Reliving Saigon.

Reliving Saigon.

Day 1

After Phuket last year, I knew better than to have high hopes for this trip. Moreover, Vietnam - Ho Chi Minh City in particular, hadn't exactly been a place I'd been dying to visit. And it was precisely this "take it as it is" attitude that I think got me through the trip. No expectations, no disappointment.

The many foodies in the family ensured that we stopped for an authentic Vietnamese lunch before checking in.

Pho, pronounced as "fur" with a slight lilt at the end, is found almost everywhere in Ho Chi Minh City. While we have fast food chains like MacDonald's, Burger King and KFC peppered all over Singapore; the Vietnamese have Pho chains.

How to eat pho:
1. Season soup with extra condiments if you please
2. Add cut chillies for an extra kick (and boy, do these chillies kick)
3. Add veggies, basil and mint leaves at your discretion

Lunch was digested with a quick city tour. First up was the Post Office, a pretty impressive building with interiors that reminded me of English train stations. Just across the road was the Notre Dame Cathedral. Our guide, Van, mentioned that the guy who built/designed the Eiffel Tower designed either one of these buildings. Can't quite remember though, and I don't seem to be able to find any information online either.



A church built to look like a temple. Talk about religious harmony.



We had time to squeeze in a "not shiok" massage and a quite jaunt about our district before dinner.



Check out this sign we saw whilst walking around our hotel. How realistic.

Ho Chi Minh City ain't called the City of Motorcycles for nothing. Zebra crossings and traffic lights are but forgotten ornaments on a Christmas tree.

Dinner was at a cafe serving Vietnamese street food (imagine Lau Pat Sat as a cafe) for the guide thought our stomachs wouldn't be suited for the real McCoy.

Day 2

We took a trip out to visit the Cu Chi Tunnels. Armed with just simple spades, the Viet Congs dug through the hard hard soil to create these tunnels which are over 200km long. The tunnels housed a hospital, bunks and even a kitchen. We got to try crawling through one of the 40m tunnels, already enlarged for tourists, and oh boy, I can't imagine having to go through 200km!

The Viet Congs also set up plenty of traps, like this one:

And here's an illustration of how the trap actually works.



Bomb shells.



Vietnamese Viagra anyone?

I'm neither a history nor military buff, but this trip out sure was an eye-opener. I am really quite impressed by the Viet Congs, and their sheer ingenuity. While the US soldiers brought their dogs out to sniff the Viet Congs out, the latter preempted and avoided capture by wearing the uniforms of the US Army to throw the dogs off track. And the tunnels? Digging and crawling through them - no easy job I can assure you.

The solemn morning was soon put aside when we made a trip to the Ben Thanh Market for a spot of retail therapy. I didn't get any pictures, but it is like the cleaner, less chaotic and less eventful sibling of Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok.

Dinner was at a tourist trap restaurant, where waiters threw and caught claypot rice. I couldn't get a clear shot for I didn't want to risk blinding the waiter (and the people around him) with my flash, but look really closely and you may just see him in action.



Worth a mention however is the massage parlour just across our hotel. An hour of bliss that really worked out the knots in our shoulders and the aches in our feet. It was also, we soon came to realise, one of the few parlours that did not offer "extra services".

Day 3

I gave the war museum a miss and set off for Ben Thanh Market again instead. There was only so much of group travel I could take. I emerged a few hours later a lot poorer, with plenty of Lonely Planet travel guidebooks and a suitcase to boot.

Walked around the district (again, I know). This time, I gave my wallet a rest and set about working my camera instead.

Streets of Vietnam. Kinda pretty huh?



The Opera House. Seeing it makes me think of Lea Salonga and Miss Saigon.

Dinner at the seafood place was pretty cool. Not that I thought it justified the return visit on our last day.

Day 4

I thought I'd never make it to my free and easy day! There aren't many shops worth visiting around the hotel, so I set about taking in the sights instead.

Breakfast at Dongdo Hotel. Looks pathetic I know, but the baguette's pretty amazing.



A coffee shop. Not a kopitiam, but a shop selling coffee.

3 June 2007
17:18 hrs
Black Cat Cafe

"A stolen moment at last.

