I've never tried opium, forget those rumors, but if I were ever to try it, this seems like the place. All of these narrow twisting alleyways, buildings real close together, Asian faces, mystery smells, women setting up on the street to cook their own blend of noodle soup with maybe chicken, maybe seafood, maybe some mystery stuff that I don't want to know what it is. I'm happy eating the street food, not being able to speak a word, just a smile and a thank you, which is 'Kam an' (sounds just like 'come on', so it's easy to remember.
I'd rather spend my buck and a half there for a meal, rather than at a restaurant or street cafe where the prices are 'unpredictable' especially for westerners, especially during Tet. Felt like I got ripped off the other night, paying a little over $5 for some beef and veggies that you cook right at your table. They set you up with a little grill, and enough fuel to cook the food in front of you. Tasted good, but I thought they jacked me up a little bit, so hey, fuck 'em. Besides, I like sitting with Vietnamese on those little bitty plastic stools, grabbing chopstick fulls of green veggies to dunk into the soup which is always delicious. (Now as for the sanitation of how they clean the bowls that you're eating out of... well, let's hope for the best. But I've had not a whiff of any digestion problems, (I could probably find a better word than 'whiff', but oh well) no diarrhea, cramps, nothing, so I'm thinking this way of eating agrees with me. And I'm skinnier than in the US. Feels good.
It would be hard to find a city that could give less of a damn about the Super Bowl than Hanoi, so it was comical knowing that the game was on, and it would be unlikely to see it. But I was talking this morning with a chinese american guy staying at the same hotel as me, and we figured, what the hell, let's see if we can find it somewhere. I figured that maybe the British guy who owns the Backpacker's hostel (and has been here for decades) might have a good idea if some bar would have it on, so we headed that way. And lo and behold, the game was on there so we got to watch the last quarter of what looked like a good game. I had my cup of Vietnamese coffee, now I'm 'borrowing' one of their computers to write a bit, and hey, I like this place. There's even a really nice piano in the lobby, and I'll bet I get on there once or twice before I leave this town.
Speaking of that Chinese American dude, he told me a horrific story about a Vietnamese friend of his who as a ten year old boy, was one of the 'boat people' who were set upon by pirates as they tried to motor to freedom. There were like 50 people in a small craft, folks who had all of their assets with them, gold, money, anything they could use to start a new life. They were boarded by armed pirates, there were rapes, robberies, horror, and then the fuckers took the spark plugs out of the motor and left them adrift and helpless. People were starving, no one would help them, they tried to flag down boats, but no one would stop, not wanting to be responsible for a boatload of starving Vietnamese. Eventually more than half the people died, suicided, drowned, and they gave up trying to flag down any help, as no one cared. The miracle came when a Norwegian freighter passed them, made a U Turn, rescued the twenty or so survivers and brought them all to Norway for hospitalization and care. The 10 year old spent 3 months in hospital, learning to walk again, as after 50 days of starvation, his muscles were useless. When the Norwegians asked him where he wanted to go (his sister had died and his parents were still in Vietnam), he said the US, where his uncle lived. Norway arranged the visa, bought the ticket, reunited him with his uncle, and now 30 years later, he's a successful IT guy, living in Ontario, CA. Thank you Norway. (hear that, Hansen?)
Well, today is a day to get out of the old quarter and be a good Hanoi tourist, read up on what is available, maybe take in a museum or the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum. Not sure yet, I'll check the guide book and move out a bit from the narrow zone where I've spent the last couple of days. Tomorrow I'll take a two day trip to Halong Bay, spend a night on the boat, see the sights and be offline (gasp). I realize that I've been more on an internal quest than an external one. I'm basically on a writer's retreat with some interesting background sights and sounds. Because, since I'm not a photographer, I'm just really happy writing songs and prose, reading books, making music, meeting people and experiencing life in a different part of the world. Still feeling really lucky every single day. Better pay my night's lodging and then find that bowl of noodle soup....
Stunned and shocked and saddened...
I received some terrible news from back home today, when I got onto Facebook and started hearing reports of two highschool kids from South Eugene High getting washed off a rock and drowning on the Oregon Coast. At first the news media didn't release their names until the parents were notified, and I'm thinking (selfishly), 'Please don't let me know them'. And then when they released the names, it's 'Oh no, not him, not that family! His name is Jack Harnsongkram, and I thought, that's a Thai name, oh no could that be Saman's son? Saman is this awesome dude who I've known for years, as he operates the Pad Thai booth at Saturday Market. I checked through my emails to see if by some chance that wasn't his last name, but no, it's him, it's his son, an awesome kid who I hardly knew, but was always impressed with. Just a winning personality, helped his dad at the market, a ready smile, a gorgeous kid. NO! And they hadn't yet recovered the body as of this writing.
