Sweat Swiper

It is summer in Vietnam and it is hot. Nevermind what you think of as hot; this is hotter .. and more humid. They don’t even dicker around with “real feel” temperatures because it would probably indicate that we are boiling. Given these circumstances, I don’t think it is shocking to admit that I sweat. Especially when I am in the jungle. Vietnamese (at least those from the northern mountains) don’t sweat. They get warm, but they don’t melt. So there I was, melting, when a young Vietnamese woman came up to me and swiped my sweat! She didn’t jar it or do anything really strange, but she came up, looked at my glistening (or is it glowing) arms, and ran her own palm along mine to draw off the sweat. She stood there looking at my body juice on her hand and I stood there thinking “she must actually think this is my body juice!” There weren’t throngs of screaming fans, or people fainting at my feet, but I kind of know how Elvis must have felt.

Ho's Great Adventure

HoChi Minh is a rock star here. People line up for hours to go through his Mausoleum (actually, it is just the Vietnamese people who have the long wait; visitors have no more than a 20 minute pause). The government has turned his house on silts, his palace and yes, the ice block in which he lies, into Hanoi’s version of Disney Land. Streets are lined with vendors hawking “I (heart) HoChi Minh” T-shirts, embroidered pillowcases of Ho at various functions, and ice cream are among the big sellers. I couldn't find any funnel cake so I guess there a limits to what you can sell in a sacred place.

2 very different Hanoi Hiltons

This has nothing to do with Paris. I promise.

The “Hanoi Hilton” aka Hoa Lo Prison (aka Maison Centrale), once home to Senator John McCain, is a tourist attraction. Kind of in the way that the Tower of London are: people like torture stories. The interesting side note to the prison is how nice they make it out to be. They show the harshness of being confined here, but when it comes to the telling of the way the soldiers of the “American War” were treated, they showed smiling soldiers, pictures of them cooking in the kitchen, pictures of them receiving presents from their families. All with the disclaimer that “they came here to kill us, but look how well we treated them.”
You would think that the last place the Hilton family would want to build a new hotel would be Hanoi. Sure there’s the name recognition, but would you want to go to a Camp Auschwitz? Right off the banks of the Red River, and next to the historic Opera, a new Hilton stands. I held my moral ground and didn’t go in. Even though there was a ladies night special.

Life is like ...

I am out in a jungle. I meet some people on a tour and follow behind. Inside the group are two English speakers, they happen to be American. They happen to live in New York, better yet, in Brooklyn. One of them looks familiar, and we begin the process of figuring out how our faces have been seen before. She mentions she is “in cheese.” I mention I love cheese. She says she works as a muckity muck at one of NYC’s greatest cheese shops. I ask whether she was ever a counter girl. I tell her I can picture her in an all white uniform with shorter hair. She nods, is contemplative, and asks me whether I like “stinky cheese.” Bull’s eye! So here in the jungle, I meet someone who 4 years ago served me up some excellent stinky cheese. Forget the box of chocolates; life is like an excellent cheese aisle.

Ling Squared

Two young girls approached me and asked whether I would mind practicing English with them (as far as I knew, my English didn’t need the work, but you can never be too overconfident). I heard the stories of people getting swindled as young girls ask innocuous questions while their counterparts pick every pocket available. I wasn’t going to be that easy, but they were so cute and young and honest looking so I agreed. After they practiced their English 101 questions (how are you, how old are you, where is the library), they loosened up and spoke of how beautiful they believe Vietnam to be .. the most beautiful country, second only to Singapore. When I asked how many times they have been to Singapore, they giggled and admitted to never being out of Vietnam.
They introduced themselves as Ling and Ling, mentioned they were both in high school, Ling #1 wanted to go into hotel hospitality, Ling #2 wanted to be a clothes designer, although she has never touched a sewing machine.
Their big reveal came when I asked them what Vietnam needed to do to compete with a Shangri-la like Singapore. Without missing a beat, they said that Hanoi needed to purge itself of the men who play chess in the streets. Now, I’ve been here less than a week, but I haven’t seen the kind of rampant street chess the Lings believe are taking their city down.

Hanoi's road rules

This is a typical street scene on a calm day. Thousands of mopeds share the road with cars, bicyclists, and the hapless tourist. Forget all you think you know about crossing the road. Don't bother looking both ways; if you wait for green, you might be waiting forever; and if you presume the pedestrian has the right of way in the cross walk, you'll do the rest of your presuming from a hospital bed. Here is the best way to cross the street: take a deep inhale, step off the curb, and walk. Walk in a direct line, walk slowly and deliberately, and walk preferably with someone larger than you acting as a shield. Once you are over, I suggest taking a taxi to cross back.

