the helmet was covered up by another kind of hat.  As with other laws, there are plenty of people who simply ignore the helmet law.

Since motorbikes serve as the family car, it is common to see young children on them.  Children stand in front of the driver, sit between their parents, and are held in their parents' arms.  Today, I saw several motorbikes tricked out with actual chairs for little ones.  They are real chairs, however, not seats designed for motorbikes.  Those are nonexistent.

Both men and women commonly wear masks.  You see a lot of masks on motorbike passengers, but far fewer on pedestrians, unlike Japan and China, where as much as 25% of the population is wearing surgical-style masks.  Women also commonly wear hoodies or a kind of scarf/hat combination that covers their face and front.  I have seen several children with mosquito netting (though I have not seen nor been bitten by a single mosquito, despite my refusal to use DEET).  Very young children are often completely wrapped up in blankets.

Motorbikes are used for transporting goods home, and for operating mobile businesses.  They might have a big cardboard box strapped to the back, but I didn't see motorbikes with storage built into the design.  And none pulling trailers of any kind.

On the way back to the port, the bus driver came to an intersection, gave a blast of his horn, and turned left on a red light, blending smoothly into cross traffic.  Honking, in addition to expressing your opinion, can signal intent.

Niche publication

In a store crowded with tourist knickknacks, I saw a stack of these coffee table books.  A quick look inside confirms that the entire book is pictures of babies suckling.

Which I am all for.  Which is particularly important in countries where uncontaminated formula and clean water are both hard to come by.

I support breast feeding in public.  I support breast feeding anywhere the hungry baby happens to find a willing breast, even if that breast does not belong to the baby's mother.  I am liberal on the subject of breast feeding.

I don't find the book objectionable.  I just find the subject matter limited.  Babies are pretty darn cute doing other things, too.

Saints and sinners

I’ll see your Saint Ralph and raise you a Victor Hugo

We Unitarian Universalists are sometimes characterized as believing anything we want to, which is unfair and simplistic, but it is certainly true that we have an eclectic set of beliefs, gathered from religions traditions throughout the world, science, nature, direct experience, and a couple more sources that you can look up if you care to at uua.org.  Ralph Waldo Emerson figures prominently in the American history of the movement, and we fondly call him St. Ralph.

In Viet Nam, I have been introduced to a new religion called Cao Dai, the Esperanto of world religion, founded in 1926, it has between 3 and 6 million followers (depends on who’s counting), virtually all of them in Viet Nam or in communities of Vietnamese immigrants.  Yesterday, I visited the CaoDai temple in Saigon and watched the noon service.

So far on this trip, I have been visited religious sites and services for Buddhists, Moslems, Christians, and now, Caodaists.  I find it interesting and unsettling in equal parts.   As we peer into a chamber reserved for believers, or take pictures of believers engaged in the practice of their religion, I feel acutely what it means to intrude on something holy.  Like so many other things, I view religious sites through the lens of my own experiences and beliefs.  I try to understand the place of the religious practice in the lives of these believers, but I’m largely unsuccessful in putting aside my own skepticism.  Still, it’s particularly interesting to chart the course of a new religion.

Cao Dai is often presented as a made-up religion, an amalgamation of Islam, Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Daoism, and social progressive thought.  If everyone believed the same thing, there would be no more wars.  Its roots, however, are in divine revelation—this all appeared to the founder in a dream.  But the world is full of cults whose founders claim divine revelation.  Which Kool-Aid is safe to drink?  When does a cult become an established religion?  (In this case, 1997, when the government of Viet Nam allowed its practice.)

Fitting in all the beliefs is no easy task.  The symbol for Cao Dai is the left eye, which is the eye of God, seeing directly to the heart.  In the creation story, there is one god, who creates the Mother Buddha, who is (like the one god) male, but in charge of the female side.  This makes equality of the sexes difficult, and in fact, the sexes are side by side, but clearly separate, in the service.  Women cannot be Pope here, either. 

Yes, there is a Pope and a Holy See.  But no competition for Benedict’s successor, I think.  There is also genuflecting and crossing oneself three times, and kneeling with touching forehead to the floor, and repetitive prayer chants and gongs.  Music carries the prayers to Heaven, where God lives, and where you will eventually live, too.

The temple is a colorful place.  The worshippers were almost all dressed in white robes, but the number of shoes by the door suggests they are not monks who live and work in the compound.  We were told the ones with white headdresses are in mourning (mourning periods are long, explaining the large numbers of mourners). 

