The Secret

Every once in a while people living in a foreign country get wind of expat secrets, legends first whispered in the back of sticky-floored bars. Usually they are nothing worth getting overjoyed, or even curious, about. Perhaps someone found a hip new bar or a lead on a new teaching job. Most of the time, the rumor's source is trying to act important, perhaps to earn a free beer or a little respect from peers.

I became privy to one such "secret" that seemed to be guarded more than most. This secret has to do with a certain place. (The name of this place is written in its native script at the top of this post. As you'll soon see, it was not a very secret "secret".

The telling began thus: One rather enigmatic teacher let slip that he was looking into a new school “somewhere else”.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you. I’ll let you know if it works out.”
Further pressing simply led him to continue his silence and increase the magnitude of his self-important grin.

One night, lubricated by several tiger beers, he let me in on it, using a low voice ever though the music was too loud.
“Cambodia.”
“Cambodia?”
“Yeah.”
I thought of Cambodia as a backwater. Even though the border was nearby or current location in Ho Chi Minh City (Sai Gon to anyone who's there, save a hand full of overly P.C. white folks), I never thought of a visit. I had always split to Bangkok for visa runs, preferring a brief experience in a modern city (I'll admit to trysts with Starbucks, Burger King, and Pizza Hut, but that's another story) before heading back to Vietnam, which was, relative to BKK, itself a backwater.

The holder of the Cambodia secret went on to produce a flowering monologue about the reasonable salary for English teachers combined with the unspoiled, un-globalized vibe and the wild west feel of Phnom Penh. He went on to say that expats who had lucked into Cambodia didn’t want to spoil said vibe. Therefore, they were sworn to secrecy, compelled not to sing the praises of Kampuchea lest it cause an influx of tourists and job seekers who might ruin Southeast Asia's final frontier.

However, the visions of Cambodia’s violent recent history, and rumors of frequent gun play and anarchy was enough to make most expats wary of relocating. It is only recently that tourism has begun to pick up. It turns out that, though Cambodia is comparatively more dangerous than Thailand and Vietnam, it is not unreasonably so. As with most things, the media has grossly overplayed the violence.

Having since visited the country, I can say that there is a certain sense of idyll that is gained from walking through this land. However, I’ll say no more. I’ve sworn an oath not to. You can find out more about Cambodia from a quality blog run by Phnom Penh expats or from a foodie's perspective.
More of an academic. That's Ok too.

Fish Feeding in BKK

Bangkok means many things to many people. Ask foreign tourists on Khao San Road and they’ll list temples, culture, seeing the world as their motivations for travel. Take an evening stroll down Sukumvit and you will pass Soi Cowboy and Nana Plaza, and see that the sex trade remains booming. For anyone who has been around the region, Bangkok remains one of the most crowded, but modern and energetic cities in Southeast Asia.

A tax accountant from Vietnam once listed his schedule for every visa run to Bangkok. It involved Starbucks, a couple of movies, hours of shopping, and meals at Seven Eleven, Pizza Hut, and McDonold’s. Yes, Bangkok has many of the amenities of say, Los Angeles. It may even have a leg up on LA, especially for those of you who are worried about running into pretentious Hollywood movie stars.

Myself? I do indulge in a Big Mac and take advantage of a nicer hotel when I’m in town. However, there is one thing I enjoy perhaps more than anything else. (Here, the reader pauses, gearing up for a juicy confession). There one thing I can’t be in Bangkok without doing. (Here it comes). And that thing is feeding the fish at Lumpini Park (reader sighs at anti-climax). I'm being quite serious.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m at home in big cities. I was born in, and have chosen to live in, urban areas my whole life. Bangkok borders on being overwhelming with its urban-ness. Still, I love the street life, the sidewalks, the little anomalies: a dark alley, a building that seems out of place, a guy sitting in the middle of the sidewalk selling papayas out of a metal wash basin full of ice, that make BKK's neighborhoods intriguing. I love all that.

But there’s something about Lumpini Park. Maybe it’s the contrast between the natural and the man-made. Sit on the shores of the lake and you can see the city skyline rising in every direction. An island of quiet in the middle of the hum of urban chaos. The city is all around. The photograph above is of the skyline as seen while sitting on the banks of the lake. There is an unmistakable feel of insulation between the lake shore and the buildings. Nature, no matter how much of a city lover one might be, is often comforting.

One can see Tai Chi practitioners, joggers, various athletes, lovers, and fortune tellers. It’s all there, but there in a "the volume is turned down" kind of way. An almost exact reciprocal of the city outside the fences.

I don’t seek anyone out, except my main man, the guy selling bread crusts to suckers like me who come to feed the fish. I think he remembers me each time I come. He even Wai-ed last time. Maybe he thinks I’m nuts, a grown man doing what is usually reserved for kids. I don't care. I guess it is kind of child like to get excited by tossing bread on the top of the water, then getting excited by the underwater turbulence as the fish jockey for the biggest morsels. I've never seen one of the fish close up. The could have three eyes for all I know. Given the pollution in Bangkok, that is actually a distinct possibility.

So. Whether you come for the shopping, food, temples, sex, culture, or for business, give the fish feeding a try. If nothing else, it will put you in a position to see one of the world's most fantastic skylines while sitting in idyllic surroundings. More pictures here.

One Soup, Two Soup, Three....

If you've read anything about Vietnamese cuisine, you've certainly heard of Pho and Spring Rolls. These two foods are romanticised in every guidebook and travel web site. You might begin to think that Vietnamese survive on these two dishes alone. Not so. Yes, pho shops are everywhere, but so are shops serving the famous dish's brothy kin. All of the soups listed below are available in any large city in Vietnam, and also in any small town in its region of origin.