Lost With No Translation

Tokyo, Japan is reminiscent of New York City in a variety of ways. Neighborhoods are classified as the shopping, eating, drinking, dancing, etc. district, and there are subways that move people between those districts. But what it lacks is a real second language. Purists might think, “Great! All the better to get submersed in the culture!” I thought this ... for all of 10 seconds (the time it took me to be thoroughly confused when trying to buy a subway ticket).While most of the signs and instructions are in Japanese, there are key English words to sucker you in to thinking you might actually be able to get somewhere in conversation. Those key words are: Lunch, Soup, Sale, and Sexy Girls. These pictures show a typical restaurant scene: plastic food plates designed to attract customers in, and a sign with some English, but all the key details are withheld behind the Japanese word fortress.

The best advice I can give to anyone seeking time in Tokyo is to let it all just happen. Walk into that restaurant, point at anything on the menu and see what happens. For the adventure traveler, be sure to try this gastro-blindness at one of Tokyo's many sushi spots. If worse comes to worse, you can always find a sexy girl to keep you company as you pray to the porcelain God.

A 10 second voice over

This morning I hear a network newscaster report that a bomb exploded in the heart of Kabul killing 4 civilians. The next story was the latest hair style of that awful "American Idol" contestant. Granted I have opinions on each story, but the lack of information coming out of Afghanistan is quite troubling. I know I am in the huge minority, since most Americans do not know anyone who is over there, but I do, and believe I bear some responsibility to introduce you to some regular people.
Manizha is worth knowing. She is an Afghan-American who has lived all her life in Queens, New York. She moved to Kabul about six months ago to launch for a non-profit that protects women. She is well spoken and brave and put a safe life behind her to ensure Afghan women are afforded certain rights (i.e. to be educated, to not be raped, to not be forced in to marriage at age 9, etc.). Well Manizha happened to be in the car right ahead of the attacked police vehicle. She was driving alone. Her tires all blew, the rear window shattered, and blood (other people's) splattered her car. Apart from extreme shock, she is alright. And knowing her, even though just a bit, I bet she will continue to stay put and continue to do the job she set out to. I share this story with you to give you a little more information than the 10 second voiceover you might hear.

re-entry

It has been three weeks now since my return to normalcy – one of those weeks was spent warming up in the central pacific coast of Mexico .. and while a banana daiquiri was no replacement for red wine, it suited my needs nicely.
I now toil in Atlanta, a relatively benign place that has electricity, fine dining, all the red wine I could drink, and tornados …. Reconfirms my stellar ability to choose a location during the worst of its weather season.
I have yet to go to an americanized Afghan restaurant to show off my limited Dari. An ex pat once told me that the first thing he does when he arrives home, is eat at a sushi restaurant, the second is to go to an Afghan one .. he feels a sense of responsibility to speak to the transplanted afghans and tell them how life is like as many of them cannot communicate with their loved ones. This said, his dari is far superior to mine, and I fear I would only irritate people by going through my 20 minute “good morning .. how are you .. I trust Allah is taking care of your body .. thank you thank you” routine

Scar tracker

In my first week in Kabul, I had 5 new burns from poor bukhali lighting. As the weeks wore on, I became quite adept at igniting the little bastard. Positioning the wood in such a way to maximize flamage; lighting with a candle instead of a simple match (you can get your hand further in this way); and using the Afghan version of toilet paper as an accelerant (it is this stretchy paper which is probably not too good for your nether regions, but lights magically nonetheless.) This all said, the total count of bukhali burns is 12. I look at it as a free souvenir ...

Some information for foodies

A normal Afghan lunch will cost about $1.50 per person; an expensive one will cost about $6. If you have a fancy/expensive one, you will normally get: a soda, some soup (lentil puree, dollop of yogurt, and a generous amount of mutton fat), bread, and a mixed platter including grilled chicken and mutton, pilau, wilted salad, mantu (Afghan style dumplings with minced meat and yogurt on top), and chips (potato slices fried in mutton fat). Another typical food (not pictured) is boulanee which is a greasy crepe type dough filled with lentils or potatoes or a spinach-type vegetable. How the boulanee is cooked, depends on where in the country you are: in Kabul and along the eastern side, it is made on a griddle with a lot of grease, towards the interior and along the western side, it is baked more than greased. Whenever tea is served, you are normally offered something sweet to go with it, either a cake or some candy. This might help explain why there is so much tea drinking in Afghanistan (or, at least, why I kept accepting tea when it was offered).

Your daily bread

Bread (or nan) costs about 20 cents. You can buy it on nearly every street, and once made, it is hung by hooks inside the shops walls. The dough is stretched and slapped onto the interior wall of this clay oven/fire pit contraption which gives it its elongated shape When you buy it, the bread maker will take it off its hook, and put it on a clay buchali-type oven to warm it. This bread is fantastic when warmed. The bread shops are basically just store fronts (or perhaps even the front rooms of the people’s homes), and the choices are: long shape, round shape, and (only in certain places) with seeds. Each morning I will see men on bicycles bringing back stacks of breads to their families, or boys carrying them wrapped in papers to the local restaurants. The bread shop storefronts are local meeting and gossiping places, the way barber shops typically are/were in the US.

