I don't know why time zone differences always hit me the hardest exactly 1 week after I've landed. Right not it's 3 am in Vietnam. I just woke up, wide aware, with no signs to be able to go back to bed for another few hours.
Oh well, let's make the most of it. Sometimes you don't always need inspiration to write... only boredom and 2 beers.
I don't know if this is for everyone, but every day while I walk around, my mind is taking notes. "This would be a nice picture. That would be a cool painting. How could I describe this on paper? That girl's pretty hot. What kind of ninjutsu would I have if I was from Konoha?"
So, hopefully, I'll be able to organise these thoughts into something concrete this very early morning, while listening to the roosters sing.
I wish I had a my camera lens! The locals will start to be active in about one hour. Dernit!
One thing I often fail to mention to people who ask me what I like about living in Vietnam, is that there seems to be something special going on every day, a special moment to notice or an even to witness. For example, a few days after moving in, during a torrential downpour, Henri and I went for some food down the street. All the tiny shops, restaurants and coffee shops seemed to be closed (heavy rain has the same effect as a blizzard in Montréal) but we soon found something that seemed open.
A sign above a big sliding door sported pictures of noodle dishes. We walk in, crossing the tiny river that has formed from the rain water, deep enough to completely submerge our feet. There's a few small plastic tables and stools set up, and in the back of the small room are sitting a group of 5-6 men, going through several dishes and beers while talking. As I'm taking off my poncho, one of the men asks me in English "What do you want?". "I want to eat", I reply. Discussions ensue with the lady who is working there (who seems to a few tic-tocs missing of a full clock, judging from the vacant stare in her eyes) and eventually we're told to sit and wait a few minutes while she cooks us some seafood noodles.
We order a dish of fried rice and a dish of noodles, but only one plate of noodles comes out of the kitchen. Oh well, it's 3 pm anyways, we're lucky to have found something open. A snack will have to do.
As we start to share our meal, the man who can speaka little bit of English starts a conversation with us. My housemate Henri is from Toronto, but a 2nd-generation Vietnamese migrant, so he can talk to him in Vietnamese. We quickly learn that it's one of the men's birthday! Figures, that's why they were having such a feast! They offer that we join them in drinking a few beers. I'm about to say yes when Henri turns to me and whispers "You know if we start this right now, we're not out of here for a few hours, and we'll be completely smashed. Look at the birthday guy..."
I look in the corner of the room. The guy who's birthday it is has just moved to a lawn chair set up by the far wall and is sound asleep.
"Yeah, you're right. I don't have to work today though".
"Me neither, but I don't feel like getting day-drunk".
"Hmmm. I'm trying to cut down on my drinking too".
After this quick exchange, we decline politely. But, just to prove my point, that day was unexpectedly special. We got to cheer for someone's birthday. I also talked with one of the men, a small Vietnamese of white hair who I originally thought was about 90 years old. It was hard to conceal my shock when he told me he was in his 60s.
As I was looking for food this afternoon, we met in the street. He said a big hello, shook my hand, and told me he liked me a lot. "Today, I drink beer" he adds with a smile. I already guessed that sir, from the way your breath killed all the plants on the street.
I'm happy to say that after moving 4 times since arriving in Ho Chi Minh city in March, I seem to have finally found a nice house where I can set my bags down for a while (aiming at 6 months). Okay, I could be somewhere else much cheaper, but my housemates are pretty cool and we have two roof terraces, one of which we have decided to clean up and pimp out.
Today I went up there and checked out the numerous neglected plants. As I was cleaning their pots I found myself worrying about spiders, but all I disturbed was tiny, dark geckos who jumped out of the pot at the first sign of danger.
I love these little guys. I saw one of them in my room when I woke up earlier.
I don't know why, but in every class I've taught to adults so far (not a lot, mind you), for the first few weeks, the students always try to find a flaw in me. I guess it's their right since they're paying customers, but I find it quite annoying and counter-productive. I teach conversational English (harder than it sounds, but easier than grammar for me) but am often interrupted and even challenged in the classroom about the way my sentences are built - either as I'm talking, or on written exercises.
I try time and time again to explain to them that written and spoken language are very different and what you learn in school books is too perfect - that no one talks like that in real life - but I am often met with sceptical looks and a respectful "Okay".
I mean, I've never heard "Furthermore" being used so casually before, and so often. Another example: these kids are drilled relentlessly with grammar and syntax as they grow up. They're walking dictionaries. If you make a spelling mistake on the board (which happens when you confuse English and French, like me) they'll get the classroom all worked up. They'll also ask you what a word means when they know what it means, just to see if your definition matches their dictionary's or Google's.
It's still fun however, and I'd like to think I'm quickly getting the hang of it.
Well folks, that's all my brain can muster at this time of the night with 3 hours of sleep. Have a good one!
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 September 2015
Tuesday, 1 September 2015
Des vacances à la maison et le retour au Vietnam
Alors voilà, c'est déjà mon deuxième jour de retour au Vietnam après 3 ultra courtes semaines de vacances à Montréal.
Ce petit retour au bercail, booké sur un coup de tête quand tout semblait aller mal pour moi à Ho Chi Minh Ville, a fini par se prouver essentiel.
Essentiel pour se reposer. Essentiel pour se ressourcer. Essentiel pour se remettre les idées en place. Essentiel pour s'inspirer.
Essentiel pour ne rien regretter.
Après un gros fuck-up de la part de China Airways qui a faillit me couter 4 jours de retard, je me suis retrouvé à Otterburn Park, dans le coin du Mont Saint-Hilaire, dans la nouvelle maison de mes parents. Il faisait à peu près 20c, avec de la pluie et du vent. Moi et mon père on est allés à l'épicerie... Lui en shorts et t-shirt, moi en jeans, hoodie et jacket, complètement gelé.
Le monde me regardait bizarre au petit café du coin.
Après 2 semaines de cavales sur les nombreux sofas de copains, la dernière soirée, assis dans la cour de mes parents sur le bord d'un petit feu avec quelques amis, à boire de la bonne bière et rire, respirer l'air frais et déguster une poutine, je me suis surprit à me demander "mais est-ce que je m'en retourne pour de vrai moi-là? Est-ce que je suis en train de faire le bon choix?".
Je me le suit demandé encore pendant que je disais mes au-revoirs à mes parents à l'aéroport, ma mère avec un petit air penseur et mon père qui essayait de pas avoir les yeux plein d'eau.
Assis dans le taxi Vietnamien s'éloignant de l'aéroport, l'air climatisé dans le tapis pour ignorer la chaleur accablante, j'étais en train de regarder le décor défiler. C'est pauvre. C'est chaotique. C'est poussiéreux. Je suis seul. C'est loin, si loin. Je me suis encore surprit à me demander "Est-ce que j'ai fait le bon choix? Est-ce que j'aurais du rester au Québec?"
Après avoir ramassé les clefs de ma nouvelle chambre et défait mon sac, je suis allé me promener dans mon nouveau quartier où il ne semble pas avoir grand autres "Westerners". Je me suis senti petit dans mes shorts pendant un gros 4 secondes, jusqu'à ce que je donne un sourire à une ptite madame qui me fixait de dessous son chapeau cônique, et qui m'envoya la main avec un gros sourire plein de manque de dents.
"Ouaip" je me suis dit, "T'as fait le bon choix". J'ai marché 10 minutes le temps de me trouver un banh-mi et de bien suer ma vie, et aussi de me faire rentrer dans le dos par un petit garçon en vélo.
J'étais sur le bord de la rue (les trottoirs, c'est pour les parkings et restos) en train de marcher quand une petite madame a reculé sa moto hors d'une petite porte, directement dans la rue. Comme c'est par leur coutume de regarder avant si quelqu'un pourrait s'y trouver, elle s'en allait clairement me rentrer la moto dans les genoux, alors j'ai fait un petit pas vers la gauche pour l'éviter. C'est à ce moment que le garçon m'a percuté, à quand même pas pire vitesse. C'est pas dans leurs habitudes de prédire ce qui va se passer dans la prochaine seconde non plus, alors il n'a surement jamais pensé que j'allais essayer d'éviter la madame et la moto.
Il m'a rentré dedans par derrière, la roue dans la jambe, le guidon dans le dos et le coude gauche, et lui qui a faillit tomber sur la madame. Si j'ai appris quelque chose à propos du Vietnam, c'est que les accidents c'est tellement commun que se fâcher, c'est que pour les cas ultimes. Je me suis retourné pour voir si la petite madame était ok. Elle semblait sermonner le gamin, qui lui de toute manière avait des écouteurs sur les oreilles, donc il ne l'écoutait pas. Il m'a regardé d'un air effrayé, en train de ramasser son vélo.
Je lui ai envoyé la main et donné un sourire malgré ma douleur (mon coude fait mal encore, mais j'ai vu pire dans mes jours de skateboarding) et j'ai continué ma marche. Il est passé à côté de moi après quelques instants et a insisté pour me dire "Sorry sir", très rare au Vietnam. J'ai fait un air approbateur en hochant la tête.
Le soir je suis allé manger avec mon amie Rose, ancienne collègue de travail qui déteste autant que moi cuisiner. C'était délicieux, comme d'habitudes. De petits plats de cuisine Viet du centre du pays. Ensuite on est allés boire une bière sur le bord de la rivière et Rose s'est mit à me raconter plein d'histoires de fantômes, car Septembre, c'est le mois des fantômes au Vietnam!
Les gens brûlent de l'argent et lançent du riz dans la rue pour les "Hungry ghosts", ceux qui meurent sans cérémonie. Si ils deviennent trop affamés ils deviennent méchant.
J'ai plein d'histoires de fantômes que j'ai hâte de vous raconter, mais c'est pas pour maintenant. J'ai demandé à Rose qu'on aille se prendre un café cette semaine et qu'elle me raconte toooooout et me laisse prendre des notes, mais elle m'a dit que je devais la payer. "Don't worry, I offer competitive prices", qu'elle me dit. Je pense que quelques soupers vont faire l 'affaire, j'aurai qu'à l'enregistrer en secret avec mon app de Voice Memos (truc de mon ami Guillaume).
Aujourd'hui c'est le jour d'indépendance du Vietnam. Ça l'air qu'il va y avoir des feux d'artifices au dessus de la rivière, et énormément de traffic. Je sais pas encore si j'y vais, j'hais les foules.
Bon matin!
Ce petit retour au bercail, booké sur un coup de tête quand tout semblait aller mal pour moi à Ho Chi Minh Ville, a fini par se prouver essentiel.
Essentiel pour se reposer. Essentiel pour se ressourcer. Essentiel pour se remettre les idées en place. Essentiel pour s'inspirer.
Essentiel pour ne rien regretter.
Après un gros fuck-up de la part de China Airways qui a faillit me couter 4 jours de retard, je me suis retrouvé à Otterburn Park, dans le coin du Mont Saint-Hilaire, dans la nouvelle maison de mes parents. Il faisait à peu près 20c, avec de la pluie et du vent. Moi et mon père on est allés à l'épicerie... Lui en shorts et t-shirt, moi en jeans, hoodie et jacket, complètement gelé.
Le monde me regardait bizarre au petit café du coin.
Après 2 semaines de cavales sur les nombreux sofas de copains, la dernière soirée, assis dans la cour de mes parents sur le bord d'un petit feu avec quelques amis, à boire de la bonne bière et rire, respirer l'air frais et déguster une poutine, je me suis surprit à me demander "mais est-ce que je m'en retourne pour de vrai moi-là? Est-ce que je suis en train de faire le bon choix?".
Je me le suit demandé encore pendant que je disais mes au-revoirs à mes parents à l'aéroport, ma mère avec un petit air penseur et mon père qui essayait de pas avoir les yeux plein d'eau.
Assis dans le taxi Vietnamien s'éloignant de l'aéroport, l'air climatisé dans le tapis pour ignorer la chaleur accablante, j'étais en train de regarder le décor défiler. C'est pauvre. C'est chaotique. C'est poussiéreux. Je suis seul. C'est loin, si loin. Je me suis encore surprit à me demander "Est-ce que j'ai fait le bon choix? Est-ce que j'aurais du rester au Québec?"
