The sounds and backward tastes of Siagon.

As our stay continues in the heart of Vietnam and its fast-paced city living we are learning to read the city through our additional senses which may not be as immediately obvious as those loud, boastful senses of vision and smell.
The very first auditory delight that Saigon offered our ears was at our first guest-house and appeared as a proud cockerel, who shouted its war cry at 5am every morning. Not an overly unpleasant sound to wake to until I add the omitted detail that this particular cockerel had developed a cry which sounded perfectly fine and proud until the end note which concluded with an abrupt squark that must be exactly reminiscent of the sound of a bird being strangled. Every morning for that first week we were subjected to an audio show of fowl torture in which we found ourselves urging on the evil hands of strangulation. Needless to say that if I ever meet that cock again I’ll kill it.
The heavy thrum of thousands of motorbikes, the shouts of street sellers and the shouts of ‘Hello!’ from small children urged on by eager grandparents combine together to make up the distinctive sound that is our current Saigon but this week our soundtrack changed into a strange psychedelic affair.
Following the Christmas party at work, something Tim and I felt was well over due after 2 weeks at work, once our hangovers had cleared Tim quickly realised all was not well, specifically him. Within 24 hours we realised that we had both contracted our first mysterious Vietnamese illness. Something we were assured would be a regular occurrence. I was most pleased to discover my illness through the act of vomiting halfway through a lesson. Thankfully I managed to get out of the classroom before it happened and ruined their carefully designed Christmas card, though personally I think it may have been an improvement. For a day or so Tim and I delighted in the many backwards Vietnam tastes we were subjected to and the sound of non-stop Star Movies, which did its upmost to drive us insane.
As we both tried to sleep in the intermittent hot and cold that the fan provided new sounds wafted into our room. The sounds of pipes and soft drums at first seemed vaguely melodic and interspersed themselves into our respective dreams, making them twist and turn around the music into mostly odd and sometimes disturbing places. This didn’t last long as we were awoken repeatedly whilst the ‘musicians’ delighted us with strange bursts of music with large sections of silence during which I presume the band was staring curiously at their instruments trying to work out what the hell to do with them. If it hadn’t started at 11am and laboured its way through to 8am then we would have probably mistaken them for a group of children who were eagerly trying to form a pop band, if we can assume that the type of music in which instruments aren’t played correctly with lots of large sections of silence is popular with the youth of Vietnam.
I’m not sure if I felt guilty when we later found out that this probably wasn’t a demonstration of musical ability but an emotional outpouring of distress at a Vietnamese funeral, as by this time the ordeal had being going on for 4 days. If the idea was to make any lingering spirit or presence pass over eagerly and serenely to the other side then I can only assume that the mission was accomplished.
PS. We both feel much better.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS
xx