Here I am in Black Cat, a cafe just around the corner from the hotel. I'm neither thirsty nor peckish, but I'm nursing a Vietnamese iced coffee and a slice of cake, to better relish the temporary freedom.

I'm not entirely sure I'm in a cafe or bar, but I'm the only patron right now. The decor's pretty different, and they are alternating techno with French pop on the speakers.

Ho Chi Minh City... better known as Saigon. I'm coincidentaly in the middle of the chapter on Saigon in Anthony Bourdain's A Cook's Tour. This city definitely isn't as commercialised as Bangkok or even Bali; perhaps because tourism doesn't quite seem that big here. It's my fourth day in the city, and I feel like I'm ready to say goodbye.

I wouldn't say the place is ugly, for the buildings do have a certain French flair, and even the dilapidated ones seem to have aged with class. Like French women, haha. Neither would I say the city lacks history or culture, for there are quite a few museums and the whole Vietnam war story.

Yet, I don't feel compelled to explore or get to know the city. I don't look up at the sky at sunset to have my breath stolen away. I don't have the urge to whip my camera out every other minute to immortalize a moment on film. There's art, dining, architecture.

And yet, I feel like I'm just passing by."

Shortly after I wrote the entry, Manh the waiter stopped by for a chat. Vietnamese in general aren't quite as proficient in English as compared to the locals in tourist influx-ed places like Thailand and Bali. But while the conversation was shaky, I had a pretty good gist of his life story.

He grew up in one of the provinces in the Mekong Delta, and came to Ho Chi Minh City 8 years ago to make a living, despite his preference for the rural. Farming in the countryside just couldn't make ends meet. And here he is, 8 years later, juggling two jobs and working 16 hour days, 6 days a week. He spoke to me of his ambition, of how he wanted to work in a "big hotel" for he felt that employees were managed more professionally, and how he wanted to be able to save up enough money to buy a plot of land somewhere in the highlands. Grow some coffee and tea.

The conversation made me feel extremely fortunate to have my seemingly mundane life, yet it made my spirit feel so small. At my lowest points, when it felt like no one could have had it any worse than me, I was wrong. Somewhere out there, people are struggling physically to make ends meet while I had it all laid out in front of me.

It's been a trying 10 months. Laughs have been hard to come by, smiles were sometimes forced, and the aches sometimes threatened to overwhelm. Yet, it has been an enriching 10 months as well. Travelling so much has really opened my eyes and my mind, and I think I have grown to be a person I prefer over the previous me.

Apart from knowing the world around me better, I've also got to know myself a bit better. Somewhere along the way, I was enlightened; moments of wisdom that seeped into my subconscious. Life is all about perspective, and perspective belongs to me.

I've also learnt, somehow, that the best way of dealing with pain is to accept it instead of running away from it. I've learnt to appreciate not just the beauty in happiness, but also that in anger, pain, fear and disappointment. Each moment in life cannot be relived, and I have learnt to appreciate the moment, be it a good or a bad one. And the world seems so much lighter.

A quick shot with the cousins (Glenda, Bradley and Petria) before heading out to dinner, which along with the day's lunch, ain't quite worth the mention. The meals weren't bad, but I would have gladly exchanged that for a crappy French meal. At least I would have had French food in Vietnam!

Day 5

It was time to leave Dongdo Hotel behind and head out to the Mekong. This is honestly the part I've been looking forward too. Boating on the Mekong - a traveller's dream.

The gang at the lobby, celebrating Aunty Pat's birthday.



On the road. She looks pretty cute in my sunnies eh?



I like this series of shots.



A sleeping Glenda, snapped by Bradley. As much as she gets to me sometimes with her kiddy nonsense, the feeling of having her lay to sleep on my lap is indescribably heartwarming. And when she asked to sleep on my lap on the return journey from the Mekong tour, I melted.



Construction that is, according to Van, advised by our very own MM Lee.



The Mekong route.



My first glimpse of the Mekong.

Our first river stop was a fruit plantation where we had the sweetest tropical platter. It was here that I fell in love with pineapples.



Post-fruits Vietnamese folk songs.



I like him.



This isn't the Mekong tour. We're actually the new cast of Survivor Vietnam.

And so we saw exotic fruits and watched how coconunt candy was made.