Après avoir ramassé les clefs de ma nouvelle chambre et défait mon sac, je suis allé me promener dans mon nouveau quartier où il ne semble pas avoir grand autres "Westerners". Je me suis senti petit dans mes shorts pendant un gros 4 secondes, jusqu'à ce que je donne un sourire à une ptite madame qui me fixait de dessous son chapeau cônique, et qui m'envoya la main avec un gros sourire plein de manque de dents.
"Ouaip" je me suis dit, "T'as fait le bon choix". J'ai marché 10 minutes le temps de me trouver un banh-mi et de bien suer ma vie, et aussi de me faire rentrer dans le dos par un petit garçon en vélo.
J'étais sur le bord de la rue (les trottoirs, c'est pour les parkings et restos) en train de marcher quand une petite madame a reculé sa moto hors d'une petite porte, directement dans la rue. Comme c'est par leur coutume de regarder avant si quelqu'un pourrait s'y trouver, elle s'en allait clairement me rentrer la moto dans les genoux, alors j'ai fait un petit pas vers la gauche pour l'éviter. C'est à ce moment que le garçon m'a percuté, à quand même pas pire vitesse. C'est pas dans leurs habitudes de prédire ce qui va se passer dans la prochaine seconde non plus, alors il n'a surement jamais pensé que j'allais essayer d'éviter la madame et la moto.
Il m'a rentré dedans par derrière, la roue dans la jambe, le guidon dans le dos et le coude gauche, et lui qui a faillit tomber sur la madame. Si j'ai appris quelque chose à propos du Vietnam, c'est que les accidents c'est tellement commun que se fâcher, c'est que pour les cas ultimes. Je me suis retourné pour voir si la petite madame était ok. Elle semblait sermonner le gamin, qui lui de toute manière avait des écouteurs sur les oreilles, donc il ne l'écoutait pas. Il m'a regardé d'un air effrayé, en train de ramasser son vélo.
Je lui ai envoyé la main et donné un sourire malgré ma douleur (mon coude fait mal encore, mais j'ai vu pire dans mes jours de skateboarding) et j'ai continué ma marche. Il est passé à côté de moi après quelques instants et a insisté pour me dire "Sorry sir", très rare au Vietnam. J'ai fait un air approbateur en hochant la tête.
Le soir je suis allé manger avec mon amie Rose, ancienne collègue de travail qui déteste autant que moi cuisiner. C'était délicieux, comme d'habitudes. De petits plats de cuisine Viet du centre du pays. Ensuite on est allés boire une bière sur le bord de la rivière et Rose s'est mit à me raconter plein d'histoires de fantômes, car Septembre, c'est le mois des fantômes au Vietnam!
Les gens brûlent de l'argent et lançent du riz dans la rue pour les "Hungry ghosts", ceux qui meurent sans cérémonie. Si ils deviennent trop affamés ils deviennent méchant.
J'ai plein d'histoires de fantômes que j'ai hâte de vous raconter, mais c'est pas pour maintenant. J'ai demandé à Rose qu'on aille se prendre un café cette semaine et qu'elle me raconte toooooout et me laisse prendre des notes, mais elle m'a dit que je devais la payer. "Don't worry, I offer competitive prices", qu'elle me dit. Je pense que quelques soupers vont faire l 'affaire, j'aurai qu'à l'enregistrer en secret avec mon app de Voice Memos (truc de mon ami Guillaume).
Aujourd'hui c'est le jour d'indépendance du Vietnam. Ça l'air qu'il va y avoir des feux d'artifices au dessus de la rivière, et énormément de traffic. Je sais pas encore si j'y vais, j'hais les foules.
Bon matin!
Sunday, 2 August 2015
Delta du Mékong avec l'école
Des fois tu passes une belle journée et même si t'as pas vraiment grand chose à dire, tu veux partager les photos.
Alors voici mon dimanche! Je ne me tanne pas du Vietnam!
Gros content
Petit coin tranquille dans la Pagoda
Gros tranquille
Petit magasin du temple
Thé au miel dans une ferme d'abeilles
Mon boss. Fuck le soleil.
Dans les vues
Dans la vraie vie
Mes amies Viet capotent sur cette photo-là. Je pense que le linge de fermier Viet c'est l'équivalent en sexyness à la chemise de bûcherons!
Après avoir "pêché" du poisson (on était dans un gros trou rectangulaire plein de boue avec de l'eau jusqu'à la hanche et il fallait les attraper avec nos mains), on se fait laver.
Protagoniste
Les poissons qu'ont a attrapés
Et un spécial
Hmm...
Non, le petit pont en bambou n'était pas au dessus de ça
Tourisss
De retour à la ville. C'est fou le contraste juste de l'autre côté de la rivière
Ouf! Pas facile!
Oui, j'enseigne des ninjas coquins
Sunday, 12 July 2015
Le quotidien d'un ex-pat à Ho Chi Minh.
Boooooon!
Ça fait vraiment longtemps que j’ai écrit en français, je suis en train de l’oublier!
C’est drôle
comme mon sac à dos est ma muse. Aucune inspiration depuis plusieurs semaines,
mais là, vu que je vais prendre l’avion dans 1 mois pour aller visiter famille
et amis au Québec, j’ai l’envie d’écrire!
Mais
Étienne, vous demandez-vous surement, quel est ton quotidien à Ho Chi Minh
city? Comment occupes-tu ton temps?
Et bien,
chère petite voix de subconscient, voici comment ça se passe en ce moment.
Le lundi, je
suis réveillé vers les 6am par la bouchère d’en face qui coupe (varge) sur des
gros morceaux de viande sur sa petite table dehors, et ça résonne partout dans
ma chambre. Je m’obstine tout seul dans mon lit. Ensuite, vers les 7h, le
voisin qui fait des réparations commence à frapper du marteau dans mon mur,
alors je me lève tout croche car je me couche trop tard. Je snooze jusqu’à 7h30
et ensuite me gratte le pays-bas en attendant que mon cerveau embraille.
D’habitude
j’ai très mauvaise humeur, alors j’attends quelques minutes avant de voir de
vraies personnes. Je vais sur Facebook un peu.
Ensuite, je
mets mes shorts et ma camisole, je descends en bas mettre mes sandales et vais
voir mon voisin à gauche. La madame a un petit stand à Banh-Mi très
populaire. J’ai que besoin de lever les sourcils et elle me prépare mon
déjeuner pour emporter, qui me coute 50 cennes.
Sa voisine
veut me vendre un café, qui est délicieux mais me fait digérer beaucoup trop
vite alors j’évite son regard et vais voir mon voisin de droite. Son café est
50 cennes de plus mais je suis capable de le garder en dedans de moi.
Je retourne
dans ma chambre et consomme le tout en révisant mes maigres préparations pour
mon cours à 9h, tout en écoutant de la musique pour me réveiller.
8h30, je
suis habillé, cravaté, souriant. Je sors ma moto, dit salut au garde de
sécurité voisin, et me dirige vers mon centre d’anglais. J’arrête à un petit
magasin de photocopies sur le chemin où j’imprime mes notes et jeux pour la
journée. Duc, le jeune homme, me charge beaucoup moins que sa mère, qui je
soupçonne prend avantage de moi parce que je suis blanc. Duc me charge 500
Dongs la page (2.5 cennes) mais la mère me charge 1000!
J’arrive
dans mon cours du matin et enseigne le ‘’Conversational English’ pour 90
minutes à de jeunes adultes. Généralement il y a un gars pour 5-6 filles. Je
dois continuellement les pousser à parler, les sortir de leur gêne et faire le
clown pour les garder réveillés ou hors de leur cellulaire.
Après ça,
de 10h30 à 5h30 je suis libre. Généralement je vais manger tout de suite après
mon cours, ensuite joue un peu à des jeux d’ordinateur, fait ma routine d’exercices
dans ma chambre (environs 1 heure, pas de ventilateur, la chambre monte à 30-35
degrés C) et prépare mes cours du soir. Ça peut facilement changer : des
fois j’ai des cours de Vietnamien, ou je fais une sieste, ou je dois m’occuper
de trucs comme chercher une prochaine chambre à louer ou préparer mon prochain
visa de travaille.
Le soir, je
fini à 9h, je suis épuisé car 3 heures de clown c’est plus dur qu’on pense. J’arrête
manger quelque part, ensuite je joue à un jeu, regarde un film ou vais
rejoindre mon amie Zin (prononcer Zine) pour un drink, ou vais rencontrer des
filles trouvées sur Tinder. Généralement on jase autour d’un thé ou en
marchant, rien de sérieux. C’est surtout une excuse pour rencontrer des gens, trouver de nouveaux étudiants et
sortir de ma chambre.
Mardi!
Techniquement, journée de congé, mais j’ai un étudiant privé qui vient chez moi
à 10h pour apprendre le Québécois. Oui oui, pas le français, le fleur-de-lys!
Il veut aller étudier à Montréal dans 1-2 ans et veut apprendre notre accent.
Il adore dire ‘’Ouin’’ pi ‘’Tabarnak’’. Il apprend vite.
Ensuite d’habitude
je vais boire un smoothie au coin et parle avec la jeune maman célibataire de 19 ans qui
veut aller étudier aux États-Unis, puis retourne dans ma chambre pour jouer à
un jeu jusqu’au diner.
Après le diner je vais au café du coin, surpeuplé de
Coréens qui étudient le Vietnamien à une université tout proche, pour écrire et
réfléchir.
Ensuite, entrainement en sueur dans ma chambre et je prépare mes
cours pour le lendemain. Des fois j’ai des cours de Viet, ou je vais au cinéma
ou au marché ou fait une très longue sieste.
Pour
Mercredi et Vendredi, répéter Lundi. Pour Jeudi, répéter Mardi. Grosse vie
sale!
Le Samedi,
mon étudiant repasse, ensuite des fois je dois remplacer un prof ou aller en
mini-voyage avec le centre, et si je suis libre je vais enseigner à une famille
pendant 2 heures en fin d'après-midi. Ils sont super gentils et le gars cultive les bonzaïs que j’adore.
Le samedi je me force un peu plus pour sortir habituellement, mais comme j’ai
pas beaucoup d’amis et j’ai peur de tomber sur mon ex qui est complètement
folle, c’est très facile pour moi de rester dans ma chambre.
Le dimanche
habituellement j’ai rien de prévu. Des fois je vais manger avec mes étudiants
ou me promène en moto avec Zin ou vais lire et écrire au café.
En ce
moment, je suis à ledit café. ‘’Stopcafé’’. Je regarde les Coréens entrer et
sortir, au son des klaxons de la rue avoisinante. Un gardien de sécurité corde
les motos des clients. Une grosse averse vient de se terminer, donc c’est un
peu sombre dehors et moins chaud. J’ai fini mon mocha à $1.50 et pense m’en
commander un autre. Il est 1pm et je suis content d’avoir finalement écrit en
français.
En même temps qu'écrire et espionner les belles asiatiques, je suis en
train de planifier mon voyage de 2016 avec un ami.
Demain, je vais au marché
pour acheter des petits souvenirs pour la famille et préparer mon visa après
avoir révisé les verbes avec mon étudiant (Il a choisi Nic comme nom Québécois,
j’espère que vous allez bien l’accueillir).
Allez, on
se voit dans pas long! Soulez-moi pas trop fort s.v.p., j’ai bu 'yink' 3 bières depuis
la Saint-Jean, je suis dédié à avoir un corps sain (et la bière goûte pas très bon icitte).
BYE! M’en
va jouer à Civilization V. Je suis en train de clancher avec Washington.
Sunday, 8 March 2015
An afternoon in a temple with a bar girl
I am having a very humbling day here in Nha Trang, as I write these lines in a little notebook at a small temple on top of a hill overlooking the city. Tin and her cousins are taking me out for a meal and a prayer. I feel under dressed in my swimsuit (it's laundry day).
