Saigon

The Vietnamese are experts in many things. Some of these you may have been aware of, some of them not. I shall share the following.

If there was to be a national sport of Vietnam, it could be badminton, it could be soccer, but most likely it would be hacky sack. Forget those funky smelly hippy dudes that kicked a bean bag around your uni campus, these guys are the real pros. Their unique brand of hacky is like a spring loaded stack of discs, topped with a feather. Players could be standing a metre from each other, or 20 metres – these things fly. And to twist your leg around your body and kick the thing from behind your back is not only common, it’s expected. The game is almost (almost) as entertaining as watching the morning warm-ups around Hanoi’s lake up north – which includes the famous lamp-punching man (oh, how I wish he was famous) and “body-slapping” for blood circulation – afternoon hacky games can provide onlookers with endless free entertainment; just don’t get in the way.



The Vietnamese are also a league above the rest when it comes to lying on top of their motorbikes. That’s right, not sitting – lying! They not only make this look easy, but comfortable as well! Along with the fact they can crouch for hours on end without being at all physically phased, it’s pretty clear these guys are pros when it comes to making themselves comfortable. Another example of getting comfortable: the garbage collection team; who pull up to Saigon’s central market in their truck of an evening and set up their hammocks for nap time. What, you expected them to actually clean when on duty?

Security. Now here’s one that’s hard to dispute. There is no better deterrent to unwanted people coming through your gate than to have ceramic German Shepherds guarding your driveway. At least I think there’s no better deterrent... Right?

Speaking of dogs, the Vietnamese know how to put together a menu for all tastes. Head to the Mekong for Iguana, you know, if you’re up with supporting the edibility of endangered species. If that’s not your thing, the endangered guilt can’t exactly be shared with dogs, even if countless other varieties of guilt can. You’ll find it here or there, such as in Saigon’s Cholon District, but if eating Snoopy, Lassie or Pluto is not your thing (certainly not mine), there’s no shortage of pig brain or bull penis for the taking.


Uncle Ho smiles on his peeps

Taking care of the people. There is absolutely no shortage of propaganda around the roadsides of Vietnam. Uncle Ho’s beaming down on every corner and the people (who, I’m assured, are Vietnamese despite never seeming to actually look Vietnamese or be resembled in any other way beside cartoon) are smiling because they’re chuffed all around. Procreation brings auras in the form of giant, pink love hearts in Vietnam (if the posters are to be believed), and military service will give you the mighty courage of a super hero, as seen in my favourite poster – a soldier decked out in one fine looking cape. So with giant love shaped force fields defending the offspring and an army of super humans, this place takes care of the people. Moreover, the banning of Facebook ensures that legions of young people are protected from the time-wasting disaster of a social network that would otherwise suck the youth right out of them. That’s right; there could be no other reason for wanting to stop Facebook. None at all... And what do all the people do with the time they save not being on the book? They dance:

Penang

Shih Chung Branch School



When you visit Penang, your guide book will probably include a visit to the Christian Cemetery, where a bunch of Penang’s most relevant historical Anglos rest. The cemetery is a pretty mystical block of land; turn your back to the highway and block your ears and you could think you’ve discovered ancient ruins. They’re worth a look.

What might not be suggested though, is to continue walking east along Jalan Sultan Ahmad Shah (Northam Road) until you come across a giant block of land and, sitting all alone in the middle, the Shih Chung Branch School. Or at least what is left of it.


Apologies for the bus – I passed by twice and he never left... Still, you get an idea of the size

The building has shifted hands a few times in the past; first built as a mansion around 1908. It’s since been a school, a hotel, a military centre for the Japanese in WW2, amongst other things. You can read a nice history of the place on this blog.

Apparently, there was a proposal that the building become a columbarium (where you keep the ashes of the cremated) for monks, which was swiftly denied by the people of Penang.

So now, the heritage building is dilapidated and, ironically given its name, sprouting branches all over the place. The roof and inside of the building are completely ruined, and the land in front of the place is a mere car park. Given the size of the place, it seems an awful waste of what would have once been such a beautiful building; not to mention the tremendously bad use of land. Just check out the block on the satellite view:



So go and find the building! There’s a guy that sits at the car park and might yell at you for approaching it, but if he’s not there (or not looking), walk all the way around the back. Pretty cool stuff.

Bangkok Suvarnabhumi airport-city train link

You can call this a kind of “next instalment” to my Getting out of Melaka rant last month, as it follows the same “helpful” lines. However, this one might be best titled, Now for something you might actually find useful.