We then hopped on a horse cart to the bee farm. The latter wasn't fantastic, but the ride was awesome. All we had to do was pray that the horse not fart into our faces.

Post bee farm - rowing boats to take us back to our boat.



Yep, a leaking boat in a river of crocs.



My Mekong hero.



Told you it's Survivor. Picture courtesy of Auntie Sab.

How to eat an Elephant Ear Fish

1. Deep fry it till crisp
2. Cut it up and place in a rice paper roll, atop veggies, mint and what nots
3. Roll it up and bite.

Quite the looker huh this young boy?

The unrelentless Mekong sun.




Fishing houses on the river.



Bradley, my Vietnam life support.







A couple of shots I took from the coach of the passing scenery. Tinkered with sepia tones for the second, and I really do like the reflection of the trees in the third.



Don't believe it when people tell you how Bangkok traffic is bad. Vietnam brings traffic chaos to a whole new level - it's bloody suicide.



We had to get off the coach and walk to the ferry to Cantho because of the jam. Not bad a way to take in Vietnamese life eh?

A ferry not just for people, but for trucks, lorries, vans and motorcycles too.





Finally, a decent sunset.

Aboard the thrill motor, whizzing through Vietnam traffic to our hotel.

And I thought these mating dogs were conjoined twins.

We ended our last night in Vietnam with a super crappy massage in the hotel. It was sleazy, unprofessional, and I felt like badly marinated chicken chop. Bradley even had an offer for a massage for his "baby".

Capped the night off with complimentary cocktails at the hotel bar with Bradley. I don't know about him but I got a little tipsy! I've always lamented that I don't have a cousin my age, but it seems like we hit it off pretty well. Well enough to chat way into the morning. Bad news for our 5.30 a.m. wake-up call!

Day 6

5 a.m. and the cars and motorcycles are horning. 6 a.m. and the sun's all bright and cheery. A gorgeous sight that even a bleary-eyed me couldn't deny.





The bustle of activity on the Mekong at sunrise. We were up this early to catch the floating market.

One of my favourite shots.

The floating market on the Mekong Delta. This picture makes me think of Sing to the Dawn, the book by Minfong Ho. It's set in Thailand though, but there's this whole rustic charm about it.

Balancing act.

Traffic was on my side, and we had about an hour to hit Saigon Square and its fabulous shopping I missed when I took off to Black Cat Cafe on my own. $5 Mango tops and $14 Mango bottoms. I was in retail heaven. A shopaholic's idea of a good sendoff.

It has been quite the ride I don't think I'd want to relive for awhile.

Back from Saigon, the city of motorcycles.

Back from Saigon, the city of motorcycles.

It wasn't the best of trips, as already anticipated. While I wasn't exactly chuffed about my time in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), I immensely enjoyed the trip out to the Mekong Delta. There was a rustic charm about it that I may even have fallen in love with, should I have had the leeway to explore the place on my own. Not to mention the many cafes in the nooks and crannies of Saigon I'd have loved to try, instead of upmarket Cantonese fare. It wasn't bad, but I was pretty disappointed we didn't try any French food. How can one not have French food when in Vietnam? Incomprehensible.

I'll do up my travel entry another time. Gotta be up at 8 for the beach!

Last night in the city.

Last night in the city.

It's our last night in Saigon city, and a bunch of us have just returned from a "damn shiok" massage at the parlour across the road. That's been our daily routine for the past three nights - massage at 10:00 p.m., not that I'm complaining that's for sure. Averaging at about S$15 including tips for an hour of head, neck, back and feet bliss definitely is money well spent to me. It's not dirt cheap like in Bangkok, but affordable in comparison to what we have back home.

We're headed to the Mekong Delta first thing in the morning, and we'll spend our remaining two days in Vietnam by the river. After being cooped up here in the city for four whole days, I am looking forward to the change in landscape. I opted out of the impromptu shopping trip to one of the malls earlier for some needed me-time. Hopped over to Black Cat for a drink, and as I was the only patron at the odd hour, Manh the waiter had plenty of time to tell me his life story.

I was happy to have the evening to myself, until Bradley and Petrina told me about the awesome buys they found in the shopping mall. The best shopping they've seen so far, with S$15 Mango shorts and S$12 Mary Janes. Dang. Life's not just about materialistic possessions, right?