I met Tin last night while going home. She is a flyer girl / waitress in a bar in town. She handed me a flyer but I told her that I was going to bed. She asked me why, am I on a holiday after all? I told her I'm trying to get used to getting up early, because I am a teacher. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes getting bigger. "Can you help me? Lesson?" I answered "Sure, tomorrow, 10 am, I give you a lesson, you buy me a coffee". With a huge smile she shakes my hand and says, yes, thank you, see you tomorrow!
Today. Tin tells me she hopes to have a boyfriend either from Canada, Holland, Germany or Poland because men from these countries are always nice (Nha Trang is over-run by Russians, last night one man asked if he could buy her a beer and fuck her, she slapped him, he slapped her back and was kicked out of the bar). Vietnamese boyfriends drink everyday, she tells me, and hit their girlfriends when they're drunk, like it happened to her cousin who is with us. She is pretty, with a smoking body and delicate manners. I notice for the first time, what I mistook for a small birthmark under her right eye, is in fact a bruise concealed by make-up.
Tin is praying right now, on her knees, forehead resting on the back of her hands, on the floor. She is praying to a lady Buddha, perched on a lotus, on top of a globe, itself towering over a shrine and steps.
It is very quiet here, compared to the buzzing city centre. Little dogs are sleeping everywhere and cripples wait patiently for a hand out. An old woman with tiny legs, sitting on the ground, looks at me and says "Money" while holding in her hands small bills. I thank her and pretend to take the money, everyone laughs. I am left alone after that. A monk in brown robes, wearing glasses, is copying a text from a small book onto cardboard while serving people who want to buy water, fruit, incense. The smell of incense fills the air.
The small temple has no roof. It is built on top of a conic tower, you drive in circles around it to get to the top. There are small shrines at every cardinal points of the platform.
The monk is preparing for a ceremony, setting a pillow at the foot of the stairs. he also sets a small table and boxes of beer that appear very light, full of little holes.
He kneels on the pillow, in front of the statue where Tin was praying earlier, prepares his microphone, puts on his reading glasses.
A Lasapso, absolutely dirty, scratches himself on the shrine's steps, not too far away.
The monk rings a bell a few times and starts his prayer. Women kneel behind him for prayer.
At a certain point, he hits the bell 3 times and everyone bows to the ground, before he starts chanting.
Tin tells me she comes here to pray every day. I ask her what she prays for. As I thought, she is praying for a boyfriend, for a good man to come to her. She said she also prayed for me, that I will find work in Saigon and meet a beautiful woman.
Many people just arrived, probably from work, on their lunch break. The monk is still chanting.
Minutes later, a lot of the people who gave water bottles as offerings - set at the foot of the statue on a golden altar with rising golden dragons - are taking them back and drinking from them. I ask Tin why they take the water back. She takes her own water bottle and tells me "I tell the Buddha, I will drink this whole bottle of water that I gave you, to show you my devotion. When I finish it, please reward me with a good man".
The monk now dips a big yellow flower in a bowl of water, delicately, to then bless whatever is in the boxes of beer in front of him.
Tin is next to me, speaking with her cousin. She is crying. When they are done, I ask her why she is crying. She is crying but she is strong, she tells me. She meets lots of men at the bar, but none are nice to her. She had a westerner boyfriend, but she left him when he started convincing her that it was okay for him to sleep with other women. She had a Vietnamese boyfriend as well, but he was treating her like property. Another Vietnamese man proposed to her, for she is always smiling and he wants a happy wife. He gave her 10 million Dongs so she could buy pretty clothes. In the end, she turned him down, because he was 50, the same age as her father.
The other bar girls tell her she is stupid, because she will not fuck men for money. An American offered 5 million Dongs for her "just to come to his hotel room and sleep in his bed, nothing else". She did not take the offer. Most bar girls make 2 million Dongs a month. She doesn't care about money, she wants love, from a good man.
As we talk, I miss the opening of the beer boxes. The monk let out the blessed birds within. When this was done, he came barefeet to sit at our ceramic table and speak with the girls. His eyes are surrounded by smiling lines, his eyes appear completely honest. He smiles a lot. I think he is giving them advice. He looks at me often and I think he is asking questions about me.
After that, everyone went for a nap, while I retreated to my hotel room to plan the next few days. The day after, I would take Tin to the Ba Ho waterfalls where we would play a little bit in the cascades, watch a group of Vietnamese people drink beer and play music, and clandestinely look at a couple in their forties, cuddling in a pool of water, kissing. This is not a scene you see often, as people are very reserved here.
That night, Tin tells me I am a very good man, because I did not ask her for boom boom and offered to give her lessons instead. She tells me that I should stay in Nha Trang, that she will cook for me every day. She asks if I want kids. Jokingly, I say, I want 10. She answers, I will give you 20. I will start with a baby boy.
I tell her, you don't know me. I've made a few girls sad in my life, she should not give herself to me so easily. I am going to Saigon to work, and I might never come back to Nha Trang.
"I wait for you. 10 years. You will be 40, I will be 33. Then I give you a baby boy, and I cook for you"
"Don't wait for me. Live your life."
"Okay. Thank you for being honest."
If you take the time to get to know people, if you give your time to them, you are often rewarded with smiles and good memories. My stay in Nha Trang was no exception. Sometimes though, you get to be hit in the face full-force by the reality of their lives.
Keep your head up, Tin. Good things will come to you.
I met Tin last night while going home. She is a flyer girl / waitress in a bar in town. She handed me a flyer but I told her that I was going to bed. She asked me why, am I on a holiday after all? I told her I'm trying to get used to getting up early, because I am a teacher. She grabbed my wrist, her eyes getting bigger. "Can you help me? Lesson?" I answered "Sure, tomorrow, 10 am, I give you a lesson, you buy me a coffee". With a huge smile she shakes my hand and says, yes, thank you, see you tomorrow!
Today. Tin tells me she hopes to have a boyfriend either from Canada, Holland, Germany or Poland because men from these countries are always nice (Nha Trang is over-run by Russians, last night one man asked if he could buy her a beer and fuck her, she slapped him, he slapped her back and was kicked out of the bar). Vietnamese boyfriends drink everyday, she tells me, and hit their girlfriends when they're drunk, like it happened to her cousin who is with us. She is pretty, with a smoking body and delicate manners. I notice for the first time, what I mistook for a small birthmark under her right eye, is in fact a bruise concealed by make-up.
Tin is praying right now, on her knees, forehead resting on the back of her hands, on the floor. She is praying to a lady Buddha, perched on a lotus, on top of a globe, itself towering over a shrine and steps.
It is very quiet here, compared to the buzzing city centre. Little dogs are sleeping everywhere and cripples wait patiently for a hand out. An old woman with tiny legs, sitting on the ground, looks at me and says "Money" while holding in her hands small bills. I thank her and pretend to take the money, everyone laughs. I am left alone after that. A monk in brown robes, wearing glasses, is copying a text from a small book onto cardboard while serving people who want to buy water, fruit, incense. The smell of incense fills the air.
The small temple has no roof. It is built on top of a conic tower, you drive in circles around it to get to the top. There are small shrines at every cardinal points of the platform.
The monk is preparing for a ceremony, setting a pillow at the foot of the stairs. he also sets a small table and boxes of beer that appear very light, full of little holes.
He kneels on the pillow, in front of the statue where Tin was praying earlier, prepares his microphone, puts on his reading glasses.
A Lasapso, absolutely dirty, scratches himself on the shrine's steps, not too far away.
The monk rings a bell a few times and starts his prayer. Women kneel behind him for prayer.
At a certain point, he hits the bell 3 times and everyone bows to the ground, before he starts chanting.
Tin tells me she comes here to pray every day. I ask her what she prays for. As I thought, she is praying for a boyfriend, for a good man to come to her. She said she also prayed for me, that I will find work in Saigon and meet a beautiful woman.
Many people just arrived, probably from work, on their lunch break. The monk is still chanting.
Minutes later, a lot of the people who gave water bottles as offerings - set at the foot of the statue on a golden altar with rising golden dragons - are taking them back and drinking from them. I ask Tin why they take the water back. She takes her own water bottle and tells me "I tell the Buddha, I will drink this whole bottle of water that I gave you, to show you my devotion. When I finish it, please reward me with a good man".
The monk now dips a big yellow flower in a bowl of water, delicately, to then bless whatever is in the boxes of beer in front of him.
Tin is next to me, speaking with her cousin. She is crying. When they are done, I ask her why she is crying. She is crying but she is strong, she tells me. She meets lots of men at the bar, but none are nice to her. She had a westerner boyfriend, but she left him when he started convincing her that it was okay for him to sleep with other women. She had a Vietnamese boyfriend as well, but he was treating her like property. Another Vietnamese man proposed to her, for she is always smiling and he wants a happy wife. He gave her 10 million Dongs so she could buy pretty clothes. In the end, she turned him down, because he was 50, the same age as her father.
The other bar girls tell her she is stupid, because she will not fuck men for money. An American offered 5 million Dongs for her "just to come to his hotel room and sleep in his bed, nothing else". She did not take the offer. Most bar girls make 2 million Dongs a month. She doesn't care about money, she wants love, from a good man.
As we talk, I miss the opening of the beer boxes. The monk let out the blessed birds within. When this was done, he came barefeet to sit at our ceramic table and speak with the girls. His eyes are surrounded by smiling lines, his eyes appear completely honest. He smiles a lot. I think he is giving them advice. He looks at me often and I think he is asking questions about me.
After that, everyone went for a nap, while I retreated to my hotel room to plan the next few days. The day after, I would take Tin to the Ba Ho waterfalls where we would play a little bit in the cascades, watch a group of Vietnamese people drink beer and play music, and clandestinely look at a couple in their forties, cuddling in a pool of water, kissing. This is not a scene you see often, as people are very reserved here.
That night, Tin tells me I am a very good man, because I did not ask her for boom boom and offered to give her lessons instead. She tells me that I should stay in Nha Trang, that she will cook for me every day. She asks if I want kids. Jokingly, I say, I want 10. She answers, I will give you 20. I will start with a baby boy.
I tell her, you don't know me. I've made a few girls sad in my life, she should not give herself to me so easily. I am going to Saigon to work, and I might never come back to Nha Trang.
"I wait for you. 10 years. You will be 40, I will be 33. Then I give you a baby boy, and I cook for you"
"Don't wait for me. Live your life."
"Okay. Thank you for being honest."
If you take the time to get to know people, if you give your time to them, you are often rewarded with smiles and good memories. My stay in Nha Trang was no exception. Sometimes though, you get to be hit in the face full-force by the reality of their lives.
Keep your head up, Tin. Good things will come to you.
Wednesday, 4 March 2015
Un peu d'aventure, enfin
Je suis assis dans ma chambre sans fenêtre dans un petit hotel à Nha Trang, No Use For A Name dans les oreilles. La table est trop petite et croche, ça me fait mal au dos. Il fait chaud, mais tout va bien.
Ma route de Quang Ngai à Quy Nhon a été très satisfaisante. Pas les premières 4 heures, à dépasser des 18 roues avec 6 pouces d'espace entre les roues à ma gauche et la garnotte à ma droite. Pas quand l'autoroute A1 est en construction et c'est plein d'énorme trous que les autobus essayent d'éviter sans crier gare ou que (les trous) massacrent ma belle Lucie. Mais c'est que, à Xa Cat Hanh j'ai décidé de virer vers l'est pour aller explorer un peu, relaxer, voir du pays. C'est vers la côte. J'avais vu qu'une "grande" route était marquée sur Google Maps. Grâce à mon cellulaire et les internets, j'ai pas manqué le virage (une petite route à une voie en ciment).
Dès que j'ai fait ce virage je me suis senti immédiatement récompensé. De toutes petites maisons jonchaient chaque bord de la route. Des fois, des maisons à 3-4 étages qui abritent un petit café ou un karaoké. Des enfants jouent avec rien ou bien se promène en moto sur les genoux du grand-papa, énorme sourire aux lèvres. Les chiens semblent plus heureux ici, aussi.