As we left, I saw this picture of the three saints,  Sun Yat Sen, Victor Hugo, and a poet laureate of Vietnam in the 16^th century, Nguyen Binh Khiem.  No matter how I parse it, that one seems arbitrary.  I heard today at breakfast that Thomas Jefferson is also revered (of COURSE he is) and Joan of Arc in an important figure.  So it must have been hard to pick just three.

I would like to be more open to this religion.  I like the idea of finding commonalities among religions, of unifying people, of working towards love, equality, justice.  I root for the underdog in many things.  But the choreography of yesterday’s service might as well have been the Hokey Pokey.

Which is, after all, what it’s all about.

Picture Perfect

The muddy water and drab buildings en route were poor representatives of the Saigon we got to see today.

The official name is Ho Chi Minh City, but Saigon is commonly used.  Although the State Department's CSI warns that blogs critical of the government can land you in prison, the government is not much in evidence on the streets of this city, which seemed today much more interested in having a good time than in asserting itself politically.

We are a couple of days into Tết, the new year's festival.  The streets downtown are a blaze of color, with flowers everywhere, of the real and the artificial kind.  Nguyen Hue street is closed to traffic, with block after block of floral displays, like the Rose Bowl parade standing in place.

Many of the stores are closed.  This is a time to dress up and greet friends, not to make money. All along Nguyen Hue, families are strolling from display to display, stopping to have their pictures taken.  Many are in traditional clothing, others are dressed in Western party clothes, and some are in everyday clothing, but cameras are everywhere.

I know it's rude, but it's impossible not to stare at the spectacle, and I surreptitiously take lots of pictures of the people taking pictures.  I love the way they strike poses, as if the camera is a novelty in their lives.  

One group of five people is taking turns.  One person shoots the other four, then another rotates out to be the photographer.  As I often do, I approach and sign to ask, would they like me to take a picture of the whole group?  Yes, please!

I hand the camera back and stroll on.  A moment later, two of them approach me and sign they want to have me in their picture.  They put me in the middle, and each of them makes the V for peace sign as we smile for the camera.  (It's ubiquitous.  I have seen it in Japan, China, and now Vietnam.  Wherever tourists take pictures, they make the V.  No waves, no thumbs up; always the V.)

I imagine the slide show.  "We couldn't figure out what this American lady was saying.  Why did she want to take our picture?  But she was offering to take a picture for us.  Isn't that sweet?"

Later, the favor is returned.  I am taking pictures of the streets lit up, and a vendor comes over and gestures at my wrist.  He's not grabbing at it; he obviously doesn't want my cheap K-mart watch.  He reaches for my camera strap and makes it clear he thinks I should carry it on my wrist.  Lady, you're asking for trouble standing that near to the street without securing your camera better.

Just a simple kindness to a stranger.  Life is full of sweet moments today.

Stepping out in Saigon

During the preport, our Executive Dean (Tom) demonstrated the proper way to cross the street.  Walk purposefully and without hesitation into traffic, and it will flow around you.  Do not change speeds, and do not, under any circumstances, stop. 

This is, in fact, the only way to cross a street.

Traffic does not stop for crosswalks.  Traffic lights are rare and considered optional.  Remaining in the actual street is also optional, as far as we could see.  Motorbikes came up quite randomly on the sidewalk, as well as on streets that were putatively closed to traffic. 

Kerri and I headed into the city around three, which is probably the hottest part of the day.  Traffic was very light.  We had been warned by the port agent that everything was shut down for Tết.  No stores, or banks, or restaurants would be open.  Everyone was home (in the countryside) for the holidays.

It turned out there were plenty of people around.  Families were out strolling and posing for pictures.  Lots of shops and restaurants were closed, but there was plenty to see and do.

We spent most of our time on streets that were closed to traffic for a book fair and the flower market.  But as we explored a little further, and the evening cooled off, the traffic got crazy.  It reminded me of summer in resort areas in the States, where teens parade in their cars.  Thousands of young people on motorcycles, two, three or more to a single cycle, strutting their stuff. 

We got pretty good at the crossing routine.  At first we hitched ourselves to the locals, but then we branched out on our own.  The key is to just keep going.  Hesitate and you confuse the drivers, who are compensating for your speed.  It is like stunt driving in car commercials, all perfectly choreographed.  

And it looks a lot easier than it is.

Preport jitters

Before every port, we have a mandatory meeting where we get basic survival information.  We hear what the entry process will be, how to get local money, how to say hello and thanks, and maybe the weather forecast.  We are warned about whether the food and drink are safe.  After our first port, we started to get the "this is serious, this is scary" warnings.  After our second, we started to get the police report.  In Vietnam, half the people are terrified to get off the ship.