When it sunk in, I went into some kind of shock place, wandering around town in a fog, my heart going out to the family, how could they ever recover from this. And Saman is such a prince of a guy, he helped me plan my trip to Thailand, gave me great advice, asked me to check in with him and let me know how it was going. He was going to be there also, but had to get back to the states because his son was still in highschool, otherwise, the family would have spent the winter in Asia. I'm crushed, and I know that the whole market community will be devastated.
I went back to my room, picked up my guitar, and immediately started playing a minor key tribute to the family. It wrote itself in a few minutes, a sad, hurting song of anguish and tears. I took my guitar to the lakeside, found an empty bench, and sat there playing it and playing it, as the water swirled, and the Asian faces walked by and by. There is a little walking bridge out to a small island in the lake and I watched the people walking across it, as the colored flags rippled in the breeze and the guitar played a tribute to a young man who passed way too soon.
An old woman sat on the bench with me for awhile, liked the music, said 'hello'. Then her daughter came up and talked with her for awhile, showed some photographs that she had just had developed of the two of them. The younger woman had a half grain of rice stuck to her upper lip that she was unaware of, and it was bugging me bad. 'Can't you feel that thing on your lip?' I'm thinking to myself, aware of the banality of the thought as compared with the sadness of the moment, but such is life.
After they left, two 19 year old kids sat down and listened to the music. When I took a pause, one of them said, 'Good job', and I asked if he spoke more English'. When he nodded yes, I had to tell them of my 17 year old friend who had just died from a sneaker wave on the Oregon Coast, I acted it out, the wave coming in, the boys swept off the rock, trying to swim and dying. They understood and said, 'Sorry'.
I mean, what can you do? There are no words that will make it better for the family. It's just a ripping ache that will never really be overcome. I guess I just did what I do, which is try and put a sound to it, and a comfort to it, and when I wrote about where songs come from in the previous post, I definitely didn't figure that the next one would come from a sudden heartbreaking accident. God bless the family and may they find comfort somehow. I know they will be supported as well as a community can support, such is the nature of our Saturday Market family...
When it sunk in, I went into some kind of shock place, wandering around town in a fog, my heart going out to the family, how could they ever recover from this. And Saman is such a prince of a guy, he helped me plan my trip to Thailand, gave me great advice, asked me to check in with him and let me know how it was going. He was going to be there also, but had to get back to the states because his son was still in highschool, otherwise, the family would have spent the winter in Asia. I'm crushed, and I know that the whole market community will be devastated.
I went back to my room, picked up my guitar, and immediately started playing a minor key tribute to the family. It wrote itself in a few minutes, a sad, hurting song of anguish and tears. I took my guitar to the lakeside, found an empty bench, and sat there playing it and playing it, as the water swirled, and the Asian faces walked by and by. There is a little walking bridge out to a small island in the lake and I watched the people walking across it, as the colored flags rippled in the breeze and the guitar played a tribute to a young man who passed way too soon.
An old woman sat on the bench with me for awhile, liked the music, said 'hello'. Then her daughter came up and talked with her for awhile, showed some photographs that she had just had developed of the two of them. The younger woman had a half grain of rice stuck to her upper lip that she was unaware of, and it was bugging me bad. 'Can't you feel that thing on your lip?' I'm thinking to myself, aware of the banality of the thought as compared with the sadness of the moment, but such is life.
After they left, two 19 year old kids sat down and listened to the music. When I took a pause, one of them said, 'Good job', and I asked if he spoke more English'. When he nodded yes, I had to tell them of my 17 year old friend who had just died from a sneaker wave on the Oregon Coast, I acted it out, the wave coming in, the boys swept off the rock, trying to swim and dying. They understood and said, 'Sorry'.
I mean, what can you do? There are no words that will make it better for the family. It's just a ripping ache that will never really be overcome. I guess I just did what I do, which is try and put a sound to it, and a comfort to it, and when I wrote about where songs come from in the previous post, I definitely didn't figure that the next one would come from a sudden heartbreaking accident. God bless the family and may they find comfort somehow. I know they will be supported as well as a community can support, such is the nature of our Saturday Market family...
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