VIETNAMITAS-DINAMITAS

Traffic Jam!!!

There was no direct bus from Hong Kong to Hanoi, Vietnam, contrary to what Emi has been telling me. Luckily, we cleared that out before getting into China and got ourselves double entry visas for that country.  From Hong Kong there are only 2 options as far as getting into Northern Vietnam – going through southern China or flying. As you might imagine, flying was totally unacceptable for our budget, so it was bus or bus via China. It was going to be our first over-night bus trip, and what a joy it was to experience it with a Chinese transport company. It was paradise compared to all the other “sleeper buses” we took in South East Asia. The bus was new, spotlessly clean, and had real double deck beds wide enough space to accommodate 2 people! It also turned out that the roads in Southern China were very nicely paved and without much turns and curves so it didn’t feel like we were on a bus at all, which presented a perfect opportunity for watching a movie on our little Acer.

A Mobil Fruit Stand.

A movie and a few hours of sleep in we were at the Vietnam border. The border crossing was like any other, but the immigration control and the actual passport stamping was something special… First of all, you have to make it to the little window to hand in your passport, either by waiting in line, or just pushing your way through, as if the rest in line did not exist. Once at your target, somehow you start doubting if it is a good idea to turn your passport in because what you see through the window is a mountain of passports of all colors being stamped and passed over in all directions. You are supposed to submit your passport and wait at the other window where it is supposed to appear with all the necessary stamps and visas. Passport control, as most of us know, also implies “face control” where they match your passport photo with your actual face. Well, not in Vietnam! What matters is a passport and the entry fees you have paid, and there you go! Magically, our passports were into the chaos and back out and in our hand in no more than 30 minutes. The magic here must have had some connection with Emi’s 3 month beard. Contrary to Russia, having a beard and lots of body hair in Vietnam automatically makes you a super star. The Vietnamese of all ages and genders were staring at Emi with approving looks and fascinated smiles on their faces. They must have expedited out passport quickly and into the right hands just out of respect for his abundant hairiness!

Vietnamise Style U-HAUL.

Heading down to South East Asia we, of course, knew that accommodation, among other things, was very cheap there. Nevertheless, we were determined to continue with our couchsurfing home stays. This time, it was Katya from Ukraine who opened her doors for us. Katya, like many other expats in Vietnam, was an English teacher. As we learned later on, life as an English teacher in Vietnam is pretty sweet, with nice salaries and a prestigious social status. So, it is no wander that herds and herds of travel enthusiast, adventures and all sorts of cold hating white folks flock to Vietnam to spread the lingua franca of the current times. Somehow, this communist country places quite an important role on getting its population to master English. There is a great demand for English teachers and they are treated very well in Vietnam.

Farangs at Dolche Vita, no Less.

Nevertheless, despite the abundance of English schools and farangs (or gringos, or white foreigners) the Vietnamese don’t really speak English. I should correct myself, they all do try to speak it, but what comes out of their mouths is impossible to understand, so there is lots and lots of work for anyone whishing to try themselves in the education field. Weeks after our first entrance into Vietnam we were explained the basics of the Vietnamese language, after which it made it much easier to understand why the poor Vietnamese cannot, for the life of them, get their English sounding like they are speaking English. In Vietnamese, half of the consonants, that are perfectly normal to us, simply do not exist, and the Vietnamese can’t distinguish the sound of those consonants. So, for example, v, f and p sound the same to them!

Coca-Cola Delivery Truck.

Listening to all sorts of crazy expat stories while sipping another one of the 25 cent “bia hoi” bears I couldn’t stop thinking about our DC family’s dear friend Leo, who lived in Vietnam for 4 years. The whole time that we were in Vietnam, I saw Leo in every fair-skinned farang drinking a beer, eating a bun cha, or zipping around on a $5 per day rental motorbike. One time, I asked Leo why he left Vietnam, and he said: “I was going crazy, I had to leave”. I can only imagine the kind of trouble my dear friend and the rest of the farangs got and get into in Vietnam with all the money and the freedom of the young years on their hands… Oh my! The crazy mix of everything in the streets only hinted of the chaos Hanoi lifestyle could be.

A Mobil Coffee Shop.

There were motorbikes everywhere and you never knew if the drivers actually knew how to drive them. As we found out, in order to rent a moto all you need is $5 to pay for it. No one is going to ask you for driver’s license, insurance of anything of the sort. I read somewhere that all international drivers license are actually illegal and are not accepted in Vietnam and Cambodia, but in reality, no one cares about any drivers license, and the police are usually afraid to deal with the farangs because they don’t speak English. Most of the locals also don’t have any kind of license and many even drive bikes without any license plates! But again – anything goes in Vietnam. Things like, transporting on a 2 person motorbike a cargo of 10 cages full of live chickens; a live pig; a dead pig; a stack of crates full of beer and coca-cola; a sheet of glass for a storefront; an entire kitchen and a kiosk to sell the goods at any stop; 4-5 people, some of them holding I.V. bags for the others (it is true!), and so on...

A Corner Restaurant.

Surprisingly enough, accidents happen a lot less frequently in Vietnam as one would expect. Once we have gotten a “steel horse” of our own, we realized that one of the reasons for that was that everyone drives very slowly there. It is perfect for when you are learning how to drive a bike, or when you are doing some sightseeing, but not when you are trying to get from point A to point B. However, the biggest challenge is probably not the speed, but what you might encounter on the road. While on a highway (or something of its equivalent) you might see people driving in the opposite direction in your lane; people doing a U turn in the middle of the road; water buffalos, cows and pigs crossing your way, or taking a little siesta; and of course, lots and lots of Vietnamitas-Dinamitas (as Emi likes to call the Vietnamese) all wearing air masks, and some sort of pajama looking protective jackets.

Taking a Little Siesta.

Hanoi, like most other Asian cities, is famous for its bad air quality, however, I have discovered that it can easily compete with Moscow, or Buenos Aires for example. To me, the air in Hanoi did not feel any dirtier than in any other big city. It is just that the Vietnamese feel that it is essential to wear a face mask (and often an all covering pajama-style jacket) in the city to try to protect your lungs from all of the dust and pollution you breathe in otherwise. It certainly looks very strange and involuntarily makes you feel nervous, as if you were in the epicenter of a major epidemic area. Nonetheless, I think they are doing the right thing by trying to protect themselves, and more often than not I feel like wearing a facemask on the overcrowded streets of Buenos Aires where fumes are literally choking during peak hours.

