Halong Bay - When Good Nature Goes Bad

Oh Halong Bay. You beautiful land of the descending dragon you. So inherently majestic that even with Bob's big head in my face, you're still a stunner. So magnificant that tour companies and hotels don't have to trick us into voting for it as one of UNESCO's next Seven Natural Wonders.

While we're on that topic. I have two peices of bo with UNESCO. First, everything is a UNESCO World Heritage site. I'm surprised grandma from my banh mi cart didn't make the cut. Second, UNESCO really needs to stop this "New Seven Wonder" shit. The whole point of SEVEN wonders is their rarity. No one is going to say "hey honey, how about going to 39th wonder for vacation?". I'll make allowances for the New Seven Wonders of the World because lets be honest, the original listmakers were a wee bit racist but seriously that Jesus statue in Rio is not a "Wonder". In fact, let's set some guidelines here. Nothing after the industrial revolution, nothing rebuilt, nothing constructed with power tools and nothing made out of metal, concrete, fiberglass, plastic, rubber or yarn can qualify.

Ali and I went kayaking in Diesel Juice Bay and found a rock in a cave that looks suspiciously like a pair of something-that-rhymes-with-malls. Displaying new-found poise and maturity that comes with experiencing poor people, we only took 85 pictures each and only turned our kayaks around three times to "capture the right light".

Sapa - Rice, Rice and More Rice

Ali and I took an overnight train from Hanoi to Sapa on the luxurious Victoria Express (don't judge, we're easing ourselves into budget traveling). It felt like a scene from China Beach when Catherine Deveneux glides along French Indochina with her native porters in tow. Except Ali would be Catherine and I would be the porter or the handmaiden if I'm lucky.

In Sapa we took a guided trek to the village of Cat Cat ("villages" in asia usually mean only 2 things, peeing in a ditch and fowls). The trek provided magnificant views of rice paddies and introduced us to various Vietnamese hill tribes. The local farmers carved beautiful congruent tiered paddies into the slopes of the mountains. It had just rained recently and the paddies glowed like layers of mirrors. It is exhilarating to see both in Yunnan and in Sapa that sometimes the human footprint can actually enhance nature rather that just destroy it.

The Black Hmong tribe that dominates the hills of Sapa were given their ominous moniker from the black dye they use to color all their clothes. The plant used for dying is actually indigo so after a few washings the outfits look more blue than black. I see the potential for a great laundry detergent ad here. Tide: Helping minorities retain their identity. What's more impressive is the means the Black Hmongs still go through to make their clothing the traditional way from planting the indigo to weaving the cloth. I don't think its the prohibitive costs of modern clothing that prevents them from dressing in a t-shirt and shorts (please, the Nike sweatshop is probably an ox cart ride away). I think once they lose their way of dressing, they lose their identity.

Oh Hanoi You Didn't!

There is no love loss between the Vietnamese and the Chinese. In the days of yore, we conquered and subjugated them to second class status. In more modern times, we took hold of their economy and infrastructure (China currently builds many of the much needed power plants in Vietnam). While the worst of this hatred has subsided, a little bit still lingers on. For example, hawkers only approach Ali and never myself. When talking to us, everyone is only interested Ali's name and what she has to say and directs all their questions and explanations to her (i.e. at the Metropole, only Ali was told by the receptionist that breakfast was served on the top floor).

I know some might think that I'm being paranoid but really, I've never met anyone in Asia THAT interested in Canada and how a group of people who can't pronounce "L's" always manages to remember Alison's name over the Asian friendly "Connie" is beyond me. It could just be because Alison is so different from them that stokes their interest but I think it's a little more than just innocent curiosity. When inquiring about vacancies in hotels, the front desk clerk won't even talk to me until they see Ali standing outside. I know they are always weary of prostitutes but I'm pretty sure my piss poor Vietnamese and perfect English pretty much eliminates the oldest profession from my resume.

I don't mind their apathy. In fact I enjoy it. I don't get harassed to buy trinkets and I get to enjoy Vietnam without someone asking me when Canada gained independence from the United States.

Chinese Exclusion Act aside, Hanoi was somewhat of a disappointing city that looks like any other over-populated, polluted Asian city. The hyped French influence was lost on me (except maybe the smoking and the funky b.o.) and it's not like the French to leave an invisible footprint in their colonies. Heck, they changed the entire written language of Vietnam. The oppressive heat and humidity probably stoked my dislike even more. I swear, I would have defected to anywhere that had A/C in those few days in Hanoi. So basically, if you're white and visiting Hanoi during their cool season, this might be a fabulous city after all.

Shanghai - Propaganda Forever! Free Speech Never!