From Saigon.

From Saigon.

It's my first night in Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City. Dinner at an upmarket cafe serving up street fare has cost our table of 18 people 1.75 million Vietnamese dong. Million. Hah.

Most of our time's been spent downtown, but I must say the buildings I've seen so far are pretty darn gorgeous. What I read about French colonial flair sure is true. It's like a prettier and less chaotic Bangkok.

We're staying in a small but rather comfortable hotel right smack downtown, in what our tour guide Van calls "Vietnam's Orchard Road". Vietnam's Palais Renaissance is just two streets away. A huge building housing all the branded boutiques, complete with fairy lights.

I was, and still am actually, apprehensive about travelling in a big group with the extended family. Turns out it ain't that bad, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed it stays that way.

A drug-free cure.

A drug-free cure.

Apart from necessary trips, like for my final theory test (which I passed haha!), driving lessons and to teach piano, the rest of my time's been spent at home on the couch. In fact, I've lay around so much these couple of days, I'm starting to wonder if the lethargy stems from my post-bug recovery, or from doing nothing much at all.

Potato-ing on the couch isn't much fun at all when it's mandatory. There was nothing I wished for more than a good workout to sort the stiff muscles; and I seriously did wish I were on Siloso Beach watching the volleyball competition instead of watching it on tv. And I kinda wanted to go traipsing around Little India, but I think the smell of spices and cooking curry would have been the last straw towards my so-far-strong-enough-to-refuse-puking stomach. And I seriously don't fancy barfing in public. I don't fancy barfing to begin with.

It's hard to feel all bright and sunny when stuck at home with the sun shining cheerily outside and with Shopaholic & Sister being the sole generator of laughter; but a call from a friend I had't heard from in awhile did the trick for me. I am definitely feeling chipper.

I am contemplating a run outside, but it is a gamble for I've got two dinner parties and a vacation next week. I hope it ain't the lazy bug speaking.

The price of independence.

The price of independence.

Yesterday's saga with the tummy bug had me thinking. I had plenty of time to do that for there was nothing else I could do lying in bed, and there's only so much a girl can sleep.

As I willed the discomfort away and prayed for sleep to take over, I started wondering how it'd be like if I were this ill while I was all alone abroad. Dreams require a bit of practicality too don't they?

Fortunately for me, apart from the occasional sore throat, I've never fallen sick whilst abroad. That said, being miles away from home can make even the tiniest of coughs feel like a lung-busting hack. What then, touch wood, would a stomach virus feel should it get to me overseas?

I sure hope I'll be lucky enough to never have to deal with something like this, but you'll never know would you? It's gonna be one heck of a recovery process, that I can be sure.

Ah. Dreams. Costs.

Ah.

How it feels like to have your knees give way.

How it feels like to have your knees give way.

I hate stomach-related illnesses. What I would give to actually have the power to prevent stomach flu and food poisoning. The painful twitches. The nausea. I hate puking.

This may sound funny, but I've never had diarrhoea in my life, and while I've heard plenty about how one can be struck so bad he/she can hardly stand, I've never had any first hand experience.

The weird twitch in my tummy at seven in the morning increased in regularity, and I soon lost my diarrhoea-virgin status. That said, I don't think I had it that bad, but three times in the loo gave me a pretty good idea of the phrase 'weak in the knees'. Coupled with burning up, nausea and what felt like a rock in my stomach, I barely procrastinated a visit to the doctor.

I quite almost keeled over on the journey there and back a couple of times, but 12 hours later of groaning and fitful sleep later, I think I have pretty much regained enough strength to keep me sitting up. With a backrest of course.

So here I am, not quite fresh as a daisy, but with enough strength to start fretting about the final theory test I never got the chance to revise for today. Should I or should I not?

Forgiveness: Priceless.

Forgiveness: Priceless.


Photo: TFM Distribution

HH and I were this close to giving the movie a miss altogether due to our clashing schedules, but I am so glad we finally got around to watching it today. It's not mindblowingly good, but good, which is honestly, good enough for today's cinema offerings. I haven't watched that many French films, but Priceless is definitely up there with Love Me If You Dare and He Loves Me... He Loves Me Not.