My Favorite Squid Stand.

Pajama fashion is a special phenomenon in Vietnam that deserves a special note. First, I thought that all of the pajamas that I was seeing all around us were out and about because it was an early morning hour. As the day went on, though, the outfits did not change, and the women of all ages continued parading around their multicolored and diversely designed pajama suits. From day to day they changed them, as one would change regular clothing, which indicated that the pajamas were their regular clothes. I never found out where this latest fashion came from and how it became widely accepted, but it was definitely entertaining to find yourself surrounded by pajama fashionistas in the middle of a huge metropolis.

No Worries! Trains don't Come Very Often.

Even though Hanoi is a big city it doesn’t feel that way, despite the never ending chaos in the streets. To me, the reason why it didn’t feel like a big city was because the people continue living the way they live in the villages – with all activities happening in the street, in font of their houses. In fact, in many houses the street is an extension of their living rooms. In most houses, the façade part of the building at the ground floor is a wide garage-like gate that stays open the whole day, as the inhabitants go on with their home lives in the living room space – eating their meals, watching TV, playing with children, or arguing. In some houses, the front entrance is blocked by an abundance of very low plastic table and chairs, which serve as restaurant seating. In Vietnam, most of the people eat in the street, since the food is really cheap and is available 24/7 on every corner.  We discovered that the low seating was not something exclusive to impromptu house restaurants, but was the way/ level at which the Vietnamese did everything. Somehow, for them it is more comfortable to prepare dinner, wash dishes, or do anything else in a squatting position, rather than to do it all standing at a normal size table.

PJs Galore!!!

It was all very different and very exotic and I constantly felt like I was in some parallel world where everything was done in a strangely distinct manner that I never knew existed. These few days in Hanoi ware like a brief introduction for what we were about to experience in those last few months of our trip. South East Asia was opening its doors for us and we were eyes and ears trying to absorb and understand what it was all about. 

LA VIDA EN EL DELTA

Solitaria por el Delta

Existe un grupo de ríos a los que se le llama hermanos. No por compartir las mismas tierras, ni por encausarse en algún momento, sino por poseer entre si, cualidades que los hacen únicos e indispensables en el desarrollo de la vida en cada una de sus regiones. Sus orillas fueron las primeras zonas habitadas de cada continente y sus deltas el corazón para la pesca y la agricultura. Entre ellos se destacan el Misisipi en Norteamérica, el Paraná y el Amazonas en America del Sur, el mítico Nilo en África, y el rico y turbio Mekong en Asia. Con sus orígenes en la meseta tibetana China, en las alturas de la cordillera del Himalaya, sus causes descienden de norte a sur haciendo de frontera natural entre Laos y Myanmar primero y Tailandia unos kilómetros mas tarde. Apenas metros antes de ingresar a Camboya logra su mayor anchura (14 Km.), y es en dicho país donde las inundaciones en temporada de lluvia hacen de sus tierras aledañas una de las zonas más fértiles de Asia para el cultivo de arroz. Pero es en su agonía, antes de mezclarse con el agua salada del Mar de China, cuando un delta de mas de 40.000 km2 de superficie le cambia la vida a millones de personas que entre ríos e islas viven sus vidas en el sur de Vietnam, país que recibe las cansadas aguas del Mekong luego de 4.880 Km. de viaje asiático.

Sandias

Desde que decidimos conocer el delta que dudábamos en como hacerlo. Como ya habíamos experimentado, los tours vietnamitas debían ser siempre evitados, pero una región tan amplia y complicada de transitar como un delta repleto de islas y canales, no nos daba demasiadas opciones. Decidimos tomar un tour de solo un día, y que no nos traiga de vuelta a Saigón, sino que nos deje en la ciudad de Can Tho. “Ahí no van a conseguir nada” nos decían, a lo que les contestábamos con toda la seguridad que no teníamos “no se hagan problema, traemos carpa”, como si la fuésemos a armar en el medio de una avenida. Así fue que luego de la recorrida del día al estilo club de jubilados y con un guía que le entendíamos mejor el vietnamita que el ingles, nos dejaron finalmente en la puerta de un hotel, donde sea como sea, debíamos evitar quedarnos si queríamos conocer un poco mas el corazón del delta. De alguna manera nos entendimos con el guía y nos paso el teléfono de Hung, un hombre que según el hospedaba gente en su casa a orillas de uno de los canales del Mekong.

Vendedora de Pijama

Por suerte el ingles de Hung era el mejor que conocimos en Vietnam, y luego de unos 25 minutos en moto y unos tantos kilómetros por callecitas de tierra que cruzaban varios canales, llegamos a su casa gigante, repleta de cerámica y escasa de muebles, a metros del agua marrón y turbia del río. Nos acomodamos en una habitación al lado de la cocina, y rápidamente comenzamos a sentir que estábamos en el lugar correcto. La abuela estaba preparando la comida; unos spring rolls que ella misma se encargo de enseñarnos a armar y luego freír, sumado a otras verduras y pescados sacados no hacia mucho de las aguas marrones del Mekong. La mujer de Hung resulto ser profesora de ingles, y con gran entusiasmo nos enseño un poco lo irreproducible de su idioma, como así también algunos quehaceres rutinarios que nos eran completamente inimaginables. Mezclando el agua color chocolate del río con una piedra de alumbre que compran en el mercado por solo algunos centavos, logran que la tierra y sedimentos se unan y precipiten al fondo del balde. Es increíble como parecen imantarse las partículas de suciedad, descendiendo y amontonándose, dejándola prácticamente transparente. Solo resta un hervor y ese agua turbia y sucia, pasa a ser útil para el consumo de toda la gente que habita las islas donde el agua corriente y potable no les llega a sus viviendas.

Cruzando uno de los Canales

La cena fue simplemente genial. Bien al estilo vietnamita, la mesa repleta de platos que entre todos compartíamos mientras charlábamos mirando a la pequeña calle de tierra en frente del río, por donde entre la oscuridad adivinábamos chicos pasando en bicicleta y algunos ansiamos empujando sus pollos y patos de vuelta hacia sus casas. Al momento de la sobremesa, Hung trajo unas bolsitas con su ya conocido vino de arroz, y con solo un chop stick, lo agujereaba y nos servia para que brindemos con varios chupitos, repitiendo como siempre las tres palabras mágicas: “Mot! Hai! Ba! Do!” (Uno!, dos!, tres!, bebe!).

