Vietnam 2009

March 30, 2009 The first rime we were in Hue it was December, and the weather was cloudy and cool. But it was great weather for walking. We visited the temples and gardens of the Imperial City, imagining the charmed and privileged lives of Hue's emperors and elite. We walked along the Perfume River, and watched the sampans and dragon boats as they drifted slowly by. We frequented the markets – the big, dirty Dong Da market where you can buy anything from fresh fish to watches – and the little markets that spring up anywhere and any time there's a few hopeful sellers and at least one willing buyer. One of our favourite markets was just around the corner from our hotel. In the midst of the fruit and vegetable vendors, there's a little food stall where Xinh (pronounced 'sin'!) cooks up some of the best 'street food' we've had. We'd stop by almost every day just to see her. We'd find her squatting on the dirt floor crushing ginger with a little morta...

March 24, 2009 Today we watched two motorcycles collide in the chaotic cross-fire of a relatively speaking fairly minor Saigon intersection. The driver of one of the motorcycles was a middle-aged bloke, surprisingly big for a Vietnamese, but otherwise unremarkable. His passenger, a somewhat younger flamboyant-looking woman, was carrying a brand new pink child's bicycle – likely a gift for Tet, Vietnamese New Year. She was balancing it at the end of her arm, well out from the right side of the motorcycle. The driver of the other motorcycle was a middle-aged matronly woman with unruly wavy black hair and smudged red lipstick. Her passenger was a young girl, maybe eight or ten years old, and obviously her daughter. The woman and her daughter were making a right turn into the intersection. There were no traffic lights, and under normal conditions no one stops at intersections in Saigon – or anywhere else in Vietnam. Everyone just keeps rolling at a steady pace. They expect other driver...

March 2009 He was standing in the broad open doorway of his restaurant, at the top of a short flight of stairs.   As we walked towards the stairs, he opened his arms in welcome, smiled, and said: “come in, come in please!”   As we mounted the stairs, I asked “Are you Mr. Cu?”   He admitted that he was, and I said “We've been looking for you!”   We shook hands – he exuded unusual warmth and grace even in this simplest of gestures.  He cut an elegant figure – a little taller than most Vietnamese, slim, and well-dressed in a nicely tailored dark suit.  He had a handsome face with strong chiseled features – softened by the wrinkles of age, and warmed by his lively thoughtful eyes.    Photo:  Mr. Cu and his grandson. Mr. Cu came from a poor family – his father worked as a cyclo (bicycle taxi) driver in Hue.  The family lived in a sampan on the Perfume River, a broad river that separates the modern business centre of Hue from the old city....