Je ne sais pas si c'est parce qu'ils ont moins de voyageurs qui passent par là mais personne ne me remarquait et m'envoyait la main. D'habitude je suis "spotté" à 1 mile, avec ma vieille moto et ma carrure d'étranger.
Je regarde l'heure: 2pm. J'ai le temps. Il me reste 100km à franchir et il commence à faire noir vers 6pm. Je ralentis. Subitement, les maisons disparaissent pour des mètres et je suis frappé par la beauté du paysage qu'elles cachaient. À ma gauche, des champs de riz à n'en plus finir. Vert, si vert. Des fois, des sacs de plastiques accrochés après des bouts de bois sont arrangés pour ressembler à des humains. Leurs épouvantails! Couvert d'un chapeau conique, c'est très convainquant.
À ma droite, des champs de riz aussi, mais à environs 1 km des petites montagnes cernent le village. C'est tellement beau! Je ne suis pas capable de m'en empêcher, je débarque et me lance en mode photo. Cette fois-ci, les gens m'envoient la main.
La route devient de plus en plus petite, des fois ce n'est qu'un chemin de sable. De tout petits enfants se promènent. Je roule lentement. J'ai une pensée pour Don Det, mon coin de paradis au Laos.
Arrivé au bout d'un village j'aboutit devant un énorme champ de riz traversé au parfait milieu par une petite route. J'ai l'impression que je suis Moïse séparant l'eau. À ma gauche, des maisons au loin, et après, je m'imagine la mer. L'Océan avec un grand O. À droite, les charmantes petites montagnes. Je crois qu'il y a eu une récolte il n'y a pas si longtemps: au loin, des femmes sont affairées à refaire les terrains en carré pour planter le riz, les chevilles dans la boue. Je m'arrête juste avant les champs, devant la dernière maison, pour apprécier la vue (et prendre des photos). À ma droite, 1 homme est en train de réparer un tracteur sous l'ombre d'une toile en plastique. 2 autres hommes le regardent faire, sans un mot, en buvant du thé.
"Hey! You!"
Je me retourne. Un jeune homme et 4 filles me disent d'approcher à la façon Viet (lève ton bras bien haut comme pour pauser une question à l'école et fait des allos juste avec la main et le poignet, de haut en bas). Je rigole et vais les voir.
Surprise, on ne se comprend pas. Tout le monde rigole nerveusement. Une fille est affairée à faire un nouveau filet, ou un nouveau hamac. On m'offre de l'eau froide. Avec Google Translate sur mon téléphone, ils arrivent à me poser les questions habituelles. Je devrais juste avoir une petite carte à distribuer en Viet, c'est toujours les mêmes, dans le même ordre. I'm from Canada. I am not married. I am 30 years old. Yes, I love Vietnam. No thank you, no alcohol, I have a long way to drive still.
Un des hommes qui ne faisait rien de l'autre côté du chemin se lève lentement, traverse la rue et me pointe. Ensuite, il pointe la fille affairée au filet. Ensuite il me donne un Thumbs Up et un air accomplit. Et voilà, je me suis trouvé une femme! Tout le monde s'esclaffe. Je décline poliment.
Après quelques minutes je continue ma route enchanteresse. Après environs 30 minutes, le paysage change. Ça devient plus rocailleux. Des petites collines et de gros éclats de boulets partout, comme si un géant avait apprit que sa blonde le trompait, et avait frappé à grand coups de poings dans la planète pour se défouler.
Dans la gravelle. Je déteste conduire dans la gravelle. J'arrive devant une autre scène qui me force à descendre et m'arrêter. Jonché sur le flanc de la colline, un cimetière, un gros. Une famille est assise à l'ombre d'une des tombes (on dirait un sarcophage en céramique). Je ne sais pas si ils sont venus prier ou s'occuper des vaches qui broutent partout depuis que les champs de riz sont disparus. On m'invite encore à me joindre à eux. J'oblige.
Les petites madames m'adorent. Tout le monde rit. Les enfants rigolent. Un vieil homme tout bronzé avec quelques dents manquantes me part une jasette semi en Viet, semi en riant, et finalement pointe vers une fille qui à l'air beaucoup trop jeune. "You!" Et encore, thumbs up. Tout le monde se crampe de rire. La fille sourit mais recule. Elle a peur! C'est qui l'étranger qui se magasine une dulcinée dans un cimetière!
Je prends quelques photos et répond à leurs questions (Canada, pas marié, 30 ans) et reprend la route. Route qui maintenant longe l'océan. C'est majestueux. Je suis tellement content d'avoir prit ce détour!
J'arrive à Quy Nhon juste à la tombée de la nuit. Je trouve un petit hotel pas cher, mange une Phö, vais me promener sur le bord de la mer, et reste immobile devant une géante discothèque pendant quelques minutes (J'y vais-tu? Tout seul? Pourquoi pas? Che pas, c'est plate... Bah, tu sais que les Viets vont venir te voir pour jaser! Mais je vais surement finir par dépenser trop d'argent... Et pi je veux juste y aller pour rencontrer des filles et toutes manières c'est même pas un bec sur la joue avant une relation sérieuse... Mais c'est pas en restant dans ta chambre que tu vas en rencontrer! Ah pi merde, je suis pas ici pour rencontrer des filles. Ouin, va donc faire des push ups...) avant de retourner dans ma chambre écouter des films et essayer de mémoriser tout ce que j'ai vu aujourd'hui... Et faire des push ups.
Voici les photos, dites-moi si mes descriptions ont créé la bonne image dans votre imagination!
Ma route de Quang Ngai à Quy Nhon a été très satisfaisante. Pas les premières 4 heures, à dépasser des 18 roues avec 6 pouces d'espace entre les roues à ma gauche et la garnotte à ma droite. Pas quand l'autoroute A1 est en construction et c'est plein d'énorme trous que les autobus essayent d'éviter sans crier gare ou que (les trous) massacrent ma belle Lucie. Mais c'est que, à Xa Cat Hanh j'ai décidé de virer vers l'est pour aller explorer un peu, relaxer, voir du pays. C'est vers la côte. J'avais vu qu'une "grande" route était marquée sur Google Maps. Grâce à mon cellulaire et les internets, j'ai pas manqué le virage (une petite route à une voie en ciment).
Dès que j'ai fait ce virage je me suis senti immédiatement récompensé. De toutes petites maisons jonchaient chaque bord de la route. Des fois, des maisons à 3-4 étages qui abritent un petit café ou un karaoké. Des enfants jouent avec rien ou bien se promène en moto sur les genoux du grand-papa, énorme sourire aux lèvres. Les chiens semblent plus heureux ici, aussi.
Je ne sais pas si c'est parce qu'ils ont moins de voyageurs qui passent par là mais personne ne me remarquait et m'envoyait la main. D'habitude je suis "spotté" à 1 mile, avec ma vieille moto et ma carrure d'étranger.
Je regarde l'heure: 2pm. J'ai le temps. Il me reste 100km à franchir et il commence à faire noir vers 6pm. Je ralentis. Subitement, les maisons disparaissent pour des mètres et je suis frappé par la beauté du paysage qu'elles cachaient. À ma gauche, des champs de riz à n'en plus finir. Vert, si vert. Des fois, des sacs de plastiques accrochés après des bouts de bois sont arrangés pour ressembler à des humains. Leurs épouvantails! Couvert d'un chapeau conique, c'est très convainquant.
À ma droite, des champs de riz aussi, mais à environs 1 km des petites montagnes cernent le village. C'est tellement beau! Je ne suis pas capable de m'en empêcher, je débarque et me lance en mode photo. Cette fois-ci, les gens m'envoient la main.
La route devient de plus en plus petite, des fois ce n'est qu'un chemin de sable. De tout petits enfants se promènent. Je roule lentement. J'ai une pensée pour Don Det, mon coin de paradis au Laos.
Arrivé au bout d'un village j'aboutit devant un énorme champ de riz traversé au parfait milieu par une petite route. J'ai l'impression que je suis Moïse séparant l'eau. À ma gauche, des maisons au loin, et après, je m'imagine la mer. L'Océan avec un grand O. À droite, les charmantes petites montagnes. Je crois qu'il y a eu une récolte il n'y a pas si longtemps: au loin, des femmes sont affairées à refaire les terrains en carré pour planter le riz, les chevilles dans la boue. Je m'arrête juste avant les champs, devant la dernière maison, pour apprécier la vue (et prendre des photos). À ma droite, 1 homme est en train de réparer un tracteur sous l'ombre d'une toile en plastique. 2 autres hommes le regardent faire, sans un mot, en buvant du thé.
"Hey! You!"
Je me retourne. Un jeune homme et 4 filles me disent d'approcher à la façon Viet (lève ton bras bien haut comme pour pauser une question à l'école et fait des allos juste avec la main et le poignet, de haut en bas). Je rigole et vais les voir.
Surprise, on ne se comprend pas. Tout le monde rigole nerveusement. Une fille est affairée à faire un nouveau filet, ou un nouveau hamac. On m'offre de l'eau froide. Avec Google Translate sur mon téléphone, ils arrivent à me poser les questions habituelles. Je devrais juste avoir une petite carte à distribuer en Viet, c'est toujours les mêmes, dans le même ordre. I'm from Canada. I am not married. I am 30 years old. Yes, I love Vietnam. No thank you, no alcohol, I have a long way to drive still.
Un des hommes qui ne faisait rien de l'autre côté du chemin se lève lentement, traverse la rue et me pointe. Ensuite, il pointe la fille affairée au filet. Ensuite il me donne un Thumbs Up et un air accomplit. Et voilà, je me suis trouvé une femme! Tout le monde s'esclaffe. Je décline poliment.
Après quelques minutes je continue ma route enchanteresse. Après environs 30 minutes, le paysage change. Ça devient plus rocailleux. Des petites collines et de gros éclats de boulets partout, comme si un géant avait apprit que sa blonde le trompait, et avait frappé à grand coups de poings dans la planète pour se défouler.
Dans la gravelle. Je déteste conduire dans la gravelle. J'arrive devant une autre scène qui me force à descendre et m'arrêter. Jonché sur le flanc de la colline, un cimetière, un gros. Une famille est assise à l'ombre d'une des tombes (on dirait un sarcophage en céramique). Je ne sais pas si ils sont venus prier ou s'occuper des vaches qui broutent partout depuis que les champs de riz sont disparus. On m'invite encore à me joindre à eux. J'oblige.
Les petites madames m'adorent. Tout le monde rit. Les enfants rigolent. Un vieil homme tout bronzé avec quelques dents manquantes me part une jasette semi en Viet, semi en riant, et finalement pointe vers une fille qui à l'air beaucoup trop jeune. "You!" Et encore, thumbs up. Tout le monde se crampe de rire. La fille sourit mais recule. Elle a peur! C'est qui l'étranger qui se magasine une dulcinée dans un cimetière!
Je prends quelques photos et répond à leurs questions (Canada, pas marié, 30 ans) et reprend la route. Route qui maintenant longe l'océan. C'est majestueux. Je suis tellement content d'avoir prit ce détour!
J'arrive à Quy Nhon juste à la tombée de la nuit. Je trouve un petit hotel pas cher, mange une Phö, vais me promener sur le bord de la mer, et reste immobile devant une géante discothèque pendant quelques minutes (J'y vais-tu? Tout seul? Pourquoi pas? Che pas, c'est plate... Bah, tu sais que les Viets vont venir te voir pour jaser! Mais je vais surement finir par dépenser trop d'argent... Et pi je veux juste y aller pour rencontrer des filles et toutes manières c'est même pas un bec sur la joue avant une relation sérieuse... Mais c'est pas en restant dans ta chambre que tu vas en rencontrer! Ah pi merde, je suis pas ici pour rencontrer des filles. Ouin, va donc faire des push ups...) avant de retourner dans ma chambre écouter des films et essayer de mémoriser tout ce que j'ai vu aujourd'hui... Et faire des push ups.
Voici les photos, dites-moi si mes descriptions ont créé la bonne image dans votre imagination!