Puesto Flotante

Al día siguiente nos despertamos bien temprano y un bote de madera con un enorme motor de camioneta naftero, bañado en aceite y humeando por todas las juntas a la vista, regulaba a contra tempo sobre la cola de la pequeña barca mientras un largo eje hacia girar una pequeña hélice de dos astas. A los pocos minutos se sumo Hung, con unas tazas con café, unas bananas y una lata de leche condensada. Comenzaba a amanecer y los colores de la verde vegetación reflejada en el agua prácticamente inmóvil, daban la sensación de navegar entre un pesado mercurio, abriéndonos paso entre cachalotes, esquivando las largas sombras mañaneras. Siendo Can Tho el centro del delta, y la ciudad más grande dentro del mismo, es aquí donde se desarrolla el mercado flotante más grande de Vietnam, y uno de los más grandes del mundo. Es aquí donde la gente sale de compras en bote, en negocios que se hamacan al compás del agua y comerciantes que ofrecen sus productos desde sus embarcaciones.

Sopas para Desayuno

En lo alto de cada barca se alza una caña de la cual cuelgan el producto que ofrecen y si es necesario, en sus diferentes tamaños. Sandias, zanahorias, cebollas, papas, piñas, mangos, cocos, melones; se exponen cual cartel de venta y de presentación del vendedor. Risueñas caras saludan a nuestro paso, haciendo señas intentado persuadirnos de que les compremos algo. Otros botes mas pequeños se los ve humear desde el centro, donde encienden fuego allí mismo para preparar sopas, arroz con carne y verduras, desayunos ya preparados y calientes para quienes se acercan temprano al mercado. Gaseosas que pasan de botellas de vidrio a bolsas plásticas, café caliente y golosinas, completan una amplia variedad para quien ande hambriento. Abriéndose pasó en su pequeño botecito, venia arrodillado en la proa a remo lento y pausado Thien, un vendedor de loterías de una sonrisa inigualable.

Al pasar la zona central y acercarnos mas a las orillas, incuso veíamos como algunas barcas vendían cañerías, hachas, machetes y demás artículos de ferretería y construcción; pero la mayor sorpresa nos la llevamos cuando preguntamos a Hung si no había barcos que vendan carne. Solo basto que levantara su brazo derecho y con la mano abierta (no es de buena educación señalar con un dedo) nos dirija la mirada hacia la punta de una caña de la cual colgaba la cabeza de un cerdo y las patas de una gallina. Es que el mercado lo tiene todo, y como corazón del delta, la vida y el comercio rondan en torno a el.

Mercado Flotante

Todo lo que no sea río, ni tampoco casas, son plantaciones de arroz. Cada isla posee grandes campos que aprovechan la fertilidad de las tierras y lo fácil de la inundación para la siembra y cosecha del “oro blanco” vietnamita. De la misma manera, muchas fábricas se alzan en la zona, para lo que son los trabajos posteriores a la cosecha, en donde se lleva la espiga en bruto, al grano perfecto y listo para el consumo. Grandes tambores giran cual centrifugadoras gigantes y por medio de pelos de alambres quitan primero la cáscara, para luego ser agitados por grandes paletas de goma, las cuales lo limpian de la capa marrón que llevan adherida (arroz integral), dejándolo blanco y libre de impurezas. Una serie de tamices se encargan de filtrar y seleccionar los diferentes granos, ya que dichas maquinas lo rompen con bastante facilidad, y así clasifican entre los diferentes tipos de calidad. Absolutamente todo es utilizado, desde el grano más largo y perfecto para la exportación, hasta los más rotos y el polvo del arroz integral para alimento de aves y cerdos; y las cáscaras para fuego y luego abono con sus cenizas. Incluso los granos mas rotos son prensados y con la leche que extraen mezclada con tapioca, cuecen una especie de panqueques súper finos, que al secarse los cortan en cintas, obteniendo los famosos fideos de arroz.

Volviendo a casa luego de la compra

A las 8 de la mañana el mercado se dispersa y desaparece. Lentamente volvíamos entre este gran laberinto acuático, apreciando la vida e intentando reconocernos como uno mas que vuelve del mercado a su casa con la compra para la semana. A un lado una mujer con un pañuelo en la cabeza, lavaba su ropa en la vera del río. Mas adelante, un anciano muy flaco y en cueros, se disponía a preparar sus redes para la pesca del día. Varios chicos se acercaban a saludar y Hung les tiraba chupetines desde el bote. Desde lo alto de algunas palmeras, grandes cocos amenazan con agujerearnos el bote cual bala de cañón, mientras algunos peces saltan hacia los lados como tratando de salirse del camino de la hélice de nuestro pesado motor. El delta es mágico; genera una especie de micro sistema de vida diferente, que adapta a seres a vivir en torno a el y nos permite a nosotros vernos inmersos al menos por unos días en lo que es esta vida que no parece haber sido alterada en mucho tiempo. Esta fabulosa vida en el delta.

NEW YORK OF ASIA

The Best Old Trams Ever!

Is it China? Is it an independent country? Is it a British colony? The truth is that even after reading and trying to get a better sense of what Hong Kong’s status is doubts do not fade but grow and leave us with even more questions. A former British colony until 1997 (yes ... until very recently), today Hong Kong is a "Special Administrative District" of the People's Republic of China. The system, developed by Deng Xiaoping, was to maintain a capitalist economic system (implemented during the colonial period) under the sovereignty of a country with a communist ideology, such as China. In addition to the economic system, Hong Kong maintains independent administrative and judicial systems, its own customs and external borders. This is why Chinese citizens have to apply for a special visa (until recently, a nightmare to obtain) in order to enter Hong Kong’s territory.

Wanering Around Hong Kong's China Town.

Luckily, we did not need visas, however we did enter Hong Kong the way most of the Chinese do – by taking a local train from Beijing to the border city of Shenzhen. Long walks through the hallways of the train station (which looked more like an airport) finally brought us to the immigration counters where we legally exited China and entered Hong Kong. On the other side and directly connected to the immigration offices we found ourselves at an entrance to the subway system, which connects you to almost any part of the country (we’ll call it a country, even though it is not). With its gigantic stations, underground and above ground sections of the railway, its super modern soundproof trains with TVs, perfect order and cleanliness, and a unique transfer system where in order to change lines all you need to do it just step out of one train and take another one across the platform going the opposite direction, Hong Kong’s metro is one of the most modern on the planet. In just over half an hour we were in one of the central districts – Kowloon, named after the peninsula where it is located.