In Japan, a couple of people got rufied (drugs in their drinks) and had their credit cards stolen.  Bills up to $8500 (probably credit card max) in fraudulent charges.  A few robbed, sexually assaulted.  In China, three people lost their passports (one stolen, one lost, one lost but subsequently found).  More drugged students. 

In Vietnam, we now hear, people on motorbikes grab your sunglasses or your purse as they race by.  They target people walking and in cyclos, the motorcycle taxis.  People have been injured, dragged behind motorcycles because their purses were strapped across their bodies.  IPhones are particular targets; evidently their screens are particularly valuable.

This fun information comes to us from the Department of State, which provides us "Country Specific Information," most of which is, "Travel at your own risk.  If these terrible things happen to you, don't look to us for help!"  Eight pages for Vietnam.  One of my little jobs is to print and post the CSI, so I read the whole thing.  The other scared people were just paying attention to the dire warnings given to the ship.

In addition, we were treated to slide shows of injuries from the ship's most recent trip to Saigon.  Mostly, these were burns from motorcycles.  A few parasites picked up from swimming in fresh water.  Another slide show dealt with souvenirs we are not allowed to bring back:  liquor bottles with snakes and scorpions, cigarette lighters that look like grenades, varous souvenirs that look like bullets or are made from bullets.  All the pictures are of things confiscated from returning passengers.

Our ship's staff captain, in a rare display of humor, suggested that there were other souvenirs we should be wary of bringing home, as we do not want to have to visit the ship's souvenirologist.  (This was an oblique reference to STDs, for an audience which included the children of faculty and staff.)

We were also treated to a brilliant parody of "Aquarius," sung in harmony, where the first verse was "malaria," the second was "diarrhea," and the third, "gonnorrhea." 

Travel isn't for sissies, I find.  I've been taking my malaria pills, I'll carry bottled water, STDs are not a concern, but I haven't figured out how to carry these essentials without involving a purse:

• Vietnam landing card
• copy of my passport (they recommend two, actually)
• greensheet (emergency information for the ship)
• phone (not IPhone, but smart phone) with local map
• camera
• money
• sunglasses
• hand sanitizer
• toilet paper
• water bottle
• health information (insurance cards for home and ship plans)
• fake wallet with minimal money and old ID cards
• power bar for emergency food source
• bug spray
• sunscreen
• pills for avoiding TD and pills for treating it if avoiding it fails

That 17-pocket vest is looking better after all.

From my desk, I can see the line for the gangway.  Looks like everyone is going to take a chance on it.  Our executive dean did say that we would love it.  Presuming we all survive.

Neon: It's the new neutral

People:  black, brown, khaki.

Buildings:  a kaleidoscope of neon.

The people on the streets are dressed in drab colors.  The street vendors may be hawking colorful scarves, but they’re not being worn by the populace.  The buildings, on the other hand, compete with each other to be the brightest, flashy and flashing.  The electric bills must be enormous. 

In Shanghai, we were told that the Podong side of the river was farms thirty years ago.  There were no bridges, only ferries to get across, and no one of status lived there.  Now, the farms have sprouted high rise buildings, and no one can afford the apartments inside them.  A skyscraper currently under construction will be the second tallest in the world; only Dubai has a taller one.  One building, called the bottle opener, has a square opening near the top to prevent damage from high winds.

Xi’an has a city wall that was built in the 14^th century, using kiwi paste as mortar.  It’s intact, and 8.5 miles long, so there’s a great business in bike rentals.  You can rent a single or a tandem bike, but from what I saw, the tandems are just an invitation to mooch a ride off the front rider.  The day we were there, there were few visitors, but Borbor told us it’s a great place to bring a date.  The base of the wall is 50-60 feet, so it’s a broad avenue for strolling.  Interestingly, it replaced a wall that enclosed a much smaller section of the city.  At night, it’s spectacular in its simplicity and classic Chinese lines.

In Hong Kong, the lights stay on all day long.  Many of the buildings have animated displays, others just flash their lights.  We were promised a light show at 2000, but it was a disappointment.  I overheard someone say, “It’s like someone gave the controls to a middle school kid.”  There was no coordination among the various buildings:  one building would spit out a few laser blasts, then another one would.  We were told there was a musical accompaniment, but we couldn’t hear it.  It reminded me of one of those birthday candles that comes back to life after you blow it out.  Lots of sputtering and sparking, but no pattern. 

Our berth was next to the Pisces, a ship which leaves at 2000 every night and goes out to international waters for gambling.  It returns about 12 hours later.  Or maybe it returns when everyone is broke.  We saw it come in while we were eating breakfast.  Friday night, we followed it out and headed south for Vietnam.  We will get there in time to celebrate Tết, our third new year of the new year.

A student at the mosque

The docent at the art museum