(Cliquez pour agrandir l'image)
Première journée, de Da Nang à Quang Ngai en shorts. Pas l'idée du siècle!
Lucie et moi, jour 2!
Mon repas 3 fois par jour quand je suis sur la route.
Chaque ville a sa variation, alors on ne s'en fatigue pas
Enfin hors de l'autoroute A1
Traveller porn
Irrigations?
Pendant ma pause-Phö, le lendemain.
Petit bonhomme n'avait pas d'eau, je lui ai ammené le bol.
Un nouvel ami!
Le jour suivant, entre Quang Ngai et Quy Nhon
Scène classique
Hier j'ai rencontré une jeune Viet qui voulait pratique son anglais.
Aujourd'hui elle m'a amené à son temple.
Petit chien qui se cache du soleil.
Encole plus de cadeaux! Voici mon youtube channel avec quelques vidéos de ma journée: Clique icitte
Y'en a 4, visite mon channel pour voir le reste!
Petit truc, baissez votre son, y'a beaucoup de vent!
Wednesday, 25 February 2015
Danang
Danang, la ville où j'ai passé le plus de temps au Vietnam. C'est au centre du pays, sur le bord de la mer. La ville est divisée en deux. Sur le bord de la mer, ce sont de gros hotels entourés de restaurants pas de murs, il y a juste un toît et plein de petites chaises et tables en plastique. Partout sur le bord du trottoir, de gros bacs plein d'eau pour garder la bouffe de mer fraiche. Des crevettes, des escargots, du poisson.
Ensuite il ya de petits hotels si mince qu'il y a seulement une seule chambre par étage, sur 7 étages. Des fois il n'y a rien autour et on se demande comment ça tient. Ajoutez de petits restos de Pho installés sous une toile orange et quelques palmiers, et vous avez Danang sur le côté de la mer.
Il parait que 5 ans passé, il n'y avait absolument rien, seulement de petites maisons et c'était encore très "old-school". SI vous regardez bien la nuit, vous remarquerez que presque tout les hotels sont complètement vides.
En s'éloignant de la mer on croise une rivière qui sépare la ville en deux. Il y a 5-6 ponts pour traverser, tous uniques. Mon préféré, le Dragon Bridge, est un pont dont la structure est construite comme un dragon jaune qui zig-zag de haut en bas tout le long du pont. C'est super beau! La nuit, il change de couleur, de jaune à vert à bleu, et des lumières blanches descendent du sommet de son dos, comme le reflet d'écailles. Samedi à 9pm, plein de gens se rassemblent pour voir le dragon cracher du feu. C'est plein de familles et de vendeurs de ballons flottants, des copies de Spider-Man, de Gangnam style, de Angry Birds. Le plus drôle, c'est qu'après avoir craché du feu, le dragon crache de l'eau... BEAUCOUP d'eau. C'est hilarant voir tout les gens se sauver comme si Godzilla attaquait, pour pas être mouillés.
De l'autre côté de la rivière, la ville me fait penser un peu à l'Avenue Mont-Royal. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, plein de petits cafés remplis de petits viets qui jasent et jouent aux cartes. Y'a pas trop de grands buildings, sauf sur le bord de la rivière où il y a quelques hotels de plus et des restos à saveur de voyageur et où on paye 50$ pour un repas au lieu de 2$.
J'aime pas trop mme promener pendant l'heure de pointe (imaginez 5 scooters par auto normalement, c'est tassé, c'est tout croche, ça klaxonne) mais c'est là qu'on voit ma scène préférée: les grands-papas qui ramènent les petits de l'école. Imaginez, sur une petite moto, un Vietnamien agé, la cigarette aux lèvres. Il porte son habit du dimanche. Il s'est surement battu contre les Américains. Assis devant lui sur le banc, les petites mains sur le guidon, le visage insouciant, un enfant de 5 ans te regarde, les yeux tout grands. Woa! Un blanc!
Le soir, les cafés sont remplis d'étudiants au lieu d'hommes retraités. En passant devant les bars on peut les entendre crier MOT HAI BA YO! (1-2-3-GO!), leur version de "Santé", alors qu'ils se donnent en compétition, qui peut boire le plus de bières. C'est pas rare voir 2 gars transporter leur ami complètement torché.
Je vais m'ennuyer de cette ville, où il fait bon vivre et personne ne t'achale pour acheter leur cossins fait en papier.
Ensuite il ya de petits hotels si mince qu'il y a seulement une seule chambre par étage, sur 7 étages. Des fois il n'y a rien autour et on se demande comment ça tient. Ajoutez de petits restos de Pho installés sous une toile orange et quelques palmiers, et vous avez Danang sur le côté de la mer.
Il parait que 5 ans passé, il n'y avait absolument rien, seulement de petites maisons et c'était encore très "old-school". SI vous regardez bien la nuit, vous remarquerez que presque tout les hotels sont complètement vides.
En s'éloignant de la mer on croise une rivière qui sépare la ville en deux. Il y a 5-6 ponts pour traverser, tous uniques. Mon préféré, le Dragon Bridge, est un pont dont la structure est construite comme un dragon jaune qui zig-zag de haut en bas tout le long du pont. C'est super beau! La nuit, il change de couleur, de jaune à vert à bleu, et des lumières blanches descendent du sommet de son dos, comme le reflet d'écailles. Samedi à 9pm, plein de gens se rassemblent pour voir le dragon cracher du feu. C'est plein de familles et de vendeurs de ballons flottants, des copies de Spider-Man, de Gangnam style, de Angry Birds. Le plus drôle, c'est qu'après avoir craché du feu, le dragon crache de l'eau... BEAUCOUP d'eau. C'est hilarant voir tout les gens se sauver comme si Godzilla attaquait, pour pas être mouillés.
De l'autre côté de la rivière, la ville me fait penser un peu à l'Avenue Mont-Royal. Il y a beaucoup d'arbres, plein de petits cafés remplis de petits viets qui jasent et jouent aux cartes. Y'a pas trop de grands buildings, sauf sur le bord de la rivière où il y a quelques hotels de plus et des restos à saveur de voyageur et où on paye 50$ pour un repas au lieu de 2$.
J'aime pas trop mme promener pendant l'heure de pointe (imaginez 5 scooters par auto normalement, c'est tassé, c'est tout croche, ça klaxonne) mais c'est là qu'on voit ma scène préférée: les grands-papas qui ramènent les petits de l'école. Imaginez, sur une petite moto, un Vietnamien agé, la cigarette aux lèvres. Il porte son habit du dimanche. Il s'est surement battu contre les Américains. Assis devant lui sur le banc, les petites mains sur le guidon, le visage insouciant, un enfant de 5 ans te regarde, les yeux tout grands. Woa! Un blanc!
Le soir, les cafés sont remplis d'étudiants au lieu d'hommes retraités. En passant devant les bars on peut les entendre crier MOT HAI BA YO! (1-2-3-GO!), leur version de "Santé", alors qu'ils se donnent en compétition, qui peut boire le plus de bières. C'est pas rare voir 2 gars transporter leur ami complètement torché.
Je vais m'ennuyer de cette ville, où il fait bon vivre et personne ne t'achale pour acheter leur cossins fait en papier.
Tuesday, 23 December 2014
Travellers
So, my dear folks, here's the moment you've been waiting for.
Because let's face it, everyone loves a good trash-talkin'. Some shit-talkin'. Some dirt-layin' sonovagun who can tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!
It's not that bad, of course. If it was horrible, no one would travel and your facebook feed wouldn't be occasionally submerged by posts like "Why I travel", "Why travel ROOLZ GUYZ", "What I learned during my amazing travels", "Travel frees the soul, is the school of life, OMG iz SO GOOD".
I consciously leave most of the annoyances, negativity and other insects of that family out of my posts to make it a pleasant and uplifting reading experience (but then again, when I look at the blog stats, the most popular entries are the sad ones).
My biggest pet peeve, I would say, are other travellers. While away, no matter if you're on the road for 6 weeks or 6 months, you will meet a diversity of characters richer than a Tolkien novel, as diverse as the inhabitants of the lands of Westeros, and sometimes just as ludicrous as, well, any spoof of said literature.
The order of this list follows my train of thoughts, and nothing else. Literally whatever comes to mind goes first, and then second, and then well you know how lists go.
First!
The Traveller Fashion
Yes, my dear drinkers of knowledge, there is such a thing.(try Google-ing it too!) To put things in perspective: you leave home with a bag weighting under the 12 kg. limit to avoid airline penalties and so you pack light. That means leaving a few shirts behind because you'd rather pack a book - and anyways there's shirts where you're going (probably) and it's a nice souvenir too.
So! If you're like me, you just landed in Thailand and are walking among the unorthodox mess that is Koh San road. It's fucking hot. So you think, ''Hey, I'll get me some tank-tops, it's like 4 dollars each and I can probably get a deal if I buy more than one''. Little do you know, you've just taken your irrevocable first step into Traveller Fashion (add echo).
Douchebag / laidback / fuck yeah vacation look:
Local beer tops. Tubing in Laos tops. Muay Thai tops. Tribal turtle tops. Elephant pattern pants. Swimsuit all the time.
Cheap flip-flops, or if you went all out, those with the fake grass so you feel like you're playing mini-golf bare-foot all the time.
Fake Ray-bans should complete the look.
It's what I wear, I totally get it when people silently eye me dơwn in hostels. With my tattoos hanging out I can look like a total dick.
I'm going Into the Wild! look:
Picture African safari pictures of olde. Black and white photograph , and the subject is some old white dude with a sweet curly mustache and a hunting rifle; indigenous men in the background, out of focus, carry his crap. Now picture how he is dressed. Yes, exactly like that!
Some olive, savannah-colored cargo shorts and when he sits they go up to the middle of his thighs.
A matching button-down shirt with those nifty straps on the sleeves so you can tight them up even more, you know, so you don't get caught in the heavy bush.
Maybe some sleeveless army-green mesh shirt with lots of pockets worn on top of that shirt.
To complete the look, my favorite: trekking sandals. I love those!
I've never worn any but every time I see a pair of them on some sweaty feet I'm like "Damn, that's luxury right thurr".
It's like a Jeep for your feet.
So yeah, some people dress like that, usually in the range of 35 to 45 but sometimes you see a kid, like 19, sportin' the look.
I'm a free soul look:
This one puzzles me. I don't know where it comes from. Who decided collectively for all the hippies and off-the-grid survivors, think-outside-the-box, I'm-saving-Gaia-by-eating-only-plants that this look was the official one? And if you're so original, why do you dress all the same?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging: I come from the punk scene, where everyone says they're marginal, but everyone follows a rigid uniform code.
Anyways. Long hair for both male and female. Bandanas are welcome, tied around the forehead to support all that hair and those revolutionary ideas.
Tie-dye shirts are not uncommon, but usually the tribal turtle shirt is sported, or maybe some loose cotton shirt (looks fucking comfortable, not gonna lie) or straight up their clothes from home.
Since they don't burden themselves with artifacts of the material world, they can pack more clothes and still be under 12 kg, I guess.
The elephant print pants are an absolute must, on guys and girls alike. Very popular are also those pants where you look like you have 3-inches high legs, where that part that usually holds your butt is by your ankles (you make me think of Obelix).
Shoes, sandals, anything for your feet is optional. They go bare-feet wherever, in a complete disregard of local cultures. They can probably walk on Legos, their sole is so tough and caked with shit.
Also, dreads.
I don't give a fuck look:
My favorite, and what I went for thís time. Basically what you wear at home, fuck it. T-shirt and jeans are good for nearly every occasion, anyways.
Special mention to the guy wearing his american football jersey.
Not very negative, as you can see, just some observations. Judgmental as fuck, actually.
Next logical item on the list (I lied! There is an order!)
Personalities:
I hate to judge based on looks, to think that humans can be so easily categorized, that we're nothing more than some straight-out-of-the-box, pre-made characters for some Higher Power's sunday Role-Playing game sesh, so I will not attach their personality to their looks.
And here starts the bitching, friends.
