There is a six foot, 150kg Buddha, hand-carved from local wood in the shop opposite my hotel. It has my name on it. I watched it being finished (it’s a masterpiece) and for only $750 including postage and packing, a steal. It would look serene in the corner of our appartment, casting its patronly eye over our comings and goings. In fact, Mrs K would like it so much I’ll surprise her with it, a belated Christmas present to liven up late winter.
***
Picture this …
One cold Saturday morning in February, post-holiday blues well established, drizzle of sleet out the window. The phone rings. It’s a man speaking rough, Antwerpse Flemish. Something to pick up, apparently, at the port. Bloody heavy, he says, will need a large van and possibly a crane to pick it up. Doesn’t know what it is, customs papers say wooden carving, origin Vietnam. “Matt, do you know anything about this?”
“Yes dear, thought I’d surprise you with a life-size Buddha carving from the East.”
“You fucking what??”
And so, three weeks later we have organised a crane, a van, and two men to pick it up for us. The shipping company are charging custody fees. Mrs K and I are no longer speaking. The transport costs more than the carving. I have to go to Antwerp and sit in the rain for three hours while it’s cleared through customs. The customs officials split it open to check there’s no contraband stuffed inside. They put it back together with insulation tape. Arriving back in Brussels, the Buddha’s not looking so serene in the Belgian light. Worse, there’s no hope in hell that it’s going up the stairs, so it sits in the lobby of the building for six months, being pissed on by passing cats and rats. And more than that, it taunts us, laughing at my inadequacies. The landlord evicts us for causing a permanent fire hazard. By now the story of the Buddha is famous, a “standing joke” between friends, the humour hiding their disgust at my thoughtlessness. Two months later and I am single and homeless, accompanied only by a Buddha too heavy to move. I am a target for drunks, weirdos and curious children. I catch my death on the icy city streets. Buddha looks on, laughing …
***
Considering the implications of this purchase, I run the idea by Mrs K. She replies, “$750 on a buddha????????? Please refrain from buying anything until I arrive.”
I wonder if it’s too late to cancel the order …
11/30/2005 |
Asia 2005 |
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In Hoi An, halfway up the right-hand side of Vietnam, a Paris of the East. Hoi An is renowned for its cut-price tailors. My memory shall be the rain. It’s got progressively wetter as I’ve progressively progressed north. I’ve yet to invest in a poncho or umbrella, but I think it’s only a matter of time. Time is forcing me to type fast as power-outages are common. My speling wlk not fsufferf, thouhg.
I’ve been on a spending spree. I followed a girl on a bicycle (first time since I was twelve) to her aunty’s shop for my first fisting (my speling wlk not fsufferf) for a pair of suits and a couple of shits (my speling etc.). They gave me coffee, compliments and a Next catalogue. I ordered two suits and two shirts. I can happily say I now look like a high-street mannequin. I’m off to a second shop for a second fitting once the rain has stopped dripping on my keyboard and hopefully this time will be dapperer than ever, my suits chosen from a year-old copy of Men’s Health. (I know.)
Five suits (including one safari suit – they refused to do it for me in powder-blue, muttering something about professional integrity,) four shirts and a winter coat for a couple of cents over 300 euros. Not that I’d risk them at the dry-cleaners, though.
I was worried about being taken to the cleaners here, but have enjoyed fixed pricing and fair-trade. The first shop were mighty pushy, though. I learnt to sell things in Malta, when I touted timeshare to the world. It was a skill I soon forgot, and not nearly as effective as the sometimes doe-eyed, sometimes cheeky and sometimes just plain aggressive Vietnamese Close. In Saigon it was “Motorcycle? Marijuana?” In Dalat, “Where you go? I take you.” In Nha Trang, “Motorbike? You very handsome … I suck you?” Here in Hoi An is the honest and direct “You BUY something?” normally followed with “Why NOT?” If you do succumb, as I did this afternoon, you get a sweet nod of thanks, followed by “You BUY something MORE???”
***
Most blogs are barred in Vietnam by the big IT department in Hanoi, along with various other websites like MSN Groups and the recruitment website of the British Army (well, my thoughts have been to the future …) I can’t see this blog from anywhere here, which means I can’t post pictures, so I’ll have to give you a link
here. Lots of pretty Shakespeare-worship ones and the like. Soon off to Hanoi for more big-city shenanigans …
11/28/2005 |
Asia 2005 |
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