Should we be taking photos?

Last week on one of our ‘well-earned’ days off we tried to find the Jade Emperor Pagoda, the most impressive of Saigon’s Pagodas apparently. After giving the address to the taxi driver we were slightly concerned that he didn’t immediately know the location of one of the supposedly more popular tourist sights and even had to consult with a slightly angry colleague, for reasons of his own. When we reached the address I had sourced from Lonely Planet, a presumably reliable source, we quickly realised that unless the pagoda was famous for being the smallest of its kind known to Earth then we were definitely in the wrong place. Knowing that the botanical gardens were nearby, which were also on our agenda for a visit we decided to head that way with optimism in our hearts. We reached our next location with slight trepidation as we stood and stared at the large signs yelling Saigon Zoo in large, unavoidable letters. Thinking that we may have to settle for a trip around the results of a century of feverish poaching I hoped for the best and asked the ticket lady, that was her official title, where we could find the botanical gardens. Following the delightful, stereotypical answer of ‘same, same’ we bought our tickets and entered what we imagined would be a charming escapade from the veritable hustle and bustle of Siagon, exploring exotic Vietnamese flora and fauna. I can safely say there were definitely some bushes and trees and even some colourful flowers though not much more than any other park we had visited. I soon realised that the definition of a botanical garden is that signs are placed by all greenery and its name declared in latin. Voila, a tourist attraction. After we had stared in awe at the third collection of red flowers, which looked distinctly like carnations we decided that we would go and inspect the animals, with some trepidation on my part about what the hell we were going to find in an inner city zoo in Vietnam. I began to suspect that this establishment was not concerned with a serious message about conservation or education when we found the zoo map. For reasons known only to the ‘ideas man’ the location of each animal was highlighted with the use of a comedy drawing with the creatures looking amazingly jolly and in some cases slightly smug, presumably because they had found this amazing safe haven to protect them against the stressful dangers of the wild.
We found ourselves first amongst the elephants, who we stood gawping at from afar as four massive animals lumbered around an enclosure a little bigger than the average garden. It was a pretty sight and as we watched two of them appear to play a game of musical statues, which involved some very odd dancing, we decided that the whole experience had affected their sanity. Needless to say we found this situation repeating itself as we wandered around glumly unable to leave in protest or stop looking at the natural car crash. Different animals seemed to be going through different stages of the acceptance of their current situation; the lions must have been long-term residents as they were depressed and seemed resigned to their fate; the orang-utan was still angry, bashing at the bars in complaint, the peacocks seemed slightly delirious, showing off their impressive fans to any passers-by like ladies of the night and the tigers seemed to be crying.
After we were suitably bemused by the Prehistoric Park, which consisted of one large plastic dinosaur in the middle of the zoo for no discernible reason and Tim had had a Timothy Treadwell moment we made our last stop. The crocodiles.
From looking at their level of activity you could imagine that they were the first inhabitants of the zoo and thus their level of melancholy had got so great that the staff no deemed it virtually unnecessary to bother with a fully protective enclosure. They were housed in three connected, shallow troughs, one of which looked decidedly like an old bath and hardly one of them moved the whole time we stared at them in disbelieve. It was quite a sight to see 25 crocodiles, in just one section, lying over each other and looking like they might have turned to stone from inaction. I’m sure they might have been spurred into action had we decided to join them in their murky environment but it was hard to imagine, especially as we were able to get reasonably close and they didn’t bat a reptilian eyelid. It was yet another reason that Tim and I found why the death of Steve Irwin was such a loss, as we imagined him running in to save them all. Dragging all 50 or so out with him one at a time in a fury at the injustice.

If anyone knows the whereabouts of an impressive pagoda then please let us know.

P.S I'm not sure what's going on but it appears to be drizzling in Siagon. What the ...?