I think it's because I'm laidback and can actually listen to people when they are talking, but I meet a lot of:
Know-it-all(z):
Armed with their cellphone and roaming data package, they always know the best spot to eat, the cheapest guesthouse, the next temple.
They stop you from walking spontaneously into a Wat on the corner of the street because there's a bigger, better one just 2 kms away.
If you answer ''I don't know'' to questions like ''Where are you going next'', better grab some pen and paper, this guy knows where you're going next!
For people like me who prefer to see as you go, who are not too stressed about paying $1-2 more for a dorm because the cheapest one in town is full, it's fucking annoying.
Granted, sometimes I would have missed really cool things if it wasn't for a random person suggesting what I should do next, of course.
But being figuratively taken by the hand by some random stranger and dragged (or followed) around town can be quite the mood-killer.
Their mouth hands out unwelcomed, basic knowledge like their minds are the sharpest. They don't listen to you when you speak, will interupt you or repeat exactly what you just said in different words to seem like they thought about it first.
They annoy me.
Lonely Planet Zombies:
Their weapon of choice: the latest edition of the traveller's bible. The books are pretty useful, of course, but some people are treating it as a holy book, the one that contains all the knowledge and that will show you the path to a perfect voyage.
First of all, these books were written by people, like you and me. So, it follows their preferences and taste, most of the time.
Second, when I say zombies, I mean it. Some people quite literally leave their brains at the guesthouse and wander around town, nose in the pages, not even looking around to absorb whatever it is that they came for to absorb. I've seen people stop in the middle of the street in front of incoming traffic to look at a map.
There's only so much the authors can cram in there! You're bound to miss out if you think you've done everything in a town because you did the 5 suggested activites.
Also, and this is from experience, their cultural Do's and Don't' miss the nails more often than they hit it, at least for ASEA.
I'm not saying they're useless, I personally use Frommer's Rough Guide when I'm about to cross borders to get up to speed on the upcoming country. I'm just saying, once in a while, leave the book on your dorm bed and go explore. Get lost. There's no instructions on how to get invited to 4am, drunken karaoke with the locals.
Ze Bros:
They can be the life of the party, or they can be the death of the soul.
Usually super cut, and I suspect they carry a wax-a-chest kit with them.
They say stuff like ''I'll never go to X town, it's way too touristy'' (actually everyone says that) but the only time they leave the confines of their guesthouse it's to go to the bar.
They're loud, they command attention, they're big, they're having so much fun.
If you look closely, you can see a faint glimmer of jealousy in the eye of everyone they are annoying. ''How can they be so free! Is it because they're so cut? Muscles bring freedom?''
Sometimes followed by one smaller, bearded, beer-gutted dude.
They treat the locals like Disney World mascots, don't bother to learn ''Hi'' in whatever local dialect, and will just talk louder and LOUDER if the waiter doesn't understand their order. ''Pizza. Pizza! PIZZA. PIZZA!!!''
Well folks, there's plenty more but I don't like to be this bitchy for this long and I am also quite lazy all of a sudden. I hope I could get a few laughs out of you.
I let the inner geek out more than usual. Deal with it!
I hate being a salesman but I do love attention so if you ẹnjoyed this, go ahead and like the Biere de Route facebook page, share your stories! I want to hear them! Also share the page! Tell your friends!
There's an Instagram page as well, Bierederoute. I got a new phone and the camera's real nice so I'm posting regularly.
Peace out mafakas!
Because let's face it, everyone loves a good trash-talkin'. Some shit-talkin'. Some dirt-layin' sonovagun who can tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!
It's not that bad, of course. If it was horrible, no one would travel and your facebook feed wouldn't be occasionally submerged by posts like "Why I travel", "Why travel ROOLZ GUYZ", "What I learned during my amazing travels", "Travel frees the soul, is the school of life, OMG iz SO GOOD".
I consciously leave most of the annoyances, negativity and other insects of that family out of my posts to make it a pleasant and uplifting reading experience (but then again, when I look at the blog stats, the most popular entries are the sad ones).
My biggest pet peeve, I would say, are other travellers. While away, no matter if you're on the road for 6 weeks or 6 months, you will meet a diversity of characters richer than a Tolkien novel, as diverse as the inhabitants of the lands of Westeros, and sometimes just as ludicrous as, well, any spoof of said literature.
The order of this list follows my train of thoughts, and nothing else. Literally whatever comes to mind goes first, and then second, and then well you know how lists go.
First!
The Traveller Fashion
Yes, my dear drinkers of knowledge, there is such a thing.(try Google-ing it too!) To put things in perspective: you leave home with a bag weighting under the 12 kg. limit to avoid airline penalties and so you pack light. That means leaving a few shirts behind because you'd rather pack a book - and anyways there's shirts where you're going (probably) and it's a nice souvenir too.
So! If you're like me, you just landed in Thailand and are walking among the unorthodox mess that is Koh San road. It's fucking hot. So you think, ''Hey, I'll get me some tank-tops, it's like 4 dollars each and I can probably get a deal if I buy more than one''. Little do you know, you've just taken your irrevocable first step into Traveller Fashion (add echo).
Douchebag / laidback / fuck yeah vacation look:
Local beer tops. Tubing in Laos tops. Muay Thai tops. Tribal turtle tops. Elephant pattern pants. Swimsuit all the time.
Cheap flip-flops, or if you went all out, those with the fake grass so you feel like you're playing mini-golf bare-foot all the time.
Fake Ray-bans should complete the look.
It's what I wear, I totally get it when people silently eye me dơwn in hostels. With my tattoos hanging out I can look like a total dick.
I'm going Into the Wild! look:
Picture African safari pictures of olde. Black and white photograph , and the subject is some old white dude with a sweet curly mustache and a hunting rifle; indigenous men in the background, out of focus, carry his crap. Now picture how he is dressed. Yes, exactly like that!
Some olive, savannah-colored cargo shorts and when he sits they go up to the middle of his thighs.
A matching button-down shirt with those nifty straps on the sleeves so you can tight them up even more, you know, so you don't get caught in the heavy bush.
Maybe some sleeveless army-green mesh shirt with lots of pockets worn on top of that shirt.
To complete the look, my favorite: trekking sandals. I love those!
I've never worn any but every time I see a pair of them on some sweaty feet I'm like "Damn, that's luxury right thurr".
It's like a Jeep for your feet.
So yeah, some people dress like that, usually in the range of 35 to 45 but sometimes you see a kid, like 19, sportin' the look.
I'm a free soul look:
This one puzzles me. I don't know where it comes from. Who decided collectively for all the hippies and off-the-grid survivors, think-outside-the-box, I'm-saving-Gaia-by-eating-only-plants that this look was the official one? And if you're so original, why do you dress all the same?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging: I come from the punk scene, where everyone says they're marginal, but everyone follows a rigid uniform code.
Anyways. Long hair for both male and female. Bandanas are welcome, tied around the forehead to support all that hair and those revolutionary ideas.
Tie-dye shirts are not uncommon, but usually the tribal turtle shirt is sported, or maybe some loose cotton shirt (looks fucking comfortable, not gonna lie) or straight up their clothes from home.
Since they don't burden themselves with artifacts of the material world, they can pack more clothes and still be under 12 kg, I guess.
The elephant print pants are an absolute must, on guys and girls alike. Very popular are also those pants where you look like you have 3-inches high legs, where that part that usually holds your butt is by your ankles (you make me think of Obelix).
Shoes, sandals, anything for your feet is optional. They go bare-feet wherever, in a complete disregard of local cultures. They can probably walk on Legos, their sole is so tough and caked with shit.
Also, dreads.
I don't give a fuck look:
My favorite, and what I went for thís time. Basically what you wear at home, fuck it. T-shirt and jeans are good for nearly every occasion, anyways.
Special mention to the guy wearing his american football jersey.
Not very negative, as you can see, just some observations. Judgmental as fuck, actually.
Next logical item on the list (I lied! There is an order!)
Personalities:
I hate to judge based on looks, to think that humans can be so easily categorized, that we're nothing more than some straight-out-of-the-box, pre-made characters for some Higher Power's sunday Role-Playing game sesh, so I will not attach their personality to their looks.
And here starts the bitching, friends.
I think it's because I'm laidback and can actually listen to people when they are talking, but I meet a lot of:
Know-it-all(z):
Armed with their cellphone and roaming data package, they always know the best spot to eat, the cheapest guesthouse, the next temple.
They stop you from walking spontaneously into a Wat on the corner of the street because there's a bigger, better one just 2 kms away.
If you answer ''I don't know'' to questions like ''Where are you going next'', better grab some pen and paper, this guy knows where you're going next!
For people like me who prefer to see as you go, who are not too stressed about paying $1-2 more for a dorm because the cheapest one in town is full, it's fucking annoying.
Granted, sometimes I would have missed really cool things if it wasn't for a random person suggesting what I should do next, of course.
But being figuratively taken by the hand by some random stranger and dragged (or followed) around town can be quite the mood-killer.
Their mouth hands out unwelcomed, basic knowledge like their minds are the sharpest. They don't listen to you when you speak, will interupt you or repeat exactly what you just said in different words to seem like they thought about it first.
They annoy me.
Lonely Planet Zombies:
Their weapon of choice: the latest edition of the traveller's bible. The books are pretty useful, of course, but some people are treating it as a holy book, the one that contains all the knowledge and that will show you the path to a perfect voyage.
First of all, these books were written by people, like you and me. So, it follows their preferences and taste, most of the time.
Second, when I say zombies, I mean it. Some people quite literally leave their brains at the guesthouse and wander around town, nose in the pages, not even looking around to absorb whatever it is that they came for to absorb. I've seen people stop in the middle of the street in front of incoming traffic to look at a map.
There's only so much the authors can cram in there! You're bound to miss out if you think you've done everything in a town because you did the 5 suggested activites.
Also, and this is from experience, their cultural Do's and Don't' miss the nails more often than they hit it, at least for ASEA.
I'm not saying they're useless, I personally use Frommer's Rough Guide when I'm about to cross borders to get up to speed on the upcoming country. I'm just saying, once in a while, leave the book on your dorm bed and go explore. Get lost. There's no instructions on how to get invited to 4am, drunken karaoke with the locals.
Ze Bros:
They can be the life of the party, or they can be the death of the soul.
Usually super cut, and I suspect they carry a wax-a-chest kit with them.
They say stuff like ''I'll never go to X town, it's way too touristy'' (actually everyone says that) but the only time they leave the confines of their guesthouse it's to go to the bar.
They're loud, they command attention, they're big, they're having so much fun.
If you look closely, you can see a faint glimmer of jealousy in the eye of everyone they are annoying. ''How can they be so free! Is it because they're so cut? Muscles bring freedom?''
Sometimes followed by one smaller, bearded, beer-gutted dude.
They treat the locals like Disney World mascots, don't bother to learn ''Hi'' in whatever local dialect, and will just talk louder and LOUDER if the waiter doesn't understand their order. ''Pizza. Pizza! PIZZA. PIZZA!!!''
Well folks, there's plenty more but I don't like to be this bitchy for this long and I am also quite lazy all of a sudden. I hope I could get a few laughs out of you.
I let the inner geek out more than usual. Deal with it!
I hate being a salesman but I do love attention so if you ẹnjoyed this, go ahead and like the Biere de Route facebook page, share your stories! I want to hear them! Also share the page! Tell your friends!
There's an Instagram page as well, Bierederoute. I got a new phone and the camera's real nice so I'm posting regularly.
Peace out mafakas!
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
JOYEUX NOEL A TOUS!
Saturday, 20 December 2014
I'm okay u guyz
I would like to start by saying to everyone: I'm doing okay! I'm not depressed or anything, just turning my cosmic sight inwards, like hơw Captain Marvel (not the Shazam! one) did some decades ago.
I did not discover that I had cancer like he did, however.
If you look back at how this blog started, it used to be personnal as fuck. I kind of stepped away fron that for a while, because sometimes I met people at parties who would go "I love your stuff! I read everything!" And of course I appreciate the dedication, but I felt too much like an open book, and so I put up the natural force field of protection and write more about my travels around the world, and not those of the mind, of the heart.