The truth about nuts

There is a lot of nut and dried fruit eating here. In fact, dried fruit producing is a viable way to earn a living (especially for women since it can be done at home). At the office, the staff likes to snack on bowls of dried chickpeas (or something like it) mixed with raisins, or other dried items like figs or dates. But here is what I have learned about nuts: in the wintertime, you should eat nuts because it keeps the body warm. In the summer, you should avoid nuts, because they will give you pimples. Now I have been eating a lot of nuts and still haven’t gotten any warmer; I hope that means I am not in store for a pimply summer!

I guess it can be a religious experience ...

Every day I would see men kneeling against the wall outside of my office window. The wall is to the west, so I had assumed that it had to do with prayer. The wall is actually a toilet wall and since men here squat when they use the loo, what I thought was them praying, is actually them peeing. There aren’t any signs to indicate that it’s a good spot to pee, I think that it is advertised by word of mouth.

Guess who's coming to tea

Her Excellency, Minister Ghandafar, requested my presence to give me some presents. She has been trilled with how the new Directorate is coming together and wanted to show her appreciation; it is common in Afghanistan to give gifts for the slightest of things. I received a carving of Afghanistan with the country’s flag intertwined with the American flag. The thing weighs a ton! I also got a felt, heart-shaped box with lapis (the country’s gemstone) jewelry. I thanked her for opening her house to me and I offered to host her for tea in my house should she ever make it to NYC. On the way out, her senior advisor told me that I needed to give him all my information as they are, in fact, planning a trip to the US soon. Uh oh.

Some lessons learned

If you don’t ask for something, the chances of you getting what you want are 0%. If you ask for it from the Director of the Department that handles said request, the chances of you getting it are 5%. If you want even the smallest thing done; it requires an official letter. Even if you don’t think you need an official letter, you do. Don’t sit too close to the window when you are in a car; the bumpy roads will knock you against that window and it will hurt. That flower you are admiring … it is fake, so don’t bother testing. Oh, and the most important lesson: don’t use the squat toilets if no one else is using them - there is a good reason for it.

Thrill Ride

I experienced a first in Kabul – I took an elevator ride! There is a new ex pat “rooftop” lounge in one of the hotels and by rooftop I mean the 7th floor. Once my fawning over the electricity stopped, so did the elevator! There I was, trapped in the dark, with a voice beckoning to me from the elevator intercom. The problem was that it was all in Dari and for all I knew I was being told to “get down get down the elevator is about to plummet!” I started to laugh (funny how fear will do that to you) and kept repeating “hello, how are you .. hello, how are you” in my best Dari. It was all of ten minutes (feeling more like hours) before the electricity was back on and the doors opened. I walked the rest of the way up. ((the photo was taken against the mirrored wall of the elevator .. I was in total darkness which will explain why it is not some of my best photographic work)).

Ashura

For all of the build up and the security warnings about staying away from certain Shi’a zones (I live in the middle of one), the day was quiet. The occasional low flying aircraft buzzing overhead, the louder than usual calls to prayer, the waving of the Shi’a flag were common sights and sounds, but otherwise the day was marked by bright sunshine and a group walk to Kabul Coffee House for lunch (4 blocks away .. the girls all shrouded). The din of the “spring offensive” does put a damper on the warming weather, but I’m excited by the prospect that we might actually have running water again soon! As adept as I am getting at scoop showers, I’m looking forward to not having to work as hard to get clean.

Not a banner year ...

To understand the challenges faced with the launch of the Media & Communications Directorate, is to understand the type of people who used to run the Ministry's “image". Last year for International Women’s Day, banners were written with a message designed to empower women. These banners were paid for by donors (what we call the government and NGOs who assist in funding) … anyhow the man in charge with Ministry PR changed the banners at the last minute without notifying anyone. On International Women’s Day, banners were hung with the message “A woman’s virginity is the jewel in he husband’s crown.” People were outraged .. soon after the Minister was ousted (though told that there was no relation to the events) …but, and here’s the kicker, the man responsible for the banner change is still in place and still doing the job he couldn’t do. This year, that same man suggested the Afghan proverb of “A woman’s silence means her consent” Even in America, if a friend of the president fails so obviously in their job, they get fired .. eventually.

Are you chicken?

We had a visitor to the office; a French woman who is making a documentary on Afghan women. She came at the conclusion of the staff’s English lesson, and I introduced her to the group as “so and so from France who is here making a documentary.” Harkening back to their first English lesson when they were all animals, I said to the staff that she would have come in time for their English lesson, but she didn’t want to be a chicken. (insert a roomful of giggles here). One of the staff members (who believes their English to be far superior than that of her colleagues) turned to the visitor and asked “are you from Chicken or from France?” I assume Chicken is next to Turkey.