One ‘flu over the cuckoo’s nest

I have been avoiding poultry. I read that one man in Vietnam got sick from just eating a chicken. So instead I’m eating snake. In Nam Bo, an overpriced restaurant in Chau Doc, I had the set menu of snake nem (spring rolls) and snake curry. It was satisfyingly neanderthal – “meet ‘em, beat ‘em and eat ‘em” – and very good. To my disappointment, it didn’t taste “just like chicken” but rather, just like lamb, although identifiably serpentine in appearance. I didn’t manage all of mine and suggested that the waitress might like to finish it off. She was, however, “tellified of snakes, but thank you.”

In the past two days I have visited two Buddhist pagodas, a snake farm, a floating market, a rice-husking mill, a rice-noodle factory, a Cham minority village, a joss-stick factory, a fish farm, Ho Chi Minh City Fine Art Museum, the Museum of Vietnamese History and the War Remnants in Vietnam Museum. Consequently the photos attached to this post contain no amusingly inebriated twats, but scenes of bucolic idyll and buildings and rivers and shit.

On the way into Saigon, I saw my first road accident. Actually, what I saw was a pool of blood, a compound fracture and a head wound, accompanied by a traffic-jam of rubber-neckers and dubious first-aid. There are more than 1000 deaths a month on the roads in Vietnam, almost exclusively motorbike riders. That’s more than 30 a day. Builders’ hard hats are favoured as helmets, but what’s favoured most of all is not wearing a helmet. In Cambodia I’m sure the statistics are pretty bad, but everybody drives so slowly you could often out-run them. This place is worse than Malta for road-awareness.

For a Communist country the locals I have met today have an awesome knack for the key concepts of Capitalism. I paid more than 15 times the local price for a coconut (my maths gets wobbly when we have to multiply by anything-thousand). My cyclo-driver, who pedalled me around all day for the agreed ten dollars, suggested, as he threatened to drop me off in the middle of nowhere, that I might like to pay him 20 dollars plus 100 000 dong (about 6$.) It’s a shitty job and I would have tipped handsomely, perhaps feeling more inclined if it had been my initiative. When he reiterated how poor he was by almost showing me his scrotum through the holes in his trousers I caved in …

He was, however, great company. One of the first things he said to me was “Very small Vietnam girl very pretty.” I instantly got a cold chill and contemplated leaping into the oncoming tsunami of motorbikes. Then he explained himself: “Most girl Vietnam very small – maybe 45 kilo. I have seen the English girls – maybe 80 kilo!” and laughing long and loud. For what seemed like forever.

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Incidentally, stopped for a drink at the Continental Hotel, which figures prominently in Graham Greene’s The Quiet American. I suspect I would have adored Saigon thirty years ago, with nary a belching motor to be seen. The hotel now is no longer on a tropical town square but a sweaty, toxic roundabout. It didn’t inspire me to literary heights. In fact, had I spent much longer there, I might have been inspired to redesign my facial features with a blunt instrument.

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11/17/2005 | Asia 2005 | 1 Comment

An interlude from Chau Doc

Have only nine minutes left before my time runs out … so I’ll be brief.

Sat in a pizza joint on the Phnom Penh riverfront, trying to persuade the waitress – through the medium of mime – that if she insisted on me tasting the “happy” herb topping I’d likely pass out and/or be sick, when I saw a monkey.

The monkey was on a lead and being fed rice and Red Bull by its owner, a local expat. Quite a crowd had gathered. One gentleman, who had only one leg and was selling knocked-off paperbacks, was quite smitten. He then produced a rather large and very hairy spider. For a dollar, the monkey’s owner bought the tarantula and placed it on the floor in front of the monkey. The monkey pushed it around with its feet for a bit, before picking it up, plucking the legs off one by one and eating them with an enormous monkey grin on its face.

It was a special moment.

Off on a two day tour of the Mekong Delta, so lots of photos to follow. Felt like Colonel Kurtz today sailing into Vietnam.

PS the last email from my mum contained the words “morphosing into a gun slinging, beer swigging, morose alcoholic…” and she wasn’t talking about my dad.

11/14/2005 | Asia 2005 | No Comments

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