So yeah, that last post was a little outburst of bottled-up thoughts let loose. But I'm fine, really.
The follow-up was a plethora of messages from friends, some of which opened the door to very meaningful conversations, for which I am very grateful.
On to other things.
I am sitting at a little wooden table in a restaurant in Hue, Vietnam, the ancient capital of the country, housing the "Purple Forbidden City".
I came down here to give some love to my girl, Lucy, my motorbike. She's been waiting patiently for over a month.
I am in a period of transition, for in about 3 weeks I will stop being a backpacker and turn into a sedentary foreigner.
A student, of all things.
My backpack is filled to capacity, since my needs have changed. It's too cold for my light trekking shoes, shorts and tank-tops. I had to obtain new shoes, jeans and shirts, even a light jacket.
My mindset is adapting as well. I spent 4 days in Hanoi and haven't visited a single attraction. My time was spent shopping for clothes and a cellphone.
The rest of the time I would simply read a book in a small café or wander aimlessly, sort of like what I do back home during my free time.
One night I was approached by 2 university teachers looking to practice their english. They invited me for some street food and even drove me to a cellphone store. Mighty generous of them.
The next day a Vietnamese lady who studied in Holland more than 15 years ago offered to buy me a coffee so we could talk and she could refresh her language skills.
It's been quite interesting, going for food with strangers but this time, my companions are not other travelers. I have actually grown quite anti-social towards them, to my own surprise.
I also want to mention that for good times' sake I rarely mention anything negative about my travels, painting a very Disney-esque picture of the whole thing.
I will shed some light on the whole affaire soon, like Dick Tracy exploring under the cover of darkness a clandestine warehouse down on the waterfront.
But not right now, the last post was heavy enough.
It's Christmas very soon. I hope everybody is doing well.
Hugs and ball-punching,
Ho ho ho
Ha ha
Ho hee
Ha~
(Joker style)
I did not discover that I had cancer like he did, however.
If you look back at how this blog started, it used to be personnal as fuck. I kind of stepped away fron that for a while, because sometimes I met people at parties who would go "I love your stuff! I read everything!" And of course I appreciate the dedication, but I felt too much like an open book, and so I put up the natural force field of protection and write more about my travels around the world, and not those of the mind, of the heart.
So yeah, that last post was a little outburst of bottled-up thoughts let loose. But I'm fine, really.
The follow-up was a plethora of messages from friends, some of which opened the door to very meaningful conversations, for which I am very grateful.
On to other things.
I am sitting at a little wooden table in a restaurant in Hue, Vietnam, the ancient capital of the country, housing the "Purple Forbidden City".
I came down here to give some love to my girl, Lucy, my motorbike. She's been waiting patiently for over a month.
I am in a period of transition, for in about 3 weeks I will stop being a backpacker and turn into a sedentary foreigner.
A student, of all things.
My backpack is filled to capacity, since my needs have changed. It's too cold for my light trekking shoes, shorts and tank-tops. I had to obtain new shoes, jeans and shirts, even a light jacket.
My mindset is adapting as well. I spent 4 days in Hanoi and haven't visited a single attraction. My time was spent shopping for clothes and a cellphone.
The rest of the time I would simply read a book in a small café or wander aimlessly, sort of like what I do back home during my free time.
One night I was approached by 2 university teachers looking to practice their english. They invited me for some street food and even drove me to a cellphone store. Mighty generous of them.
The next day a Vietnamese lady who studied in Holland more than 15 years ago offered to buy me a coffee so we could talk and she could refresh her language skills.
It's been quite interesting, going for food with strangers but this time, my companions are not other travelers. I have actually grown quite anti-social towards them, to my own surprise.
I also want to mention that for good times' sake I rarely mention anything negative about my travels, painting a very Disney-esque picture of the whole thing.
I will shed some light on the whole affaire soon, like Dick Tracy exploring under the cover of darkness a clandestine warehouse down on the waterfront.
But not right now, the last post was heavy enough.
It's Christmas very soon. I hope everybody is doing well.
Hugs and ball-punching,
Ho ho ho
Ha ha
Ho hee
Ha~
(Joker style)
Monday, 15 December 2014
Back to Hanoi
Well, it is always a culture shock to leave Don Det.
When you're at home, where every day connects effortlessly into the next, like riding a subway train from one end of the lane to the other and your only stops are small inconveniences in your life... Go to doctor station, holiday station, my SO just dumped me station - it's hard to miagine that 3 weeks can seem like a lifetime. That in just 3 weeks your way of thinking, your way of acting, walking, eating, talking, being, can change so much - or reveal itself so much.
Don Det was even better this time around. I think it's because I came back. When you're a local there - as I was for 3 months 2 years ago - you tend to stop investing so much in friendships and the like with travelers because let's face it, after a while, continuously saying goodbye, hope to see you again one day, it was great, well, it takes it's toll. So you tuck your shirt's sleeve over your heart and maintain a degree of separation.
Since I came back though, I showed the residents that I'm not just a backpacker anymore. I belong here. I feel it, and I think they feel it too. The last night, hosting ex-pats and Lao peeps alike, sitting under the stars on nothing but a traditional carpet, drinking Lao-Lao out of one glass for the whole group, I could feel it. People care. I care too. The feeling is amazing.
A lot of people came to my good-bye BBQ before I left Montreal and I am very grateful for it. However, there is a certain group of people, let's call them The Inner Circle, the boys that I've known since I moved back to Montreal when I was 14... Well only 2-3 of them showed up. During a short moment of quietness between two board games, Phil looked at me with a mild expression of concern and asked: "Etienne, where are all the boys?". I shrugged my shoulders in a two-sided body language of "I don't know" and "I don't care".
Truth is, of course I care, but like when I was on Don Det, I can't let it get to me, or I'll just get sad and I don't like being sad.
I understand that everyone's got their own life to live - and that's why I was able to leave again, maybe this time for ever. I have my own life to live as well, I hope you understand, is what I am trying to say.
The bonds I have forged with Ken, Jon, Adam, Phil, Manni, Phone's family, Sit and everyone are as important to me as if I had known them my whole life.
So, leaving Don Det after 3 weeks of waking up naturally in my wooden bungalow, to slowly go eat breakfast with my Lao family (sticky rice and spicy stuff), then walking around talking to people, helping dig foundations or build a bamboo fence or preparing a BBQ. To sit down on a bench and just talk about life with Phil while he paints his new Burger Kong sign, or watch South Park at Adam's until the kids show up and want to play. To read a book until Ken's kid is dumped on my lap - here, your turn to take care of him - and finding failproof ways of making him laugh. To never worry about money, to never see a car, to go to sleep when I'm tired not because I have to...
I know it's not the real life, it's the traveler's life, but it's so easy to get used to it.
If Don Det was a woman, she would be the country girl, dressed in a Lao traditional dress, with long black hair and her skin mildly tanned, walking slowly here and there in flip-flops and a reserved air, slightly frowning but easy to laughter. We would go for a short walk through the rice fields at night to star-gaze, then find someone to take a shot of Lao-Lao with, never talking about kids, or money. When it was time to say good-bye, there would be a long heart-felt embrace, followed by a quick "When will I see you again", a short squeeze of the hand and a pat on the butt, and a wave good-bye.
Simple, contempt.
Last time I left her, it was to take a 28-hour bus straight to Bangkok.
This time, it was for Vientiane, and then to Hanoi.
And if Hanoi was also a woman, she would welcome me back with a short but strong hug, kiss on the cheeks, grabbing my hand and urging me to drop my bags off before we go for a drink and street food, dodging kids in rollerblades and ladies selling donuts. Last time I saw her she was wearing heels and very short shorts showing off her amazing legs and butt, with a huge beautiful smile and teasing eyes. This time around she traded the shorts for tight jeans and a light winter jacket, but she still grabbed me by the hand and dragged me out for beers. I was reluctant though, still thinking about Don Det, about the quietness, how slow everything is, how hot it is, how we don't need to be talking about anything, drinking in the silence, slowly swinging in a hammock.
And so I set my 3rd beer down and tell her, hey, sorry, I'm kind of tired, I need to sleep a little bit more, but we can get back in a day or two if you'd like.
We have much to talk about however, and the quiet walks to nowhere in particular are replaced with discussions over tea, about history, culture, food, traveling, girls, money. She has much to share and the days go by quick.
Don Det and Hanoi would sometimes ask about Canada, that elusive woman from home, the one that raised me and reluctantly let me go, that couldn't be there to say goodbye because she was too busy. That woman who rarely keeps in contact, only to ask "Where are you now? When are you coming back?" but rarely asks "How are you doing?". That woman so diverse, so stressful and yet so happy, who wishes I was back so that all the pieces of her jigsaw would be in their proper place, never really realizing that I never fitted completely in the first place, that I longed to break free.
I am the monopoly die you lost somewhere, that you never think about until you open the box, about to play, and notice that I am gone.
You complain a little bit, but quickly make do without, and I go on, rolling but never quite coming to a stop.
When you're at home, where every day connects effortlessly into the next, like riding a subway train from one end of the lane to the other and your only stops are small inconveniences in your life... Go to doctor station, holiday station, my SO just dumped me station - it's hard to miagine that 3 weeks can seem like a lifetime. That in just 3 weeks your way of thinking, your way of acting, walking, eating, talking, being, can change so much - or reveal itself so much.
Don Det was even better this time around. I think it's because I came back. When you're a local there - as I was for 3 months 2 years ago - you tend to stop investing so much in friendships and the like with travelers because let's face it, after a while, continuously saying goodbye, hope to see you again one day, it was great, well, it takes it's toll. So you tuck your shirt's sleeve over your heart and maintain a degree of separation.
Since I came back though, I showed the residents that I'm not just a backpacker anymore. I belong here. I feel it, and I think they feel it too. The last night, hosting ex-pats and Lao peeps alike, sitting under the stars on nothing but a traditional carpet, drinking Lao-Lao out of one glass for the whole group, I could feel it. People care. I care too. The feeling is amazing.
A lot of people came to my good-bye BBQ before I left Montreal and I am very grateful for it. However, there is a certain group of people, let's call them The Inner Circle, the boys that I've known since I moved back to Montreal when I was 14... Well only 2-3 of them showed up. During a short moment of quietness between two board games, Phil looked at me with a mild expression of concern and asked: "Etienne, where are all the boys?". I shrugged my shoulders in a two-sided body language of "I don't know" and "I don't care".
Truth is, of course I care, but like when I was on Don Det, I can't let it get to me, or I'll just get sad and I don't like being sad.
I understand that everyone's got their own life to live - and that's why I was able to leave again, maybe this time for ever. I have my own life to live as well, I hope you understand, is what I am trying to say.
The bonds I have forged with Ken, Jon, Adam, Phil, Manni, Phone's family, Sit and everyone are as important to me as if I had known them my whole life.
So, leaving Don Det after 3 weeks of waking up naturally in my wooden bungalow, to slowly go eat breakfast with my Lao family (sticky rice and spicy stuff), then walking around talking to people, helping dig foundations or build a bamboo fence or preparing a BBQ. To sit down on a bench and just talk about life with Phil while he paints his new Burger Kong sign, or watch South Park at Adam's until the kids show up and want to play. To read a book until Ken's kid is dumped on my lap - here, your turn to take care of him - and finding failproof ways of making him laugh. To never worry about money, to never see a car, to go to sleep when I'm tired not because I have to...
I know it's not the real life, it's the traveler's life, but it's so easy to get used to it.
If Don Det was a woman, she would be the country girl, dressed in a Lao traditional dress, with long black hair and her skin mildly tanned, walking slowly here and there in flip-flops and a reserved air, slightly frowning but easy to laughter. We would go for a short walk through the rice fields at night to star-gaze, then find someone to take a shot of Lao-Lao with, never talking about kids, or money. When it was time to say good-bye, there would be a long heart-felt embrace, followed by a quick "When will I see you again", a short squeeze of the hand and a pat on the butt, and a wave good-bye.