Wandering Around Hong Kong Streets at Night. 

Beijing's China disappears completely as soon as you come out of the metro, replaced by a western city with the British legacy, which Hong Kong took advantage of to the maximum. It is true that almost all of traditional Cantonese architecture has been lost, however, this does not take away from the city’s charm inspired by the friendliness of the people, the general order and cleanliness of its streets, the well organized traffic, and the endless skyscrapers. With our mouths open and the eyes looking up into the sky, all we could think of was “Wow! We are New York!”. And yes, Hong Kong is the closest city to the American metropolis we have been to so far. The similarity is not only in the architecture, modern skyscrapers, and the busy crowds, but also in its geographical location. Hong Kong is comprised of the central island (Hong Kong Island) just like Manhattan; a continental area (The New Territories and the Kowloon peninsula) similarly to the New York neighborhoods of Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens, although the latter two are part of the great Long Island; and finally the islands (Lantau and Lama) just like New York’s Staten Island and the others.

Relaxing on one of the Hong Kong Islands.

These first impressions of “another New York” began to change in some respects once we discovered the city a little better. Hong Kong, despite being a big city with its abundance of concrete, steel and glass has protected areas that comprise 75% of the total area of ​​its territory. This means that more than seven million people of the country’s population reside on the remaining meager 25% of its land.  The district of Kowloon is the perfect example of this. In 1991 it reached a historical record of being the largest urban center with the highest population density on the planet (40,426 inhabitants per square kilometer), with 1,900,000 inhabitants living on the territory of only 47 square kilometers. Taking into consideration these numbers, nonetheless, there are many uninhabited areas and whole islands with deserted beaches, luscious forests and pristine quietness to enjoy whenever you feel like getting away from the craziness of the metropolis.

A Quiet Sunset on a Beach 20 min away from the City.

Hong Kong’s Victoria Peak is the place where you can get the best aerial view of what is the inhabited part of the island with its countless skyscrapers seeming completely unreal the way they illuminate the sky with its lights and colors. To get up there we used the famous 120 years old tram installed by the British in order to access their posh residences at the top of the hill. Getting down wasn’t as quick, as we decided to walk through this privileged part of town to get a better feel of what life could be if we were children of some rich Hong Kong Englishman. Amid the lush vegetation it was impossible to see any lights of the city and the silence was almost utopian interrupted only occasionally by birds’ chirping or the piercing sounds of cicadas. The narrow roads, taking us on this evening stroll through colonial English residences nestled between green hills, revealed only a few parked cars, none less in class than a Porsche, a Jaguar or a Rolls Royce. Gradually, the distant city lights began exposing the foliage of trees and in less than an hour we were back to dodging cars and buildings, with our feet on hot cement, and without a single tree in sight. The change was incredible and it was hard to believe that the same city could be so different so quickly.

Hong Kong Getting Ready for the "Symphony of Lights".

The skyline of Hong Kong alone has become one of the main attractions of the city. Organized by the department of tourism, a sound and light show called the Symphony of Lights, happens every night at 8pm and involves many buildings on both sides of the water - the Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Dozens of dancing lights, lasers and reflectors rhythmically jump from one building to the other, some changing colors and some reproducing phrases on gigantic LED screens. Crowds gather on the Avenue of Stars to watch the skyscrapers become alive for some 15 minutes in a cheerful dance and then fall asleep for another 24 hours.

The City of the Go.

One of the strangest things about Hong Kong, though, was that it made me feel as if I were inside a videogame. Hong Kong highways and air walkways for pedestrians are completely surreal. As if taken directly from the “Need For Speed”, highways that go at ground level suddenly rise to heights of a 3rd or 4th floor, then go snaking between buildings and then cut their way directly through some skyscrapers. At the bottom they are lit with lights and lined with different materials making them look completely futuristic. There, if cars have their highways, pedestrians do as well. Footbridges, elevated to over 10 meters high, transport you between buildings and streets, take you through shopping centers and then deposit you in a completely different part of town. Sometimes the inclination of these bridges is such that they have escalators, which is the case of the one that takes you to the Soho area. With its 800 meters in length and 135mts of gradual elevation it is the longest outdoor escalator in the world. Walking for hours on end in these suspended gateways made me feel as if had been deposited in the middle of futuristic New York of “The 5th Element”.

Midair Walkways.

Thanks to Ting, a Singaporean girl  living in Hong Kong who hosted us for a few days in her 62 floor apartment on the island, we were also able to try Dim Sum (literally translated "order until heart’s content "), one of the favorite foods of southern China. Inside the restaurant there are many large round tables, which are shared by several diners, so you do not look for a table, but rather for a chair. Once seated, you are given a small paper with pictures and names where your orders are recorded as you ask for them. It is done this way because Dim Sum is not just a single dish. Female waitresses dressed in white circle around the tables with carts from which you choose what you wish to try. The variety of steamed buns, such as char siew bao (small bits of rice dough stuffed with different ingredients such as meat, chicken, pork, shrimp and vegetarian options) is enormous and all of it is absolutely delicious. The meal is always accompanied by green tea or Bolay (strong fermented tea) which is present on every table and is included in the price, so you do not have to pay for it separately. Many seniors come to these restaurants with their newspapers and spend hours and hours drinking tea, eating and chatting among themselves, although often barely acquainted only by sharing a Dim Sum table.

Hong Kong from the Victoria Peak.

Hong Kong was captivating and we felt like staying for a lot longer, because despite of its limited territory, the places we wanted to visit and the activities to do were endless. Nevertheless, the high prices and the time limitations made us move onto looking for new routes and destinations in Asia. The start of our exploration of the Indochinese peninsula was coming closer and closer, and the date of our departure for Vietnam was on the calendar. Thus, with the corresponding visas in our passports we left Hong Kong to begin what we call “The Final Stretch of the Expedition - Southeast Asia”.

Translated from the original article “La Nueva York del Oriente” by Emiliano Garcia.