Get ready for caps lock – it means excitement...

THERE’S A TRAIN FROM BANGKOK AIRPORT!

After years of fussing about over said mode of transportation out to Suvarnabhumi airport, they’ve finally got this thing up and running. Whilst I may be out of date in reporting this, it was news to us upon arrival, and it’s good for you, too.

Why is it good? It’s cheap and frequent, and you avoid the taxis! A taxi from BKK to Sukumvit (which is a u-turn off the highway) will cost about 500 baht, or close to. You’ve got the 50 baht charge of picking one up at the airport, about 350-80 charge of getting into town, plus about 70-100 in tolls.

But now, all you have to do is head to the bottom level of the airport, pay 45 baht and hop on the half hour train all the way to Phaya Thai, a skytrain station. Two stops on the skytrain (20 baht) and you’ll be on Sukumvit (Siam to be precise) in half the time and a fraction of the price of a taxi.

There’s also a non-stop express train straight from the airport to Makkasan for about 150 baht, but this station isn’t on the skytrain if that’s what you’re after, so it may not be as convenient as it sounds (It might be.. I never went on it, the cheapo that I am).

30 Photos in 30 Days

Because words are boring when used too often, I present this: Malaysia and Thailand in 30 photos. Hopefully there's something you like amongst all this jazz:


Kualur Lumpur's Bazaar in Little India. My how I love the balloon sellers!


Batu Caves, outside Kuala Lumpur.


Chinese New Year celebrations in Kuala Lumpur.


Gardens of Melaka.


This loses value without sound. Melaka's Trishaws and their blaring tunes.








London 10632.


School Bus in Penang.


Christian cemetery, Penang.


Fort Cornwallis, Penang.


Penang National Park.










Valentine's Day, Bangkok.




A lot of these guys don't make it across the road in Koh Lanta.






Release of lantern in Lanta.






Wai.

So mee is noodles and nasi is rice and that is all you need to know, right? The rest is just whatever comes on top. Actually, in Melaka, you don’t need to know that – just sit down, look at the wall, and pronounce as best you can whatever words look appealing. Something will show up.

Without someone who’ll simply walk up and ask the obvious, often ridiculous, questions about etiquette and translation (where is James Yeates when you need him?), the best way to figure out eating out is to just find a seat and wait to see what happens.

In Melaka, we stayed on Raya 3 (a street name that sparked my knowledge of 1 to 10 in Bahasa!), away from Chinatown (but not lacking in noise at 5 am – thanks Cafe 1). Our hotel room might have been full of cockroaches and other peoples’ hair clogging all the drains, but our street was pretty cool. It had a real ‘country town’ vibe going on; even though 15 minutes walk would bring you to the sardine madness of Chinatown.

Coincidence or not, it was funny that down one side of the street were all the ‘touristy’ restaurants, and on the other were all the ‘local’ eateries. The former included the blazing red, white and blue of Casual American Dining, the karaoke-starting Cafe 1, and the super-cosmopolitan Ant Bar, where the same five-girl-vocal-pop-sensation group performed nightly from 9.30 (from the street, it seemed the only musical performance was coming from some old dude and a Yahama). On the other side of the road were the places with names you wouldn’t as easily see. We named these places: “We know you’re mean but your roti is the greatest”, “You wait long time”, and “Does a hotplate really cost that much”. What we lacked in creativity, they made up for in yumminess.

The first of these – the one between the other two – was amazing for the roti – we had to come back multiple times for this – as will you if you ever head to Melaka. The second, despite waiting at for almost 2 hours for food, won us over with its cook: this old dude whose kitchen was surrounding him on the street, and heaven forbid that anyone else try and help cook! The third won us over because it introduced me to taro. What’s the deal with taro anyway? It looks like a potato and tastes like beans.. They’re mad for it here. All in all, three places within walking distance that crapped all over the clean side of the street (though, I will say that come Sunday, when they were all closed, the Indian place across from the roti joint served a wicked Chicken Tikka).


Taro taro taro - what's the dealio?

Now to Penang, where all you hear about is food. Apparently, people get frustrated at tourism agencies plugging this place as a beach town. Well, according to my mad Ctrl+F skills in the LP and Wikitravel, there’re no recommended places to swim here at all. It is indeed all about the food. What said travel advisories lack in all their tellings, however, is an idea as to what one should do to get such great food (yes, get it, I’m not saying “find it”).