Simple, contempt.
Last time I left her, it was to take a 28-hour bus straight to Bangkok.
This time, it was for Vientiane, and then to Hanoi.
And if Hanoi was also a woman, she would welcome me back with a short but strong hug, kiss on the cheeks, grabbing my hand and urging me to drop my bags off before we go for a drink and street food, dodging kids in rollerblades and ladies selling donuts. Last time I saw her she was wearing heels and very short shorts showing off her amazing legs and butt, with a huge beautiful smile and teasing eyes. This time around she traded the shorts for tight jeans and a light winter jacket, but she still grabbed me by the hand and dragged me out for beers. I was reluctant though, still thinking about Don Det, about the quietness, how slow everything is, how hot it is, how we don't need to be talking about anything, drinking in the silence, slowly swinging in a hammock.
And so I set my 3rd beer down and tell her, hey, sorry, I'm kind of tired, I need to sleep a little bit more, but we can get back in a day or two if you'd like.
We have much to talk about however, and the quiet walks to nowhere in particular are replaced with discussions over tea, about history, culture, food, traveling, girls, money. She has much to share and the days go by quick.
Don Det and Hanoi would sometimes ask about Canada, that elusive woman from home, the one that raised me and reluctantly let me go, that couldn't be there to say goodbye because she was too busy. That woman who rarely keeps in contact, only to ask "Where are you now? When are you coming back?" but rarely asks "How are you doing?". That woman so diverse, so stressful and yet so happy, who wishes I was back so that all the pieces of her jigsaw would be in their proper place, never really realizing that I never fitted completely in the first place, that I longed to break free.
I am the monopoly die you lost somewhere, that you never think about until you open the box, about to play, and notice that I am gone.
You complain a little bit, but quickly make do without, and I go on, rolling but never quite coming to a stop.
Wednesday, 3 December 2014
Sabaidee! Pai Sai?
Today I'm splurging.
And by splurging I mean using an actual computer to do actual planning for the next 2 months while eating a giant bacon burrito. I ordered the ham one first because in Laos ham is slang for penis and sometimes they can't help themselves but smile when they hear it.
I've been meaning to try and describe Don Det to friends through text but it is quite impossible. You just have to get here.
The meaning of the term "Time slows down" was probably born here. I should say... Here, it's swinging in a hammock, listening to someone's ukulele.
Imagine a place, so hot you don't want to move and neither do the locals. You find a quiet little restaurant overlooking the Mekong river (named Namkhong here, Nam means water) where you sit on a small mattress and eat on tables just inches off the floor. You get up only to turn the fan on. When the meal is done, you push your plate back and lay down on the floor and promptly fall asleep for 2 hours.
On Don Det, it is considered extremely rude to wake someone up from a nap. I fucking love it.
My first day back, as soon as I step on this holy soil I see Manni, 4-year resident and party animal. It is his tradition to greet the newcomers freshly off the boats. Next to him is Alex, a guy who was on Don Det at the same time as me last time I was here, 2 years ago. He was back to say hello too, turns out he came back exactly at the same time as me.
Amazeballs.
Another Manni tradition is to get the returning Don Det family members absolutely plastered. So after I set my bags down at One More Bar, give Ken a giant hug, say hi to my Lao family and distribute my meager gifts I head to Happy Bar where a giant joint is waiting.
It's about noon. By 4pm I am sleeping off the excess booze and herb on said small mattress in One More Bar. I wake up to eat something and have a good, hearty talk with Ken about everything. I missed this place so much.
At one point, Noua passed by on a bicycle. Noua is the neighbor's kid. She's witty, always laughing and always running everywhere - quite extraordinary for a Lao person - and last time it was our little game that I'd try to catch her every time she'd walk by. So, I'm sitting by the "road" talking and she passes by. I see her and my mouth lets out a "Oh!" sound. She turns her head. Recognizes me right away, even after a 2 year absence and a giant beard missing. I start running after her. She's laughing so hard she can't pedal anymore. Such a good moment.
The next 2 days were spent getting acclimated - meaning napping all day - and just going around saying hi to all the residents of this amazing island. They don't remember who I am usually, but after I explain that I shaved or show them a picture of last time, their face lightens up and we share an immense smile.
Papao, another of the neighbor's kids, the one who isn't afraid of anything and has a kind of crazy strut and look in his eye, can't remember me. "Pei, tell him I'm the one that used to throw him so hard into the river". She translates. His eyes and smile become enormous, he throws himself in my arms.
There was Sun's 1st birthday party. Adam's boy. Adam is married to Pei. They live behind Ken's house. We're sitting in One More Bar chatting when the father of the family quietly struts by. Tells Ken, without ever slowing down or even looking at him, "We're having beer". Ken laughs. It's inevitable, everyone's getting hammered tonight.
Driving at night to a Lao party in a rice field on Ken's battered scooter. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, a snake about 5 feet long. Black with yellow stripes. Good girth too. I call him Lucic. "Woooooiiiii!" Ken goes and avoids the snake (his brakes are out). "Fuck, Etienne, I lose my mind I so scared. This snake, number 1 danger in Lao. He bite, you die in minute". Quite the adrenaline rush.
A few days later, we're all sharing beers. Rachid tells me, he had the scare of his life, he was walking in the dark, quite high, and almost stepped on this black and yellow snake. But it was dead. Ken is laughing so hard. His new friend and ultimate badass, Sit, had crossed the snake one night and killed it. He doesn't even remember how, he says, it was just instincts. As a joke, he lay the snake in the middle of the road to scare people.
There's a few differences on the island since the last time. I'm here during low season, it's much more quiet. We still get rain almost every day. I guess as a direct result, I see more wildlife. I've seen about 6 snakes in 2 weeks, last time in 3 months I saw only one. More locals and ex-pats talk to me, I guess because I've returned, shown my interest in the place. I've even let the word out that I'm looking to settle down here one day to see what happens. Result: "Eh-Tee-Enn! I speak with my friend. He has daughter. If you have money, you can marry her no problem!" "Is she pretty?" "I didn't see".
In a place with not much to do and small population, gossip is an important activity. You have to be careful. Anything you say will travel. You can lose face that way. Or make new friends.
I've picked up a few more words and am starting to be able to create sentences. I've realized that every single time you go walking, people ask you where you're going. Pai Sai? Go where? You don't even have to reply, it's just a way to start the conversation. Most people just point ahead with their chin and smile. When you walk back, they ask you where you were. Every. Single. Time.
I don't know how to describe Don Det. How about, a place where you go to rent a bungalow for one day, help the family write a sign down for their restaurant. All of a sudden, you're part of the crew. You get to eat Pho for free. You get to sit down with them on the floor and watch Thai tv, drinking beer with Papa or cuddle with the daughter, depending on your sex. Next thing you know, your visa is running out. It's been a month.
A place where hammocks are only outnumbered by smiles, where locals and foreigners mingle naturally, where time is quietly napping in the shade and no one will wake it up.
I love you, Don Det.
And by splurging I mean using an actual computer to do actual planning for the next 2 months while eating a giant bacon burrito. I ordered the ham one first because in Laos ham is slang for penis and sometimes they can't help themselves but smile when they hear it.
I've been meaning to try and describe Don Det to friends through text but it is quite impossible. You just have to get here.
The meaning of the term "Time slows down" was probably born here. I should say... Here, it's swinging in a hammock, listening to someone's ukulele.
Imagine a place, so hot you don't want to move and neither do the locals. You find a quiet little restaurant overlooking the Mekong river (named Namkhong here, Nam means water) where you sit on a small mattress and eat on tables just inches off the floor. You get up only to turn the fan on. When the meal is done, you push your plate back and lay down on the floor and promptly fall asleep for 2 hours.
On Don Det, it is considered extremely rude to wake someone up from a nap. I fucking love it.
My first day back, as soon as I step on this holy soil I see Manni, 4-year resident and party animal. It is his tradition to greet the newcomers freshly off the boats. Next to him is Alex, a guy who was on Don Det at the same time as me last time I was here, 2 years ago. He was back to say hello too, turns out he came back exactly at the same time as me.
Amazeballs.
Another Manni tradition is to get the returning Don Det family members absolutely plastered. So after I set my bags down at One More Bar, give Ken a giant hug, say hi to my Lao family and distribute my meager gifts I head to Happy Bar where a giant joint is waiting.
It's about noon. By 4pm I am sleeping off the excess booze and herb on said small mattress in One More Bar. I wake up to eat something and have a good, hearty talk with Ken about everything. I missed this place so much.
At one point, Noua passed by on a bicycle. Noua is the neighbor's kid. She's witty, always laughing and always running everywhere - quite extraordinary for a Lao person - and last time it was our little game that I'd try to catch her every time she'd walk by. So, I'm sitting by the "road" talking and she passes by. I see her and my mouth lets out a "Oh!" sound. She turns her head. Recognizes me right away, even after a 2 year absence and a giant beard missing. I start running after her. She's laughing so hard she can't pedal anymore. Such a good moment.
The next 2 days were spent getting acclimated - meaning napping all day - and just going around saying hi to all the residents of this amazing island. They don't remember who I am usually, but after I explain that I shaved or show them a picture of last time, their face lightens up and we share an immense smile.
Papao, another of the neighbor's kids, the one who isn't afraid of anything and has a kind of crazy strut and look in his eye, can't remember me. "Pei, tell him I'm the one that used to throw him so hard into the river". She translates. His eyes and smile become enormous, he throws himself in my arms.
There was Sun's 1st birthday party. Adam's boy. Adam is married to Pei. They live behind Ken's house. We're sitting in One More Bar chatting when the father of the family quietly struts by. Tells Ken, without ever slowing down or even looking at him, "We're having beer". Ken laughs. It's inevitable, everyone's getting hammered tonight.
Driving at night to a Lao party in a rice field on Ken's battered scooter. Suddenly, in the middle of the road, a snake about 5 feet long. Black with yellow stripes. Good girth too. I call him Lucic. "Woooooiiiii!" Ken goes and avoids the snake (his brakes are out). "Fuck, Etienne, I lose my mind I so scared. This snake, number 1 danger in Lao. He bite, you die in minute". Quite the adrenaline rush.
A few days later, we're all sharing beers. Rachid tells me, he had the scare of his life, he was walking in the dark, quite high, and almost stepped on this black and yellow snake. But it was dead. Ken is laughing so hard. His new friend and ultimate badass, Sit, had crossed the snake one night and killed it. He doesn't even remember how, he says, it was just instincts. As a joke, he lay the snake in the middle of the road to scare people.
There's a few differences on the island since the last time. I'm here during low season, it's much more quiet. We still get rain almost every day. I guess as a direct result, I see more wildlife. I've seen about 6 snakes in 2 weeks, last time in 3 months I saw only one. More locals and ex-pats talk to me, I guess because I've returned, shown my interest in the place. I've even let the word out that I'm looking to settle down here one day to see what happens. Result: "Eh-Tee-Enn! I speak with my friend. He has daughter. If you have money, you can marry her no problem!" "Is she pretty?" "I didn't see".
In a place with not much to do and small population, gossip is an important activity. You have to be careful. Anything you say will travel. You can lose face that way. Or make new friends.
I've picked up a few more words and am starting to be able to create sentences. I've realized that every single time you go walking, people ask you where you're going. Pai Sai? Go where? You don't even have to reply, it's just a way to start the conversation. Most people just point ahead with their chin and smile. When you walk back, they ask you where you were. Every. Single. Time.
I don't know how to describe Don Det. How about, a place where you go to rent a bungalow for one day, help the family write a sign down for their restaurant. All of a sudden, you're part of the crew. You get to eat Pho for free. You get to sit down with them on the floor and watch Thai tv, drinking beer with Papa or cuddle with the daughter, depending on your sex. Next thing you know, your visa is running out. It's been a month.
A place where hammocks are only outnumbered by smiles, where locals and foreigners mingle naturally, where time is quietly napping in the shade and no one will wake it up.
I love you, Don Det.
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