THE WEIRD CHINESE

SPA was the only place
I wanted to go anyways!

I have never been to Asia before, so I was particularly acute to some things that jumped at me as something very weird. As soon as we boarded our China bound train it was clear to me that the Chinese are very hungry people. In our 4 person train compartment our Chinese neighbors took a break from eating only when they were deep asleep, which was from about 9pm to 5am (not exactly my schedule). In the morning, that is before sunrise, we were woken up by the sucking sound of the instant noodles being inhaled by our new friends accompanied by a mortal stench of garlic coming from the hallway, where others were shoving in their breakfast favorites. I am not being mean or condescending when I use such strong verbs as “shove” when I describe these eating habits. In China (at least in Beijing) people are always in a rush and they do not appear to let themselves enjoy eating. They eat not to be hungry and do it as quickly as they can. When it comes to noodles, they “inhale” those suckers very noisily in order to cool them down that way. Why not let them cool in a bowl and then eat normally and without the annoying noises?! Oh, and the spitting….! I have never heard so much and so frequently people want to spit stuff out their mouths. Everyone does it from grown men to young children and women. I don’t know if there are sick all the time or just want to attract attention, but it sound and looks so awful that it is extremely difficult to ignore. I am not judging. I guess “it is not good, it is not bad, it is just different”, but way too different for me…

Emi's beard was the #1 attraction on the Great Wall.

As soon we got off the train in Beijing we were reminded that China is a super over populated giant and the land of competition where only the fittest survive.  The Chinese seem to not see/not care what so ever whether there is something or someone in front of them. Whatever that is that is in front of them is in their way, therefore needs to be moved, pushed or removed out of the way. You pretty much have to walk and do things at the speed of the people around you, unless you want to be run over. When people run into you (they do it all the time) they don’t even look at you, let alone say “I am sorry” or something along these lines. The Chinese will always try to push you out of their way to get into a train car, cut you in line to get into a bus, sneak money to a cashier at a grocery store to get the shopping done faster and so on. It is really, really annoying at first, but then, once you learn that there is no such thing as politely letting someone go first, you realize that you just have to make your way through and you start acting the way the Chinese do and everything starts working out for you.

The Red Hat tour group.

Once we have finally settled in and made our rounds in town plazas, markets and walking streets, I have notices a couple of other interesting things. Most of the younger Beijingers are very fashionable and seem to be a little too obsessed with appearance. Fashion I like very much, and it was a breath of fresh air for me to see some interesting clothing on people after months and months that we have spent in south America and Russia. Nonetheless, men’s fashion seemed a little over done for my taste. Besides the latest fashion in their clothing they are absolutely obsessed with their hair. Oh, you should see those hairdos! That is right, they are not just haircuts, but daily styled hairdos with gel, hair spray and whatever else other hair products. The actual haircuts are really quite good and elaborate the opposite of what you might get at a US Hair Cuttery. But it is not the haircuts, but the amount of attention that they received every time those gentlemen left their house that amazed me.

The obligatory "Fire Spirit".

Those guys would also sneak “check up” stares every time they passed a mirror, adjusting the do with their female-like manicured fingers. This is something that I have never seen anywhere else before. Many of the Chinese (and Asians in general, as I have discovered later) keep their finger nails long. Supposedly, it is a sign of a class demonstrating that you are not a peasant who works in the fields. I am sure there is a reason for this and it must be an important one. Nonetheless, I could not (and still can’t) hide my disgust when I see those male hands with long thick fingernails.  I have no idea why it makes me feel this way, because I have nothing against long finger nails on women. Why does it make a difference to me I have no idea, but it does. Personally, I think all of those guys should relax about their hair a little bit, cut their fingernails and they’d be a lot more attractive, even though they are not much of my style.

LA GUERRA CONTINUA...

Viet Cong (www.barbaragluck.com)

En las peleas de pareja se dice que los problemas se arreglan “de las puertas para adentro”; en los juegos de naipes, “los de afuera son de palo”; y un consejo de padre diría “mejor no te metas”; sin embargo estas frases o refranes no parecen haber sido traducidos al ingles, ruso, chino, ni mucho menos al vietnamita. Cuando en 1964 las diferencias políticas entre Vietnam del Sur y Vietnam del Norte eran insostenibles, ambos no dudaron un momento en recibir apoyo bélico desde sus pares capitalistas y comunistas respectivamente, transformando el enfrentamiento en una incansable guerra de más de 10 años, donde el numero de víctimas la convirtieron en la más sangrienta después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Un enfrentamiento que ni siquiera las reglas de Derecho Internacional lo consideraron como lo que fue, ya que Estados Unidos no entro en conflicto contra ninguna nación, debido a que no solo Vietnam del Norte no era un país en sí, sino que tampoco hubo declaración ni invasión alguna que Vietnam del Sur y su gobierno no hayan solicitado. Es por esto que al escribir guerra de Vietnam, debemos hacerlo en letra minúscula ya que no hubo declaración alguna por ninguna de las partes. De todas formas no creo que esto último hubiese cambiado mucho la historia. Una vez vi una foto del presidente Roosevelt mientras firmaba la declaración contra Alemania en la Segunda Guerra Mundial, posando y sonriendo con todos los que lo rodeaban… poco serio no?

Ciudad Imperial en Hue

Desde que dejamos el norte del país de a poco nos fuimos empapando mas y mas de este conflicto del  cual, debido a la libertad de prensa aprovechada ante la no declaración de guerra, se saben muchas más cosas de las cuales los gobiernos hubiesen querido. Una guerra con cualidades completamente diferentes a todas las anteriores. Una de las características principales que marcaron los ataques estadounidenses eran los bombardeos aéreos donde en más de una ocasión (y esto reconocido tiempo después por soldados americanos), el objetivo era disparar a “todo aquello que se mueva”. Así fue que al recorrer la Ciudad Imperial en Hue, antigua capital y línea divisoria entre el norte y el sur, solo pudimos contemplar una parte de esta ya que la gran mayoría fue destruida ante los incontables bombardeos. Una verdadera pena ya que con lo poco que queda en pie, se puede adivinar una arquitectura única y muy vietnamita que en pocos lugares puede ser contemplada. Lo mismo sucede en Hoi An y las ruinas de My Son, donde de los más de 70 templos y torres de más de 1000 años de antigüedad que se encontraban en el lugar, tan solo quedan unos 10 en pie, destruidos también por bombas lanzadas desde los B-52.