On a different note, I finally confronted an issue I'd been running away from for the past five months. It wasn't easy, for it was so much easier to avoid and not think about it; and it was much easier to remain angry than to deal with the hurt. While jabbing at not quite old wounds hurt initially, anger soon gave way to logic.

Grudges, I've concluded, are manifestations of procrastination. Quite like an overdue fine or a friend you have been meaning to call for ages, grudges unknowingly weigh you down. So pay that fine and call that friend. You'll feel much better, trust me.

The art of cycling.

The art of cycling.

1. Hit an ulu beach with 2 goofballs.


2. Choose a small-enough bicycle to start.


3. Don't be afraid to use protection.


4. Exasperate your teacher.


5. Finally get it right with pointers from a helpful ah pek passing by.


6. Take a breather on swings.


7. Laugh at your friend.


8. Cool down and hydrate.


9. Refuel.


10. Hop on the bus to town.


11. End it all off with munchies and hilarious boardgames.


12. And really awful drawings.

Sometimes, I smile so much my cheeks ache.

Sometimes, I smile so much my cheeks ache.

I have been jolted by the realisation with increasing regularity these days. Midway in a conversation with someone, I'd be painfully aware of the ache in my cheeks and the tension in my temples. The PR smile has become second nature, and while my subconscious may not register the fakery, my facial muscles certainly do.

And for a couple of moments after, I attempt talking sans expressions, when all I really want to do is scrunch and contort my face to loosen the tightness.

I am a walking circus act. There's a certain humor in such situations, but I can't help wishing for more occasions whereby my smiles are from the heart, and not out of politeness.

Wednesday night was a much anticipated catch-up session with my CPM babes. It was so good, reminiscing our final year project for Sentosa - site visits on construction areas in our heels; Mar's cutesy intepretation of the toilet layouts; late-night sessions in the computer lab; confessions of "sins", and endless bantering... I really do miss those days of camaraderie.

The good old tau huay days.

Someone took a candid shot of us at our project meeting, poring over the architectural layout plans.

Just before the final presentation of our poly years.

At our post-project celebration at Blu Jaz and Ambrosia.

And finally, this is us a year from then.







Yvonne's impromptu "2nd 21st birthday" celebration - the taitai, the "bimbu", the stewardess and the writer.

How we've grown and changed, and how, at the same time, we have not. The boisterous laughter, incessant teasing and odd cheers. The smile on my face while posting this definitely comes from the heart.

Off I go to bed for a quick session with Nora Roberts and her Irish tales. I've got a brunch date in the morning, and we're driving to Botak Jones in the night!

What's your story?

What's your story?

I am a piano teacher on Sundays, albeit not an excellent one. I see my students only once a week, and only for an hour each time. I can't say I know them, but yet, I am tuned to their unique idiosyncrasies.

Today, I will talk about C.

She's 13, and one of my new students with signs of teenage angst. Taking up piano was her mother's idea, and it pains me somewhat to watch her mechanically play her pieces. And while it frustrates me the moment she transfers her angst towards banging out the scales she can't get right, I am reminded a little of myself, back when I was practising for my Grade 8 practical. Scales suck. I tell her that, but my words seem to fall on deaf ears.

Yet, the face that is devoid of emotion lights up when she talks about her interest in literature and electric guitar. I wish piano brought her such joy, but this is a passion that cannot be imparted. I wish I could, but I don't think I could alter her resentment towards the piano.

If I can't bring her solace through music, I hope to at least bring her solace through an avenue for the freedom of expression. If I can't give her the love of the instrument, I hope to at least give her 45 minutes each week to be herself. Not what her mother wants her to be, but the person who lights up talking about Shakespeare I glimpse behind the surly persona. Our weekly meeting may seem like a prison term to her right now, but who's to know what the future brings?

Immortalising love on film.

Immortalising love on film.

I've always thought it would be tough.

Love is such a complex emotion, and there are so many aspects of love to be explored. Love is inexplicable as it is in real life, and it seems like an inhumane challenge to convincingly tell a love story within two hours of screen time.

