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.