Bombardero B-52 (www.jkvshimself.com)

Uno de los más feroces ataques fue la operación Rolling Thunder aunque la posterior campaña Linebaker (155.548 toneladas de bombas en 41.000 misiones aéreas), lanzada personalmente por el presidente Nixon donde el objetivo era localizar y destruir no solo asentamientos militares, sino todo aquello que facilitara el abastecimiento y logística de Vietnam del Norte, fue una de las más feroces y desesperadas salidas ante la inminente derrota. Puertos, instalaciones petrolíferas, aeródromos, muelles, y casi la totalidad de vías férreas fueron destruidas, como así también toda industria existente que significara abastecimiento de suministros y materiales. Incluso escuelas y hospitales fueron bombardeados, y aldeas enteras borradas del mapa. “La aldea ya no existe, fue destruida por los estadounidenses, reconstruida y después destruida nuevamente por ellos. Después de esto se le llamo zona de fuego libre. Dijeron que, con la aldea muerta, ya no había razón para que nadie fuese allí, ni siquiera para visitar la tumba de nuestros antepasados” (palabras de un aldeano reporteado durante la guerra).

Torturas (www.gordspoetryfactory.blogspot.com)

El motivo principal del constante uso de aviones y ataques aéreos, fue que Vietnam del Norte combatía bajo las reglas del movimiento guerrillero del Viet Cong, obligando a los americanos a salir de las tradicionales líneas de frente y tener que buscar al enemigo quien se encontraba replegado y preparado para las emboscadas en las selvas tanto de Vietnam, como de Laos y Camboya. Es por esto que ante la incertidumbre de saber con cuánta gente contaba el norte y nunca tener la certeza de ser emboscados y derrotados fácilmente, preferían el bombardeo aéreo a todo lo que se moviese o a cualquier lugar que supusiera un escondite para la guerrilla; uno de ellos fueron los templos de My Son. Por otra parte el Viet Cong llevaría adelante una estrategia que jamás antes se había puesto en práctica, y era la de esperar, sin atacar, sin realizar movimiento alguno, solo esconderse en alguno de los cientos de túneles subterráneos y en las selvas y esperar, provocando un nerviosismo y un miedo general en los frentes enemigos, que muchas veces se traducían en errores y ataques desesperados con la consecuente pérdida de muchos hombres. Incluso luego de finalizada la guerra se supo que más de un asentamiento estadounidense se encontraba sobre túneles del Viet Cong y nunca lo supieron.

My Son

Muchas laderas de las montañas en la zona central de Vietnam se encuentran tapizadas de tumbas. Lapidas de piedra que se suceden una a otra, donde los muertos no son soldados, sino civiles, los cuales si tenían suerte morían por un bombardeo o en medio de un enfrentamiento, aunque los menos afortunados fallecían luego de largas horas de tortura donde intentaban sacar información acerca de la ubicación del enemigo. Muchas fotos en Hue, mostraban tanques arrastrando gente desnuda de las piernas o un grupo de personas con las cabezas tapadas con trapos y ahogándose con el agua que les echaban sobre estas. Las torturas eran cosas de todos los días y los ataques en zonas no delimitadas hacían de tranquilos pueblos un verdadero campo de batalla.

Agente Naranja (www.armytimes.com)

Cuando llegamos a Saigón, sabíamos que nos íbamos a encontrar con lo más duro de la guerra, pero nunca con algo tan escalofriante y atroz: el Agente Naranja. Caminando los estrechos callejones de la zona más antigua de la ciudad comenzamos a ver gente discapacitada y con malformaciones andando por las calles. Algunos mendigando, otros vendiendo libros y los más osados andando en moto a pesar de no tener ninguna de las dos pernas. Ciertos rostros eran algo similar a la idea que tenemos de un mutante. Narices gigantes que ocupaban más de media cara y con los orificios de lado, ojos que parecían chorreados y grandes inflamaciones como pelotas en las frentes y cabezas, orejas del tamaño de una moneda y dientes que crecían sin dirección alguna. Sobre una tabla con ruedas algunos andan sin piernas y un solo brazo, y otros con las extremidades retorcidas como rama de enredadera, con granos en la cara del tamaño de uvas o canicas. No teníamos en claro el porqué de toda esta gente, hasta que al segundo día de estar en la ciudad nos dirigimos al Museo de Remanentes de Guerra.

Victimas (www.forum.goregrish.com)

Al llegar al segundo piso, luego de ver aviones, tanques, helicópteros y armas, nos encontramos con algo que no esperábamos ver. Tras el vidriado de las paredes de la sala se observaban personas limpiándose las lagrimas de los ojos con las manos, mientras leían aterrorizados carteles que se encontraban en las paredes y observaban fotos que no eran del tiempo de la guerra, sino actuales. Dichas imágenes mostraban las más terribles malformaciones de seres humanos que sin siquiera haber vivido durante esos años, hoy sufren las consecuencias de una guerra que parece no tener fin.

Victimas (www.forum.goregrish.com)

Rompiendo tratados de guerra y leyes internacionales, el ejército estadounidense utilizo durante incontables ataques uno de los agentes químicos mas fuertes existentes en el planeta; el Agente Naranja. La selva era muy hostil para quienes no estaban acostumbrados a permanecer en ellas durante tanto tiempo, y a su vez hacia casi imposible localizar al Viet Cong replegado entre la densa vegetación que cubre gran parte de la península. Por otro lado el tránsito de la ruta Ho Chi Minh representaba una amenaza ante los americanos, quienes nunca pudieron cortarla por completo. Esta ruta transitaba gran parte sobre la frontera con Laos (incluso sobre territorio extranjero), y se movía siempre entre la espesa selva donde el Viet Cong era imbatible e ilocalizable. Suministros, refuerzos y tropas enteras transitaban de norte a sur por este sendero que se transformaría en una de las claves de la victoria norvietnamita. La única salida que vieron los americanos ante este terreno que se les hacia tan hostil, fue lanzar toneladas y toneladas del Agente Naranja desde aviones, un químico tan potente que destruía toda vegetación que tocaba, transformando selvas enteras en cementerios de arboles; las tierras fértiles de los valles en tierras toxicas e inutilizables; y centenares de ríos en canales que no transportaban más que veneno puro.  Pero los aldeanos no lo sabían. Seguían consumiendo de esa agua, cosechando y comiendo de su arroz y vegetales que crecían en esos campos y hasta a veces mojándose con esa lluvia de químicos que llegaba desde el cielo. Solo unos pocos cercanos a grandes ciudades tenían la información de no consumir ni agua ni cultivos de sus tierras, pero el hambre llegaba rápido, y la destrucción de caminos y fabricas hacia que rápidamente se vean desabastecidos; obligados a comer lo que tenían a su alcance. Incluso sus animales, como cerdos, gallinas y vacas, bebían esa agua y comían de ese pasto, por lo que cualquier tipo de alimento era veneno en sí mismo.