Blood, sweat and urine

This week we were informed that if we wanted to stay in Vietnam and be treated as respected members of the working profession (get a work permit) then we had better prove ourselves to be upstanding citizens when it came to our general health. Can anyone see a problem here?
So Tim and I turned up dutifully at the school and tried to ignore the looks of pity and horror, like the manifestation of post-traumatic stress disorder, that crossed the faces of our fellow teacher when they found out our afternoon destination. One particularly verbose lady teacher informed me that the tests were fine but she implyed that the hospital had no walls and that I would be subjected to humiliating near nakedness in a canteen full of people. I started to worry that perhaps I should have worn bigger pants. Before any decisive action could be taken in that area we were shuttled off to the hospital by a smiley teaching assistant happily being paid overtime.
We were both a bit shocked when we finally pulled up outside the hospital to find that it appeared to be a complete building and resembled a medical establishment not a couple of poles holding up some torn and dirty curtains pitched in the middle of a swamp. We were escorted inside where a Vietnamese matron, I presume that’s what she was – she had a little paper hat on, looked us up and down as if we were rabid junkies who had flown over especially to infect their children with AIDS. After being shown a list in English of the various tests they would be performing on our blood we were shown into our first waiting area of the day. Inside was a testament to the outside and although they might have been recently erected there were walls and solid partitions aplenty, so I began to worry for my colleague’s heightened sense of indecency. As our faces were distinctly Western, which meant a higher fee, we were obviously pushed to the front of the queue. Thankfully the blood-letting was first as I wasn’t not sure how long Tim could handle the anticipation of the needle. He emerged reasonably unscathed and I was encouraged to note that they were using sterilised needles and everything. I found the continual laughter throughout the procedure somewhat disconcerting but otherwise I their intrusion into my bloodstream was efficient and professional. Following a urine sample in a toilet cubicle that my mother wouldn’t have entered on pain of death we were off to have our chest x-rayed for reasons that weren’t divulged. After the stories we had been told we were quite surprised to find that there was a door between the operators and the x-ray machine and as far as my knowledge of physics goes I understand that a faux wooden door should contain those bad boys. However the tree growing in the middle of the waiting room did come as something of a shock. At no point did I have to bear my flesh to the world, which I’m sure everyone was grateful for.
Next on the agenda was eyes. We were seated in front of a classic eye chart with its numbers and letters decreasing in size whilst each eye was tested. A thoroughly uneventful experience that was made joyous as we watched an old Vietnamese woman before us sneak up to the chart whilst the nurse’s back was turned. My cry of ‘she’s cheating’ made us giggle which I don’t think was fully appreciated by the woman’s daughter sat beside us. Our next stop was the ear, nose and mouth doctor who had been expertly trained in looking into each orifice with a different metal instrument. I had a most pleasant conversation with him as he informed me he had just started lessons at our school while he inspected my nasal cavities.
Before attending our last appointment we were tasked with providing our own height and weight measurements on the modern technology provided, see photo. Our final inspection was with a doctor who peered at me over her facial mask, protection against any of my suspected infections, contracted through Western excess no doubt. She asked if I had ever been hospitalised and was content with my answer as I held back any quips about my mental state. After taking my blood pressure on the same arm that had been violated by a needle not long before she listened to the sound of my lungs. If she heard anything suspect she wasn’t about to reveal it and we were ejected back onto the street, wondering if we would ever find out the results of these perfunctory tests.

Famous for a night.

Happy New Year!
Christmas and New Year’s Eve have come and gone and we are both still here to tell the tale, thankfully. Despite being in a Buddhist country the school closed on Christmas eve and New Year’s eve meaning that our classes were saved exposure to these particular native speakers for one class in the past two weeks.
On both these days Vietnamese people from outside the city flood into the centre of Siagon to look in wonder at the huge Christmas themed monstrosities that most of the larger shops have risked collapsed ceilings for. Visitors pose for photos in front of scenes of fake snow, waving penguins and large gleeful papier mache Father Christmases, which were all made even more special by the fact that most seemed to have out-sourced the making of said decorations to local primary schools for the blind. The crowds find themselves milling together and turning one of the main roads into a pedestrian thoroughfare. On Christmas eve we found ourselves in amongst the throng and suddenly propelled to the status of minor celebrities. As the crowd parted in wonder at our Western faces we thought there might be something amiss but as we made our way through hands thrust from every different direction asking for photos. This was all a little strange for most of us but Tim was calm in the face of such clamour as he has found that he elicits such furore in people just about anywhere he goes outside of Devon. The crowd really went wild when we bought some sparklers from a street seller, when we turned round there was a crowd about 6 people deep encircling us and they looked like we had given them eternal happiness when we handed them out to the wide-eyed children. The gift of a Westerner is unlike any other.
We woke up on Christmas day and transferred our unwilling bodies to the New World Hotel, where we had booked in for a buffet Christmas lunch. The range of food on offer was dizzying but we steadied ourselves by supping the free sparkling wine and considering our eating strategy. We wandered round the opulent offerings from various roasted birds and animals and gravy and mashed potato (there is a very large American presence in Vietnam) to pan-fired duck and chicken with cashews to bread and pate to lobster and prawns to a whole table to pretty little sweet things and on and on and on. Tim’s mood spiked in opposite directions as he marvelled at what delights were in store over the next 3 hours to noticing that there were no roast potatoes. I decided seafood was particularly un-christmassy but Tim couldn’t help but try an oyster with cheese, I calmly declined. 2 and half hours later we were all looking at each other like the last mouthful might have been a step too far when Tim decided that he wasn’t going to miss out on Boxing Day’s turkey sandwich so it would have to be down there and then. Needless to say the rest of the day was spent in a semi-reclined position trying not to think about work the next day.
New Year’s eve was a similar story, just tell it to yourself again but remove the bit about the food.
In other news we have now moved into our little flat and we are happy ensconced in a private domain of our own, sitting on the best 70’s sofa you are ever likely to clap eyes on. As the Vietnamese deal solely in cash we felt like we were involved in a minor drug deal as I carried our large packet of millions for the deposit clasped tightly in my sweaty hands. We’ve only seen a scattering of cockroaches so far and if I imagine that the ants are singing as they follow each other in a line up the wall then I simply don’t mind. Its a nice apartment so we’ve decided to completely resort to colonial times and we are going to get a maid as soon as possible.
Stay safe in 2010.