The speciality from Vietnam's Mekong Delta is Hu Tieu. It is similar to Chinese egg noodle soup, but made with rice noodles. It contains poached pork and sports a saltier flavor than Pho. Other meats are added depending on where you eat it. The places I frequented in Sai Gon added shrimp and balls of fish meat. One particularly adventurous soup kitchen cook threw in whatever part of a crab was lying around, usually the claw, but a couple times I found other parts looking up from my bowl.

Pho, by the way, is eaten all over Vietnam, but originated in Ha Noi. It is always served with bean sprouts, basil, lemon, and chili on the side. One is expected to season their soup to taste. I tend to do so heavily, especially with Pho, because I usually find it to be rather bland. Adding Hoisin sauce, fish sauce (Nuoc Mam), pepper, and salt can help. The other soups are also eaten in a similar way, with the condiments varying slightly. Many busy shops will simply have a plate of fresh herbs and mung bean sprouts at each table, with a waitress circulating to replenish the plates when they fall empty.

Bun Bo Hue is a meaty dish with thicker rice noodles (bun) and beef hock simmered for hours in the broth. I have always found this dish to be extremely hearty. The dark colored broth will stain your mouth, and any other part of your body it comes in contact with. However, the thin slices of beef have a wonderful taste. Their texture is similar to roast beef, with the flavors of the broth infused into them. Bun Bo Hue bears the name of its place of origin. Hue, the ancient Vietnamese capital, is located on the central coast. The soup is served with thinly sliced salad, cabbage, or any other vegetables of a similar consistency and bitterness to cabbage. (I believe that the blossoms of a banana tree are the most authentic of these ingredients).

Mi is the Vietnamese version of Chinese egg noodles. This soup is available countrywide and could mean anything from instant noodles ala Ramen to deliciously thin egg noodles. Several varieties of meat could be added, such as Beef (Mi Bo), Chicken (Mi Ga), fish or shrimp (Mi Ca or Mi Tom), and so on. Many visitors have told me that they are most comfortable with this type of soup because of a familiarity with egg noodles and the general lack of "funky" ingredients.
For those who prefer the "funky", there are versions out there especially for you. In particular, one soup kitchen which pops up on a sidewalk near Sai Gon's downtown late in the evening serves an oily broth with egg noodles and coagulated pig's blood. The blood has a consistency of steamed tofu. I believe that a similar version utilizes chicken blood. Both varieties of "blood cubes" turn out to be quite tasteless. If one can stomach dishes like tofu, the texture is not at all unpleasant.

As a general rule, you can judge a soup kitchen's quality by its popularity. If it is full of local people, the food is probably very good and everything is suitably sanitary. Some of the smaller kitchens only have 2 or 3 tables, some only one. I have found some of the best soups at places like this. It may be the case that people stop by to get the soup to go, or that someone is delivering fresh bowls on foot to people around the neighborhood. You'll have to judge the sanitary conditions by looking at the cooking area, which is generally an large aluminum box with a gas range or charcoal underneath the counter. In more than three years in Vietnam, and five years in the region, I have never gotten sick from eating food from these types of stalls.

This is only a cursory look at the soup based dishes available in Vietnam. I will try to touch on some of the more unique dishes in subsequent posts.

Seeking 1950s Vietnam

Today, the Sai Gon of the 1950s is unnoticeable unless one looks closely. Many of the older buildings in the area known as District 3, near the city's center, show the remnants of French colonial architecture with their walled gardens and colorfully shuttered windows. However, such building are few and far between.
The Continental Hotel, where Graham Greene supposedly penned The Quiet American, still sits in the midst of downtown. However, the downtown had to be digitally altered to appear realistic for Philip Noyce's film based on Greene's book. These days, as one nears the Continental, any daydreams of reliving the past are drowned out by the over-loud techno music coming from nearby clothing shops. The newer Caravelle Hotel towers over the area that used to be named Duong Tu Do, Freedom Street. This street was "Main Street" during both French and American occupations.
All in all, the effects of Vietnam's government embracing globalization ( and its monetary benefits) are seen in the innumerable construction projects around Vietnam.

But the people, the sounds, and the atmosphere characterised by Greene and others in the 50s and 60s are still evident, if one looks closely.

Vietnam is the setting for this post because it is the setting for The Quiet American, but more than likely, any so-called "developing" country has a similar dynamic between the ageless and the modern. I know this to be the case on a much larger scale in China and India.

The aura of history is evident in several places.
Walking though any of Sai Gon's markets, one gets the feeling that they are witness to a timeless institution. People are hawking their wares in an economy based on cash and specialization. Market life has a rhythm which is foreign to me. Of course, there are the foreign smells: the raw meat, the over-ripe fruit, and the odor of live chickens. But there is also the intuative nature of the business. That is to say, there is the atmosphere of everyone going about their business, doing what needs to be done in order to live another day. This kind of day-by-day outlook is prevalent in Vietnamese culture. There is a earthiness to this style of life.

In the Quiet American, Greene's antihero, Thomas Fowler mentions sending out for ice. This is a highly visible industry in today's Vietnam. Large blocks of ice are rush delivered on motorbike. The drivers race against the tropical climate to get their ware delivered before it disappears. Selling ice in a culture of fresh food and little refrigeration is evidence of the way an industry rises from a need. That sense of the practical intertwined with the cultural is at the heart of the attraction of Vietnamese street life.

There are still some aged French style villas in District 3, an area of the city which also sports streets named after Frenchman (as in Pasteur Street). Indeed, a lot of the newer architecture seems to have been constructed using French blueprints. The way to tell the originals is by the amount of water stains the tropical climate has endowed upon the building's walls.

These are just a few examples of how history is evident in today's Vietnam. Surely there are many more. Here is some further reading if you are interesting in Vietnam's buildings.