Hue

A few weeks ago, I went off to Hue to do some fraud investigations. Yes, they sometimes lie about family relationships in Vietnam. This was my reason for going to Hue, and all I will say about that in particular. I managed to take a few pictures while I was there.


As for the region itself, Hue is in the dead center of Vietnam if you look from south to north. Hue is also the historical capital of Imperial Vietnam, the seat of the royal empire. Before the French built a citadel around it, Hue was known for its own forbidden city. Now that Vietnam is as much a war as it is a country (to most Americans, anyway), Hue evokes images of U.S. Marines taking back the citadel in 1968 after it was overrun by the Viet Cong during the famous Tet Offensive. Two of my college history professors won their Navy Crosses there as young Marine officers.

The citadel itself is typical of early industrial age fortresses, with its masonry and block construction, and angles intended to thwart climbers and provide vantage points for enfilading fire. From the outside it is quite formidable. On the inside, it is truly an ancient city. I only spent enough time there to take a few pictures, and look at the pockmarks caused by bullets and larger projectiles that still mar the outer walls halfway between the parapets and the moat.

The topography of Hue reminded me of North Carolina in micro. Starting at the South China Sea, the area is largely sand dunes that move inland for a few miles in some places. There is also a small barrier isthmus similar NC's Outer Banks. Moving a couple miles inland, the land flattens out into vast rice paddies, with small depot villages and communes interpersed in the causeways and islands bewteen the paddies. This is the lowland area. Move just a couple miles further inland and you come to a piedmont of sorts, where rice gives way to both vegetable farming and a few small industries. Work your way just a couple more miles west, and the mountains of the central highlands rise sharply.



Hue is full of ghosts. In Vietnam, the people live among the dead. They commune with them, talk to them, feed them during holidays, and worship them. Vast cemeteries in the sand dunes remind me of literally how long people have lived here and fished the sounds, farmed the paddies. Most of the evidence of the "American War" are gone. Our soldiers built temporary bunkers and bases out of sand and soil, and one or two seasons were enough to completely erase them. Years before, the French built more permanent structures of concrete. Their old bunkers and fortresses still stand scattered in the rice paddies around Hue, testament to the French intention of staying indefinitely. There are ghost towns as well, empty communes giving silent testimony to the shortcomings of the commune system. Most of the former inhabitants moved to the larger population centers to pursue more fruitful strategies in a country that proclaims communism, but practices free enterprise, sometimes in its purest forms.

Hue is one of the hottest places I can remember. Baghdad was hot, but Hue throws in a healthy mix of humidity that literally makes you want to gasp for air. Even the evenings are sultry, due to a weaker than expected sea breeze. Saigon is surprisingly cooler than Hue and other central region cities like Da Nang. Walking and sweating down one of the main thoroughfares on a hot night, I pass by numerous bars and shops that seem to beckon to old soldiers who come back here looking for what, I do not know. Maybe old friends, buddies. Maybe some kind of absolution. The DMZ bar is full of 60-something American men.


Around here, not all ghosts are Vietnamese.

Looking for wheels. (Two wheels)

Since I arrived in Vietnam, I have been itching to pay good money to kill myself. Yes, I want a motorcycle. In Vietnam, a motorcycle or scooter is the most convenient form of transportation. If you drive your car around, you will drive it around forever and never stop anywhere because there is nowhere to park a car. If you do park your car, your trim and mirrors will be gone when you return to it, and one week later you will be able to buy back those same mirrors and trim at the little repair shop down the street. There is parking for motorcycles everywhere, however. Plus, if your bike is not too conspicuous, then it will usually be intact when you return to it.

Vietnamese law only allows for bikes with engines smaller than 175cc. For you knowedgeable motorcyclists, if you took one look at me you would immediatley know that this might be a problem. I am not the right size for a bike with an engine that small. I am more of a 1300cc V-Twin sized guy. Fortunately, I won't be climbing any mountains here. At least not anytime soon. Now, as with all things in Vietnam, what the law says and what you can observe out on the streets are two different things. I have seen the occasional Westerner and even the occasional Vietnamese on some pretty fat hogs. They are few and far between, but they are here. Nothing says "get out of my damn way and DO NOT pull out in front of me" like a big V-twin engine with straight pipes. To me, that's just extra safety in a country that has none. SO, I started asking around about how I can get myself on one of those bigger bikes without running afoul of the law.

I quickly found that if I want twenty different answers to the question, all I have to do is ask twenty different people.

Some conventional wisdom:

1. With a basic license (A1), you can only drive bikes smaller than 175cc.

2. If you want bigger, then you must get a special license. How? Nobody knows. Most folks think it requires a much more difficult road test. Others say that you simply have to be a member of a motorcycle club.

