A little bit about the Foreign Service, Vietnam, et cetera.

Man, I haven't blogged in some time. Apologies to those of you who actually check in to the blog from time to time (hope I haven't lost you) and a big "Hi, it's me again!" to those of you who subscribe to the feed.

Thinking about why I have been so lazy for the past few months brings me to one of the realities of the Foreign Service that maybe a prospective FSO will find useful. Foreign Service work is busy. Everybody likes to claim that their particular occupation is either challenging, frenetic, or both. However, I can say that I am much busier on any given day in my current occupation than I EVER was as a street copper. The precinct where I spent a large chunk of my time over my 17 year career at the Charleston PD was no sleeper, either. Police work is 98% boredom and 2% sheer terror. Foreign Service work is constantly in motion. I have not yet found the time in my schedule to be bored.

That being said, if you are considering trying your hand at a career in the FS, let me give a little advice based on my thus far limited experience. This is a very rewarding career and you will accomplish much. You will be stretched to your limits in terms of the responsibilities you will be handed. I have yet to meet a FSO without enough to do. You will feel, at times, that there isn't enough time in the day to properly address all your duties, and you will be correct in that feeling. There isn't. But as I come to the week where I must put together my EER (that's the FSO employee evaluation that you do annually ... mostly annually) I am literally staggered at everything I have done since arriving in Saigon this time last year. Aside from having to learn all the ins and outs of being an immigrant visa officer, there have been many ancillary projects and duties that have filled my time. Most of those, especially being heavily involved with the Vietnamese Amerasians, have been rewarding. Very rewarding. I haven't felt this way since my year in Baghdad running around with my head on a swivel with an M-4 while simultaneously trying to help prop up a national police force.

All this being said, my free time has become precious to me. So, I don't blog much. I'll try to do better. Quite frankly, when I get off work and come home and the choice before me is to relax with a beer or blog... well, the beer almost always wins.

Now for some pictures and running commentary!

I went to Hanoi and played the pipes for the Marine Ball this last November. I've played Marine birthdays for about the last 15 years or so, and didn't want to break with tradition, so I shot the Gunny in Hanoi an email and volunteered my services. The Marine's Hymn is perfectly suited for the Great Highland Bagpipe, and it's great being able to do something for my favorite branch every year.

Anyhoo, while Mrs. Warpiper and I were in Hanoi, we took a stroll through the old quarter. We stopped at a bia hoi place (fresh beer) and sat down on the sidewalk to drink a few and have a snack. This was one of the best bia hoi places I have tried. Bia hoi is generally pretty weak in terms of alcohol content. It is brewed fresh each day, and generally speaking the bia hoi places will run out of beer towards late evening. The Vietnamese love bia hoi, and these places are usually busy with Vietnamese sitting and talking about the day's news over a beer and something grilled. The beers are cheap and refreshing, and the food at this particular place was excellent. Aside: bia hoi is also known as bia tuoi... 'tuoi' being the southern word for fresh, I believe.

I think I drank about 12.

Now you have the address if you're ever in Hanoi. Excellent grilled pork.

Hoan Kiem lake is in the middle of the old quarter. There is a legend that one of the old kings of Vietnam (maybe one of the Hung Kings... I don't remember exactly) was given a sword by a turtle that swam in this lake. Our hero used this sword to drive off the invaders from the north (Chinese or Mongol... don't rememeber that one for sure, either, but Vietnamese history is full of examples of how they have thrown out foreigners.... especially those from the north.) After using the sword to liberate Vietnam, it was returned to the turtle in the lake. Hoan Kiem has an island in the middle, connected to the shore by the bridge in the picture.

On the island in the middle of the lake is a pagoda dedicated to the Vietnamese king who accepted the turtle's largesse. It is quite beautiful, and includes a very large, preserved soft-shelled turtle. I didn't think that soft shelled turtles got that big. Maybe it was just an artificial turtle. A cooter that big would feed a whole town in south Georgia for a month. Apparently, this lake used to be full of turtles like this, but no longer. Maybe they fed a town in north Vietnam.

This is Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum. They have a pretty cool changing of the guard ceremony that I was able to catch on video. Uncle Ho is actually in there, and you can go in and see him. He has been pickled a la Lenin and Stalin. In fact, the rumor is that for about one week a year Uncle Ho gets shipped off to Russia (the Russians are pickling experts) and gets a touch up. I was not able to go in and see the old feller, but I hear he looks young for his age.

Vung Tau - Ba Ria - Dong Nai

Another fraud trip, another part of Vietnam. The Dong Nai province is the one that borders HCMC to the east, and runs all the way out to the coast, including Ba Ria and Vung Tau. The Dong Nai province is very industrial in the west where it borders HCMC. Many factories have sprung up near the deep water accesses of the Dong Nai river. The rest of Dong Nai is, well, somewhat depressing. Known as the Catholic Belt, this is where many of the Catholics who fled the north in 1954 eventually settled. Then, in 1975, the once refugees became refugees in their own country once again. Driving east towards the coast one cannot miss all the church spires.

Another feature that one cannot miss are the numerous monuments to the guerilla fighters of the war. It is not uncommon to see a tiny mud hut village with a 100 foot tall statue of a Viet Cong guerilla holding an AK-47 aloft on a hill nearby. This area was not full of patriotic sentiment towards the North before and during the war. One can draw his own conclusions as to why these large, impressive monuments are where they are.

My trip was quite interesting in terms of the contrasts. I was again exposed to the crushing rural poverty present in some places in Vietnam. In one instance, we had a surreal trek out into the bush looking for a house of a visa applicant. As the pavement gave way to dirt roads and the dirt road became muddier and more narrow, we stopped for directions at a small soda pop - and - hammock kiosk. Our driver hopped out to ask directions. As he came back to the truck, he was shaking his head. "What did they say?" I asked. "I don't know... they all speak Cantonese," was the reply. Strange. When we did get some reliable directions to the house, we learned that the last kilometer of the trip would be on foot by way of a trail through the bush and the cashew trees. The house was a literal stereotype. Cane-slat walls, dirt floor, grass and terracotta roof. Livestock in the dirt yard. A shallow well pumped by an old gas motor.

I walked about 2-3 kilometers on this trail to find the hut I was looking for.

Just miles away in Vung Tau, I witnesses the relative opulence of a town that has thrived on South China Sea oil. Vung Tau actually seems more modern and even a little cleaner than Saigon. A couple homes I visited were quite palatial.

Food in this area leans more heavily towards seafood than it does in Saigon, understandably. I love the whole hot pot concept here when it comes to seafood. As with most other Vietnamese cuisine, it tends to be very light, with very little frying. More interesting than the landscapes, I took pictures of food on this trip. Oh, and dirt roads too.

Stopped at a little roadside pho cafe. I cannot resist pho, and the seedier-looking the cafe, the better.

Yeah, that's a motorcycle full of future McNuggets.

Buried in that big bowl 'o soup is a big ol' catfish in about four pieces.

Fish balls (no, they don't have those... they're fish meat rolled into balls with spices) wrapped in some sliced zucchini-like vegetable and simmered in herbs and sauce.

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.