Civiles escapando (www.vintage-everyday.blogspot.com)

Las fotos retrataban gente de todas las edades; ancianos, adultos, niños y bebes con malformaciones inexplicables. Me fue imposible retener las lágrimas al leer una carta enviada por una adolescente victima del Agente Naranja al Presidente Barak Obama, reclamándole ayuda y algún tipo de contemplación para las miles de personas en Vietnam que sufren estas esquirlas tan profundas que el tiempo no sabe curar. Sus vidas se ven resumidas a la existencia absurda donde nada de lo que desean puede ser realizado. El gobierno les recomienda no estudiar, su cuerpo les imposibilita realizar actividades laborales, se les hace muy difícil hacer amigos y casi imposible encontrar pareja; sabiendo que tampoco procrear es posible para ellos, ya que sus hijos saldrán con mayores malformaciones que las de ellos mismos. Un Agente Naranja que causo y sigue causando victimas no solo en los habitantes de Vietnam del Norte, el enemigo, sino también en Vietnam del Sur, Laos y Camboya.

Caida de Saigon (www.pictureshistory.blogspot.com)

Hoy en día miles de campos siguen siendo inutilizados y los análisis de agua de los ríos siguen dando como resultado la contaminación con agentes químicos que la hacen imbebible. Cientos de niños siguen naciendo con malformaciones sin que ninguno de los responsables tome cartas en el asunto. El país entero fue devastado, la mayor parte de sus puertos destruidos, sus rutas destrozadas y fabricas demolidas por una guerra absurda como todas. Tan absurda como las palabras del general Cao Van Vien, quien firmo la orden de resistir con la frase “defender hasta la muerte, hasta el final, la porción de tierra que nos queda”, desertando horas después y huyendo del país mientras sus soldados morían sin sentido. Tan absurda que la entrada de los tanques en el Palacio de la Independencia tomo por sorpresa a los periodistas quienes no estaban en el lugar, por lo que fue repetida horas más tardes, solo para las fotos, rompiendo los mismos enrejados que habían traspasado horas atrás. Sin embargo, la sonrisa del vietnamita es algo que no pudieron borrar de sus rostros. Gente amable, gente sufrida pero con esperanzas, gente que nos sonrió y ayudó durante todo el camino; ofreciéndonos su hospitalidad y no guardando rencores ante exponer un pasaporte americano. Un país que de a poco supo levantarse y hacerle frente a esta guerra que no tiene fin; esta Guerra que aun continúa. 

Recomiendo cliquear en el link que aparece en el texto, o aquí, para leer la carta enviada al Presidente Barak Obama. Esta en ingles pero cualquier traductor puede realizar una traducción bastante cercana a la realidad.

A WEEK IN HUTONGS

Beijing'sTiananmen Square.  

As soon as we crossed the Chinese border, we knew that we were in a country with tremendous population. Every little bit of land, and all the way to the rail ways was taken up by some sort of crops growing everywhere. China met us with sunny skies, warm breeze and hundreds of Chinese coming and going at the main train station square. Arriving to Beijing from Ulan Bator was like making a leap of a couple of decades. Beijing, in contrast with Ulan-Bator, is a very modern, developed and organized city which offers all of the modern comforts without losing its historic flavor. It is enormous and it seems that there is no end to this concrete jungle, however, we did not feel this, even though we stayed in one of the central districts of the Chinese capital. Our Chinese home ended up being a hutong apartment of a Portuguese-Canadian.

Being Chinese.

Chris met us at the Jishuitan station. We did not have the exact address and Chris insisted on us calling him when we were at the station. Of course, we did not have a phone and this was our first country where neither of us spoke a word of the local language. Taking turns we stopped a number of pedestrians pointing at their cell phones. Finally one young girl responded in English offering to borrow her iphone (everyone has an iphone and a professional photo camera on them at all times in Beijing). Three minutes later a guy in shades and a black leather jacket greeted us with a sudden “que pasa?!”. We were taken a back for a second but recovered immediately remembering that the guy was half Portuguese. He didn’t really speak Spanish, but he liked to try. We followed him into a narrow alley, then another one, and another one slowly realizing why Chris insisted on meeting us without giving us the exact address. There was no way in the world that we would have found our way in a maze of those hutons.

Old time hutongs.

A huton is a historical district where people live in traditional houses which had sprouted chaotically in no organized manner, and which keep on expanding forming labyrinth-like shantytown with no central sewage system. Why would I care about sewage? Well, I really don’t unless it complicates my life in a very direct way. Chris’s hutong, just like any other hutong, does not have private bathrooms, which means that every time your body is ready to discard its byproducts you get to go to one of the community outhouse and share this special private time with about 4-9 neighbors happily chatting about the latest rumors, smoking, or playing games on their iphones. Oh no! There are no individual stalls or any sort of devisors between the actual toilets, so you just make your bottom comfortable in a squat position right next to your new Chinese friends.

Besides the minor bathroom time inconvenience Chris’s place was just perfect for our needs. It was right in the center of all of the main attractions of the city and only 3 minutes away from a metro stop.

Inside the Forbidden City.

Since Beijing was a huge city and our only stop in China we decided to spend at least a week there to visit its sights and try to feel through what it is like to live in this gigantic Chinese metropolis. During the day we went about town discovering its treasures like (The Temple of Heaven, the Olympic Village, the Forbidden City and such) and at night, when Chris was back from his lessons (he is an educator of some sort), we all went out for a taste of Beijing in one of its many restaurants. Sometimes they were actual restaurants where we drank obligatory rice wine shots (Chris strongly believes it the disinfecting qualities of alcohol) and ate elaborate dishes with weird tastes. Other times they were just street stalls which magically produced tables and chairs and fed us its kebobs made of unknown substances. Food was always very interesting, however not always agreeable with my stomach. Whether it was the abundance of oil which is used for preparation of practically everything, or the strange herbs that I have never tasted before, but more than once I had bathroom (hutong style, of course!) consequences after those wonderful dinners.