3. Any bike you buy that is over 175cc is going to come with a hefty import duty. Something like 100% (or more) of the purchase price. Not good. I tend to believe this, because I saw a second-hand Harley Davidson Sportster for sale here for 18,000 bucks. Not good.

4. It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. If, hypothetically speaking, a Westerner with a diplomatic ID card wants to drive around on a big fat hog, no police officer is going to do anything about it. Hmm. I am an old-time believer in the whole begging forgiveness and pleading ignorance thing, but this doesn't sound like a good idea. I'll shelve this one for now.

So, what to do? I have decided that I am going to get a big framed bike, cruiser-style, with a 150cc 4-stroke engine. Where can I find one of these? Well, Honda has plant in China that makes them, but they are a little pricey. When I say pricey, I mean up around $4000. I want cheaper. After all, I am going to ding it, lay it down, scratch it, and generally beat the hell out of it.

It turns out that Lifan, the Chinese company, makes cars and motorcycles. Some of the older ones sport stickers intended to make the buyer think he or she is getting something more famous, like Harvey Daveyson or Hongda. They are actually even trying to crack the U.S. market and sell a V-twin over there. Not known for quality or reliability, the Lifan bikes are slowly improving in that category. In spite of the Harley Davidson snobs in the U.S., you can get a Lifan cruiser for about $4000 in the States, and the Asian version with the 150cc engine will run you about $1400 in Vietnam. Bingo!

I found a dealer last week. He has one on the showroom floor, and about 10 more still in the crates. The bike pictured above is the Lifan. Will it fall apart on me? I have no idea. Will it strand me somwhere between Saigon and Vung Tau on a Sunday afternoon? Probably. But that's the adventure, isn't it?

Reunion

The family made it. Now, jet lag.

Children somehow deal with it better, at least in their own minds, because they really don't realize they are being cranky. To them, everyone else is just being aggravating. Jet lag manifests itself in the Tater in the form of enormous amounts of energy. One day I want to let her stay awake as long as she wants to, just to see how long it takes her to crash on her own.

Peanut, on the other hand, is the "Little Buddha", as Mrs. Warpiper calls her. Generally unfazed by anything, she has been chilling since she got here. Today she cried a little bit for her bottle. That's about as bad as it gets with the Peanut.

Today we headed out for a drive with my favorite cab driver so the family could see some of the Saigon landmarks. Little Miss Crabby Tater groused the whole way, until we arrived home and the cab driver, Hong, went to pick her up out of the back seat of the cab and place her on the curb in front of our building. Expecting an outburst, I moved towards Hong to let her know that Tater was just cranky and tired from her recent change of hemispheres. Instead, the Tater put her arms out to Hong as she lifted her out of the car. Tater's arms fully around her, Hong placed her on the curb. Tater acted as if being picked up and coddled by this strange Asian woman whom she just met was just the most natural thing in the world. I'm not sure what it is about the Vietnamese women, but Tater has absolutely no problems with them.

Hong refused the tip, and asked that I call her the next time I want to carry the family around again.

Islands in the stream.

After lunch, I walked out of the noodle house and down to the corner of a very busy intersection. I had to get back to work. Up to the crosswalk I went and looked across the street to my destination. So close, yet in Vietnam, so far. Hundreds of motorcycles and taxis sped past me as I tried to determine the best moment to step off the curb and wade into the traffic. In Saigon, you never, ever leave the curb and attempt a mad dash. You must do nothing unexpected. You want to do what all the 1,238 drivers within 200 feet of you actually expect you to do. That is to step off the curb at an even pace, keep your eyes on the oncoming to make sure they actually see you, and then trust them all to swerve around you as you make an even, unchanging pace across the street.

A brief lull in the flow, and I glared at the oncoming drivers and stepped off. Working my way across the four lanes, I noticed out of my peripheral vision some movement just behind my left shoulder. I looked over to see a little ancient woman wearing pajamas and the conical hat in my shadow. She had judged that her chances of getting across without fatal injury increased exponentially in the leeward of this hulking 280 pound Westerner.

Charged with this new, unexpected responsibility, I turned back to the onrushing motorcycles and cars and gave my best glare and slowed my pace so she could keep up with me. Two close calls and one threatened motorcyclist later, I made it across. I looked back to my left as the old woman flashed me a little grin and we parted ways.

Tater and Peanut

After interviewing nannies over the last couple weeks, I now learn that I actually already have a nanny.

Who knew?

Four days and counting.

Saigon Vittles

HAIKU

A dog is missing.

He strayed too far from Master.

I hope he's not lunch.