I don't deny that I am a sucker for romantic comedies, but more often than not, I watch it not expecting a realistic potrayal of love. Instead, I willingly hand over my money anticipating the unrealistic situations and scenarios that ironically make us females go weak in the knees. I turn to mush, despite the often present loopholes in the plot - like is it really possible to fall completely in love with someone you've never met? And I've never thought it possible that one could chart the growth of love and the development of a relationship within a movie.

I've never felt particularly compelled to watch classics like Gone with the Wind or Breakfast at Tiffany's either, so I can't comment on how true reviews that read "the best love story of all time" are. Neither can I give a convincing argument that the portrayal of love in movies has been frivolised over the years.

What I can tell you however was how The Notebook blew me away.

picture from www.impawards.com

I've heard from friends about how good the movie was, but I never got around to catching it on the big screen. Truth be told, I was pretty skeptical for I live among people who deem Batman Begins as mindblowing. No offence to fans, but I just don't share your sentiments.

I finally got around to renting the dvd last Friday, and I forgot about it actually until I remembered that I had to return it tomorrow. And so, with my aunt, I settled onto the couch, all prepared for a mediocre tale like the last remake of Nicholas Sparks' novel A Walk to Remember.

I sure got way more than what I had bargained for.

In The Notebook, love was not something that involved kissing frogs, dying in war or escaping sinking ships. There were neither cheesy lines nor extravagant gestures; love was shown as how love is. The plot was neither surprising nor particularly different from many romance films out there, yet the simplicity made it all the more compelling. More than anything else, this movie had what many romantic flops lacked - truth.

I had a hard time holding back my tears but I didn't want to cry in front of my aunt; but the floodgates opened the moment the show ended.

It was a tale that wrenched my heart a couple of times, made it ache, made it sing... and made it believe. And I think that's what a great love story is about.

Where have all the cowboys gone?

Where have all the cowboys gone?
feeling: giggly
music: the very best of asia lounge - pacific wave

An old friend commented that my writing's improved, and that I've developed a style of my own. I don't know how true that is, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I no longer blog about the tiny mundanities. Nevertheless, it is a compliment much appreciated s.o.s. :)

Bloggers all write for an audience, but I don't have an intended audience anymore. Writers are all to a certain degree narcissistic exhibitors, but my writing of late has become more of self-satisfaction. I write for me. Not a bad thing' cept that I'm trying to make it as a writer, and writers are meant to spin tales and touch lives with the humble magic of language.

I am neither inspired to spin nor weave. I am not inspired, period.

Only at night, as I lay in bed, do vague ideas flutter around in that hazy web of sleep. And I awake, ready to spend another day stuck in the rut.

I'm allowing myself just that bit more of stagnancy. Just a bit more, before I bid goodbye to this aura of grey.

I need to do a lot of reading on Bali if I intend to spin a credible tale. Soon, I will haul myself to the library and then to Pacific Coffee with my macbook. Soon. Soon.

In a holiday state of mind.

In a holiday state of mind.
feeling: exhausted, tickled.
music: jennylyn mercado feat. janno gibbs - if i'm not in love with you

After weeks of procrastination, I finally got down to clearing out my hall room yesterday. I didn't have much of a choice actually - it was the last day for eviction. What a word, haha.

Barren, back to how it was 2 semesters ago. I haven't spent as I should have in here, but there were some pretty awesome memories.

Goodbye Hall 4.

Met my bitch for a swim in the morning, before hitting the town together to conquer the shops. I haven't spent the way I did today since I realised the importance of saving for my travels. BUT it's the weekend of dad's birthday + Mother's Day (presents for both mom and auntie) + brother's birthday + piano kid's birthday, so spending's justified, no?

Walked past Singapore Pools at Lucky Plaza and shared a 4D ticket on impulse. I think bitch and I are telepathic - she chose the number that flashed into my head. Let's hope telepathy pays well, haha.

I don't know if it was the post-purchase endorphins or the Mike+Ike sugar high, but we laughed our way through dinner with Ceci and Edmund. Red Indian jokes and make-believe tribes.

The show continued back home, this time on MSN with Jared and Jinli. Pirated celestial heavens, Tu Di Gong, Sun Wu Kong, Queen Mother, Zhu Ba Jie, Chang'e, Nibushinanya, Verena, Vandana, Alfred Choi, and dead bunnies.

I don't think I've laughed this much since a very long time ago. Ache abs, ache.