My answer – look like a goose. Dressed as a big white bird (much better than Plucka’s costume, I assure you), I did initially run into some trouble when sitting at one street stall serving chicken rice. Explaining that I was, in fact, a goose and not a chicken, they quickly stopped looking.

Just walk in, sit down, and look at what other people are doing. Soon enough you’ll realise (unless you actually have read this far, in which case I’m ruining it for you) that in Penang, the good stalls only sell one thing (efficiency in effect). Go to the laksa stall (if you’re ready for fishy explosion), or the chicken rice one, or the satay one, or the koay teow one (my favourite) and raise a finger (that’s “one please”), say terima kasih, and sit down. Don’t pay at the stall, wait til the food hits the table. Then enjoy.

As for drinks, the sellers of these are keen AS. Order up on Ice Kopi, Lime Juice or 100 Plus (SO many tubby kids drink this stuff, then use the isotonic brilliance to run marathons).

I might say at this point, they don’t usually use a number system or even ask where you’re sitting. In some of the bigger food areas, test how mad their skills are and sit nowhere near the stall you order from. I guarantee they’ll find you.

Finally, my confusion. I’m confused about why Penang needs that dude and his programmed keyboard? The melody doesn’t actually change and yet he just starts singing new lyrics... I’m also confused by the love for chicken rice. Is there something I’m missing?


Get the crap out of Melaka!

No, that’s not telling you to do so, it’s telling you what I’m about to write – although, after visiting some of Melaka’s “museums” you might want out (Yes, best to stay on the food trail when in this here town).

Kuala Lumpur have bus services to Melaka running from Bukit Jalil. Note, Bukit Jalil, not Puduraya. Note the date this is being written – 11 February 2011. The bus station reno began in April last year and was scheduled for four months. Hmm, funny how these things always happen. Never fear, head to Puduraya anyway and smoosh yourself into a shuttle (RM2, of course... nothing’s free). A ticket to Melaka from there could cost you anything, depending on how the ticket girl feels at the time. Then once in Melaka (that’s provided you do get on the bus you’ve been allocated to), the cab fare to town is RM20 – the fair price nowadays (the rip off price being RM30).

BUT WAIT! There’s a bus straight in and outta there to/from KLIA and LCCT! This means you can avoid KL if you hate the city, or.. just need to get to the airport. For most people, this information is meaningless; but in case you ever actually want to do this, this info is actually hard to find via Google.
Trust this: Go to Mahkota Medical Centre, head to the back of the building and you can actually get the bus straight outta town at 5am, 8am, 12.30pm or 2.30pm. Booking ahead is not always necessary, but can be done for us nervous types. It will cost RM22 (better than the total RM45 to get to the airport the other way). It will take longer than 2 hours (as the dude will tell you), but not much longer – say, less than 3. Then once at LCCT, fly to Penang :)

Paris (again)

The Gypsies of Paris are hilarious folk, though I’m sure they don’t try to be so intentionally. They’re annoying, we know that by reputation, but they’re also lazy and lacking in creativity. Given how many of these guys and girls there are around the place, you’d think they could muster up some half-decent ploys to trick tourists.

Come the beginning of 2011, Parisian Gypsies possess two stunts in their repertoire. To my knowledge, one of these is quite old; the other I’m not sure about.

# 1. The golden ring
This is the older one, I believe. You’ll be walking along and suddenly be approached by a Gypsy, who so happens to come across a gold ring on the ground. They’ll “pick it up” and look at it quizzically, then “spot” you and say something to the tune of, “here, you should have it.” The sucker who takes the ring will think they’ve scored as they walk away, until the Gypsy reappears to reap reward for finding the ring. This may only be a few euro, “for a coffee” or some such, but it’s money you certainly aint gonna keep unless you want to be accused of swindling on the street.

So what’s the problem? (“What’s the problem?” is become a classic phrase in some circles, you know) Well firstly, they don’t quite have the “discovery” down pat. They bend over, and flick the ring from out under their shoe, a bit like the coin from behind the ear trick. All well and good, except it is way too obvious. One Gypsy tried this on a patch of ground I was already staring at, then got confused when I laughed at her. Second, how many damn rings could there possible be on the streets of Paris? Break yourselves up a bit, Gypsies! Who are you kidding? A “spread out” group of the guys will have you witness the uncovering of treasure about 6 times in the space of 300 metres. When you laugh at this, they laugh; but they aint amused.