Vietnamese cuisine is a dichotomy. On one side, it is light and flavorful. The Vietnamese eat aromatic herbs like vegetables. In fact, I don't even think they distinguish between herbs and vegetables. It is all called "rau". It is hard to order a Vietnamese dish without getting some kind of antioxidant on your plate. Most of the ingredients in Vietnamese food are easily recognizable and commonly eaten in America. There are many pork, beef and chicken dishes, as well as lots of vegetarian fare. I am a huge fan of Vietnamese food, fish sauce and all.

That being said, Vietnamese cuisine has a darker, more exotic side.

Let's start with the old stereotype... thịt chó. Dog meat. They eat it here. Now, it is still sort of a novelty to many Vietnamese. It seems that the older, more traditional folks are more fond of it, like chitterlings back home in North Carolina. I am told it is a little gamey, a little bit fatty and sweet. I'll take their word for it.

Another exotic food here is the trung vit long. Also known as the balut in the Philippines, this is a mature duck egg, usually about in the 17th day of gestation. Basically it's a baby duck, but the bones and bill haven't hardened yet. Yum! The trung vit long is boiled and served in brine. I am told it tastes like chicken. As with questions about nuclear warheads on Navy vessels... I can neither confirm nor deny having eaten a balut yesterday.

Scorpions are also on the menu here. I have not found any yet, but I know where to go when I decide to try one. They are generally served fried, and have a somewhat fishy taste. They are chewy, apparently. I think I'd prefer crunchy.

Frog legs! I went to a local market yesterday (where I may or may not have encountered a balut) and generally speaking, when you buy a critter for cookin' around here, it is alive and kicking. Literally. There were basins full of live fish, and usually there were a few frogs tethered by the legs nearby. I mentioned the frogs to my guide, Duy, who turned his nose up at them. I decided not to mention that I used to gig frogs all the time in the summers as a teenager, and ate the legs like chicken. I'll come back for them later when Duy isn't around.

Geckos. Those are plentiful around here. They are not known for selling car insurance in Vietnam. If one is so inclined, one can get lunch off the apartment wall here. I have quite a few. Maybe that's how you wind up on the menu in Vietnam, historically speaking. Slither, crawl or hop into plain view and you'll get yourself barbecued. Just like good old North Carolina.

Field rats. OK, we don't eat those in North Carolina. At least not any more. These are big 'ol fat field rats. They are something of a delicacy, especially in the central region of Vietnam.

Silkworms. I can't comment. I have only eaten one or two bugs in my life, and I think I was too drunk to remember the taste. So, I'll reserve judgment on the bugs for now.

There are some other exotic foods that I have not yet seen, and I am not really looking. One is "tiet canh", otherwise known as raw blood soup. Cow testicles are also available. I ate chitterlings back home, but always balked at the cow and sheep balls. I'll rely on others to tell me of the experience.

One last exotic food to be found here is not really food at all. It is coffee. Specifically, it is called Weasel Coffee. Weasel coffee is coffee made from beans that have passed through the digestive tract of a civet. Now, a civet is not a weasel. It is a type of wild cat, but apparently we're not standing on ceremony or semantics here. Besides, it's poop coffee for crying out loud, who cares what kind of animal pooped it? I have neither tried nor am interested in trying it, but am offering the infomation up to you, dear reader, in the event you find yourself in Vietnam craving some kitty poop coffee. Accept no substitutes however, as there is fake kitty poop coffee out there, which might not have been pooped at all. Or pooped out of a less savory animal than a civet. Or a weasel, for that matter.

Amelia

I just had to stick around. After all, my new boss was very understanding; telling me to take all the time I needed. So far, State has been a very family friendly place. Either that, or my presence at my new post is just not all that necessary right away. Probably a combination of the two. Anyhow, the reason for me lingering in the States just a little longer was that my second daughter made her appearance last week. She is a dainty little thing. She is also beautiful like her sister, but of course if this opinion were part of an official proceeding I would have to recuse myself from the process.

Now, with about ten days to get acquainted with her, I'm going to leave her and head off to Vietnam. I'll see her again soon, as Mrs. Warpiper and Tater will bring her over in a couple months. When I think about the separation and feel sorry for myself I think about all the men and women in uniform who do not have the options I do; to be able to pick and choose when I leave to perform my duty. I wonder what it must be like to be away from your child for a year. Or, to not even see your kid until he or she is already smiling and starting to walk. I could have stayed longer. Looking now at the past short week that seemed like it would be so long back when I planned it, I wonder if I shouldn't have taken longer.

For the time being, I'll subsist on Skype and Vonage, and try to find the inspiration for a nickname. People are only touched with divine inspiration so many times, and I burned up a lot of it on the perfection that is Tater.