The only reason to go to Shanghai is for the shopping and/or the drinking. Since the prospect of taking on more luggage was as appealing to Ali and I as a case of Scarlett Fever, we were left with just the allure of drinking. The plan was to party until 6 AM, sleep to 2 PM, eat, rinse and repeat. Luck be with us, we ended up in Shanghai right at the beginning of the 3 day mourning period for the Sichuan earthquake. By decree of head commie, all leisure activities (bars and clubs but not restaurants) were to be closed during the mourning period. Unlike NYC, Shanghai clubs do not serve overpriced dinners to those not hot, rich or famous enough to get into the club during regular hours. Now I feel for the earthquake victims, I really do, and I'm fully supportive of the idea of a MOMENT of silence. Heck, I even think the mourning period is a great gimmick to increase philanthropic contributions but honestly, isn't drinking the best cure for suffering (I believe it falls right after denial in the Wheel of Pain and Suffering and right before anger)? I mean, just look at the the poor Brits... drunkards, the whole lot of them.

I think this is just the governments way of forcing people to stay home to watch the 24/7 propaganda ridden coverage on how well relief efforts were being handled by the People's Liberation Army (PLA). One news radio reported that "the PLA was so strong and gallant in the moments after the devastation that a westerner called them the new great wall of China". First gag me. Second, can we please be more specific? Everyone is a "westerner" to my people. That's why China is called the Far East. Finally, like all walls built to keep out the enemy (ahem Maginot Line), the Great Wall of China systemically failed. Every invading northern horde scaled that wall with as much effort as Yao jumping over chihuahuas.

The Shanghai Daily had some even more hyperbolic and sickening quotes but I just had some awesome noodle soup and I don't want to lose it.

A Monk, a Meal and a Car

Yunnan, China. My pre-conceived notions of a monk is a stoic, gentle, bald guy who eschews the temptation of modern greed and chants "oh mi tofu" all day. They don't eat meat because Buddhism espouses the idea of reincarnation (that extra crispy colonel's original recipe might really be the colonel himself). In fact, traditionally, monks are supposed to beg for their supper. Sitting in the picturesque old city of Lijiang I saw three young monks walk up to the street food lady and order 3 hot dogs on a stick, 3 yak skewers and 3 chicken wings. Ali, ever the optimist, thinks maybe the food is for someone else but given the lip smacking and the grease stains, I'm pretty sure they just ate Grandpapa.

Then, when leaving the Songzanlin Monastery (home to 600 tibetan monks), we ran into monks making the daily morning delivery of goods.... in a Hummer (H2 to be exact). Even the pope-mobile is only made by Ford Motor Company.

If someone shows up on Oprah claiming to be love-child of the Dalai Lama, I'm converting. (Yes I know I'm a practicing Atheist but the only places of worship I've every honored are buddhist temples so that brings my heathen ass halfway to nirvana by my books).

My First Marriage Proposal

Yunnan, China. I sat next to a young man who was from Hunnan on the bus from Lijiang to Shangri-La. He came from a farming family and set out to Lijiang to start an air conditioning and heating company. He's doing pretty well and recently started a second office in Shangri-La. He told me his first real paycheck was for $1,100 RMB (US$160) and with that he went a bought a suit for $600 RMB (US$90 ish). He was aflicted, like many villager-cum-business owner, with an inferiority complex to the city people. With this sense of unworthiness comes a prejudice against his own origins. He pointed to the log cabins of the local Naxi farmers and said with an air of superiority "look how destitute those farmers are." I said I don't think they're destitute, I think they need less. He scoffs at me and reiterates that they are so poor that even the richest Naxi farmer only makes $40 RMB (US$0.55) a week. To him, words like "poor" and "wealthy" are always quantitative and never qualitative. My over-priviledged guilt complex wonders if only people who need nothing can glorify and romanticize the people who can afford nothing. He then asked me to marry him. I think my mom would have a hard time receiving 8 cows from my potential in-laws so I politely declined.

We Don't All Look Alike

* Not blogging in order of pilgrimage because inspiration and genius cannot be confined to a timeline.

Yunnan, China. Part of my fascination with Yunnan is the wealth of minority tribes who live in the mountains. Due to the treacherous terrain, many of these tribes have been left alone from the numerous tyranical Chinese ruling parties (Qing - damn mongols; PRC - damn commies). Alas no one can hide from the omnipresent Chairman Mao for long and road construction in Yunnan began in the late 60s. After the 1996 earthquake, Yunnan was put on the map as a top tourist destination forever. The region however, was already steeped in local traditions, culture and history that persists even to today.

Most Chinese people (certainly anyone you know) are from the Han ethnicity. Yunnan however, is home to 56 other ethnic Chinese and over 50% of its population is non-Han. The main tribes are the Naxi, Dai, Bai and Wosu to name a few. So no, we really don't all look alike.

Each tribe has their own language, couture, religion and culture. The Naxi and the Wosu are the most interesting in that they are a matriarchal-based society meaning the women rules the roost. Children take the last name of the mother (Wosu only) and the women control the finances and makes the big decisions such as when to harvest. Words are more significant when the woman participal is added to it. The Wosu tribe has a tradition of the walking marriage in which the woman can choose the man she wants to sleep with for the night. In the morning the man is kicked out and does the ultimate walk of shame through the village. (All you women, independent, throw your hands up at me).

Naturally, with development and modernization, traditions manages to get clusterfucked and now the Naxi men are becoming lazy and sit around drinking and gambling as the women toil. The perverts from the city are journeying to Wosu territory to exploit the women in what is basically prostitution, like a two-yuan ho.