#2. The petition
You’ll see the Gypsies walking around with clip boards, and this means if you go anywhere near them, you’ll be asked to sign a petition for peace. We were told that, upon signing the petition, it is revealed to the signer that they have signed a contract to give money, and if they refuse then a group of their buddies are gonna approach you and give you a hard time. Do I believe this? No. For a start, the main place where this petition stuff happened was outside of Notre Dame, where military patrol with great big machine guns. There’d be no real confrontations as far as I believe.

They do request money after signing the thing, though. Perhaps it’s “a donation” for their cause. What is crap about the whole thing is that they get away with actually having “UNICEF” printed across the top of their page. Way to suck people in.

So sign it, don’t give any money, and throw a wave at one of your “military buddies”. See if they take you to court...

C’mon gypsies... you have two tricks! Can’t you have a staff meeting or something to come up with, say, a dozen ploys to have on rotation to actually make your trickery a bit more exciting for the rest of us? In the meantime, I wonder how much one of those “gold” rings will go for on ebay.

Paris

The City of Lights – named as such because some scribe was late to dinner one night. You see, Mr. Paris was standing by the River Seines, deciding what affectionate name he might give his fair ol’ town. His scribe was there fidgeting away, busting to leave because he had a hot date (it is Paris). “It will be known as...” (stupidly stereotypical French accent is appropriate here) “...The City, The City of–” All of a sudden he was cut off by the passing Seine River Boat Tour, completely decked out in flood lights, blinding the banks of Île de la Cité; causing Mr. P to exclaim: “ergh! Lights!”

In such the rush that he was in, Mr. P’s scribe wrote that down. Well, he couldn’t spell “ergh” so he left that word out at least. The rest is history.

What else have I learnt about the French then?

> You’re gonna get a ‘good morning’ out of them come breakfast. Now, I am a particularly grumpy bugger come the morning so there’s no surprises I find this odd; but, it’s gotta take some kind of sick French person to bother saying bonjour to every person in the room at breakfast time. No, I’m not talking about the staff, I’m talking about the patrons. They’re just so excited that it’s another day, another baguette.

> They’re obsessed with rollerblading. Clearly the French have never witnessed Ross Noble’s rants about rollerblading or perhaps they simply lack the skills of basic observation – but how ridiculous can they all look!?



> They’re craaazy about Police. I don’t think there is a more Police-flooded city in all of Europe. They’re literally everywhere. In cars, vans, BUSES, on foot, horseback and, you guessed it, on rollerblades. How can anyone take a police officer on roller blades seriously? They’d be chasing a crim, and all that Frenchie needs to do is run into the park. What’s Mr. Roller-speed gonna do then? There’s also the Parisian ritual of the 6 pm Police brigade. At roughly the same time every night, you’d be hard pressed to not see a great long brigade of vans and buses roaring through the city. Now either this is a drill, or Parisian crime is extremely predictable.

> The military guard all monuments, such as Notre Dame, with guns not much different in size to themselves. This is because the French are constantly fearful that Quasimodo might eat an American tourist and then Americans will be afraid to ever visit Paris again. Hmm.

> Academie de Francais is plain awesome. These dudes have such an amazing job deciding the French rules for language and the like. I’ll put in into perspective: when the ipod was released, the AF spent eight weeks deciding if ‘ipod’ was to be masculine or feminine. Eight weeks! Pretty sure it ends up being ‘l’ipod’ at either conclusion – can’t it just be cross gender? Still, brilliant work there and good use of French taxpayers money. Hey, it’d only otherwise be spent funding new rollerblading tracks.

> There is some contention over public urination. You don’t want to know about it? Sure, that’s why I left it til last. However, it seems surprising that in Bordeaux, public wees are all the rage (they love it!), yet in the capital it’s extremely frowned upon. Perspective? In Bordeaux, I saw a local man weeing very openly on the street (presumably he thought a van would hide him from the world... it didn’t), and a woman clambering into a bush in the middle of a roundabout to relieve herself. These are but a couple of the many people I saw each day using the streets as a toilet. Certainly not what you’d expect from the French. We read that in Paris, however, locals wouldn’t even pee in their friend’s bathroom when visiting for tea! I’m not entirely sure if I believe that, but there were certainly none of the Bordeaux shenanigans going on in the City of Light. As for free wees, never fear! Paris made all their public toilets free! (They’re the big spaceship looking things on the street that self clean and threaten to crush you if you don’t leave in time – inviting stuff!)

> French dog owners still need some lessons in common decency.