Beijing Night Market.

One time Chris also took us to a local food market and showed us how negotiating is done in Mandarin. After 5 years in Beijing Chris spoke Chinese Mandarin pretty much like a local and knew all ins and outs of the city and its Beijing urban culture. As it turned out, it was pretty important to have someone local, or at least Chinese-speaking to guide us around and bargain down the prices. The locals are quite opportunistic and will rip you off if you are not paying attention or not familiar with their prices. The cabs are absolutely ridiculous. First they do everything possible to not understand where you want to go even if your destination is 10 blocks away and you are pointing at the exact address on a map written in Mandarin, then they refuse to use the meter, and when you finally manage to negotiate the right price and the cab begins moving you realize that the driver is somehow unfamiliar with the area and insists on taking you to your destination taking a detour of at least 30 minutes. 

A rare clear sky sunset in  Beijing.

Luckily, we only had to use a taxi 2 times, one when we were off to the train station on our way to Hong Kong, and the other when we went to meet with Diego, my friend’s cousin.  I have never met Diego, and did not even know that my friend Manuel de Rivera had a cousin who not only lived in Beijing, but also worked there as a reporter for one of the Spanish TV channels. As it goes with the Spaniards, after a quick introduction over the phone we were invited to a dinner and a party with a flamenco singer performance at one of the bars frequented by Beijing expats. Diego turned out to be very charming and welcoming somehow making me feel as if I were at some bar in Madrid, surrounded by Spaniards drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and chattering over the crying sounds of flamenco. Diego told us that there were expats in Beijing of all sorts and that no matter what people did they found a way to make a good living there. The city seemed booming with everything, from commerce to fashion, and from international work to construction industry.

At the Temple of Heaven.

Beijing was bustling and hustling no matter where we went. It also seemed to be flooded with tourist groups, especially Chinese ones. Mid fall is the “golden time to visit Beijing”, as we have discovered later, and many Chinese take their short vacation during that perfect time of year to visit the nation’s capital. Apparently, they don’t like to travel individually, and together in an organized group it also tends to be cheaper. As their vacations are short, the tours are usually short as well, but they are as condensed with activities as can possibly be. A typical tour of Beijing would be one or two days with visits to the Forbidden City, The Temple of Heaven, some parks, the Olympic village the Great Wall and, of course, a dinner of the famous Beijing duck. In size, the Chinese groups could only compare with Russian speaking groups. I was very surprised to hear as much Russian in Beijing as I did. It appeared that Beijing was one of the new hot destinations for vacationing Russians, whom I could identify anywhere, whether I heard them speaking Russian or not. No group was without a typical middle age woman of about 100 kg, wearing a see through shirt, large sun glasses with sparkles and an awful haircut. There was always a man in his 40s with very pale skin beige color shorts, back socks and sandals, tugging behind himself an identical copy of a son. And, of course, no tour could go without a group of 3-4 bolding men in their 30s-40s with beer bellies, cigarettes in their mouths and terrible smell of sweat floating behind them like an invisible cape of people repellent. We spent a week visiting all of these places and it still felt rushed,  especially because I were constantly forced o fight for space with the never ending tour groups.

The Spectacular Bird's Nest.

One afternoon, returning from another museum we found ourselves in a beautifully groomed park which was full of people. There were some obvious tourists, but the majority were locals who were intensely involved in activities. It seemed that that park was a meeting place for people to practice their hobbies and socialize. There was a terrace for card players and Chinese chess lovers, there was an “exercise station” with different cardio machines (with free access), there were open spaces full of older people practicing Chinese gymnastics (very weird looking set of activities when you swing of arms and hit yourself on different parts of your body), there were others who stood in circles and played hacky-sac with a mysterious device which had feathers and flied like a badminton shuttlecock  (which they were ridiculously good at).  

A woman in a Bejing hutong.

All of this business was very different and terribly exciting, but the most impressive of all activities was opera singing. I know, it is weird to be polishing your arias of Aida in a public park, but that is what they do in Beijing. First, we thought that we did, in fact, stumble upon a group of professional opera singers practicing their singing in the park just for the hell of it, but then we realized that there were many of those groups, each with an accordion player, and some competing with each other (let’s sing our loudest to outsing those around that bench right next us). It was amazing how good some of those singers were, and they were just amateurs, who came to the park to hand out and sing. In fact, if you knew the songs and were willing to sing, you could spend a day doing progressive singing floating from one group to another. We found the group whose singing we liked the most and spent almost two hours sitting on the grass, enjoying their musical vibrations. 

The Great Wall at Badaling.

Another popular activity which we absolutely could not skip in Beijing was hiking around the Great Wall. From the pictures I have seen of the Great Wall I have always pictured it very serene, mysterious and empty. This, naturally, was not what we saw in reality. It was overflowing with tourist groups (the Chinese ones insisting on taking a photos with us every 2 steps), the entrance was almost barricaded with endless shops and kiosks selling horrendous memorabilia, and it was terribly hot under a blazing October sun. In other words, it was a “Historical Disney World”. Nonetheless, we were determined not to get disappointed by any of that. When you go to the Great Wall, you are actually allowed only to a certain closed off part of it which you can march through back and forth all day if you want to. We discovered that one complete walk through, with its gigantic stares taking you up and down and up and down the wavy pattern of the Wall, was enough to tire you out. It is a mystery to me why they built that Wall almost zigzagging and not just straight across the mountains. To me, the straight wall would have been just as good of a protection against the Mongols, who were constantly trying to get that northern chunk of China for themselves. The Mongols eventually got the Chinese anyways, and the Wall just stayed there as an amazing 3000 kilometer monument of human obsession with territorialism.

These are the best street snack!

After the Great Wall and all of the other attractions that we have seen in Beijing we needed some time to digest it, as well as prepare our nest move. We spent the last couple of days buying tickets, packing and reading about our next destination - Hong Kong. An overnight train took us from the Northern Capital (which is the lateral translation of Beijing) to the city of Shenzhen, a border city and another huge Chinese industrial metropolis.