SINGAPORE: Little India

For most of my visit in Singapore I've been staying in Little India, and I have been thoroughly enjoying the neighborhood. Little India breaks the Singaporean mold. While the rest of the city comes across as planned, button-down, and corporate, Little India is anything but. Rather than the smell of cleaning agents and perfume that dominate the rest of Singapore, Little India smells of spice and incense. The exotic odors hit you as soon as you take the escalator up the surface from the subway. Other parts of Singapore are filled with carefully planned and designed retail outlets. Little India, on the other hand, is a hodge-podge of grocery stores, hawker stalls, Indian music shops and a host of other independent businesses. In the rest of Singapore the sidewalks are clear and limited to pedestrian traffic. In Little India the shops spill out onto the sidewalk. Much like in Vietnam, the sidewalks are for commerce, not walking, and pedestrians share the streets with cars. Little India possesses a liveliness not found in other parts of Singapore, and it's made for an interesting home base.

SINGAPORE: Retail Overload

The modernity and sterility of Singapore comes as something of a shock after months of living in Vietnam. My travel companion Dave and I find ourselves gaping at the skyscrapers, the clean streets and sidewalks, and the well-dressed Singaporeans. The women in particular have our jaws on the floor. Half the population of Singapore seems to be made up of attractive women in their 20s. This is not meant as any disrespect to Vietnamese women, who are also quite lovely, but there's something about how the Singaporean women dress, put themselves together, and carry themselves that makes them incredibly attractive. The stylishness of Singaporeans is probably explained in part by the city's love affair with high-end retail.

Critics have called Singapore "the only shopping mall with a seat at the UN." At first I laughed at this assessment, thinking it a flippant remark made by some anti-consumerism get-back-to-nature hippie type. Having been here a few days, though, I'm starting to agree. I've never seen such commercial materialism in my life. Practically every non-governmental building seems to have a shopping mall. I swear that half these malls have the same stores, most of which are quite high-end. I frankly don't know how they all stay in business. How many Rolex, Charles & Keith, Prada and Chanel outlets does a city need? The epicenter of this retail onslaught is Orchard Road, a kilometer-long stretch of shopping mall after shopping mall. There must be at least a dozen malls lining the road, no exaggeration.

Even the subway takes on the appearance of a giant outdoor shopping center. The subway stops have marble-looking floors and walls and are decked out with mall-style advertisements. The train is automated with no driver, and a glass doorway aligns with the train doorway. The glass doorway opens only when the train doors do, so the entire station sounds like a shopping center, largely devoid of the engine sounds and whoosh of air as in New York or Washington, DC. You could be forgiven for forgetting that you're trying to catch a train, not a pair of shoes.

Buzzing Around Asia

Despite my three month absence, I’m happy to report that I’m not finished with this blog yet. Over the course of the past semester, I found myself much busier than I had been compared to the fall. While I was pleased to be of use and keeping active, one of the downsides of this increased schedule was that I had much less time for this blog. Don’t worry, though; I kept taking notes and in some cases even wrote rough drafts to be posted later. I’ll put these posts up as I finish them.

Furthermore, I’ve begun my Asian tour, and have also been keeping a journal of my experiences. In between my Vietnam postings I’ll also put some of my thoughts on my travels. In order to differentiate, I’ll write the city or province I’m writing about in all caps.

So, sorry again for my absence. For those of you who have continued to check this blog, I hope that you’ll find my new postings worth the wait.

Argh! A Pirate's Life for Me!

The Vietnamese are master pirates. I’m not talking about Jolly Rogers or the Gulf of Aden here; I’m referrinig to the Vietnamese’s ability to copy seemingly any consumer product you can think of. The streets of Hanoi and Saigon are filled with knock-off brand-name clothing. Prada, Gucci, Lacoste, Adidas, Nike; you name it, it’s there. Some of these copies are exceedingly good. One Adidas tennis polo I bought was copied down to the tag explaining how to wash the shirt. The only thing that tipped me off that the shirt was a copy was the fact that the word “washer” was misspelled and the Vietnamese sizing (last check I don’t wear a 3X).

Vietnam is renowned for its DVD piracy. I’ve been able to find nearly any title you could want. A friend of mine “in the business” told me that all the DVDs come from China. They might all come from the same factory, too. The reason I think this is because any copy of a film or TV show is the same throughout the city. For example, the copy of The Matrix you buy on Pham Ngu Lau Street will be identical to the one you buy on Hai Ba Trung. This isn’t always good, because if that copy is a bad one, say the soundtrack is a second off from the video, then every copy of The Matrix in Saigon, if not all of Vietnam, may be similarly flawed. This having been said, may I recommend to future visitors of Saigon to avoid purchase of Saving Private Ryan, for precisely the reasons explained above.

The Vietnamese flair for copying continues to the world of art. There are dozens of art studios in Saigon that produce nothing but copies of other famous paintings, some of which are quite good. Imagine if some of these artists actually put out original works – Vietnam could have quite the art scene.

Watches are another pirate favorite. There are so many fake Omegas, Longines, and Rolexes floating around the country that I couldn’t find a watch that wasn’t a knock-off. Even in Cao Lanh I had to settle for a watch with “Valley Jewelers” on its face, probably an overrun from some specialty order.

The watch dilemma is a great example of just how commonplace piracy is in Vietnam. So accessible are pirated goods that most Vietnamese don’t actually understand what a brand name is. To my students, “Armani” is just a cool word you put on a shirt. Of course you wear a “Rolex” watch - that’s the word you put on watches. No doubt you wear a massive Hugo Boss belt buckle - what else would you use to keep your pants up? The idea that these names represent high quality or a special kind of style is completely lost on the majority of Vietnamese.

Of course, there is one arena where the Vietnamese are too good at piracy: the classroom. My students, in spite of their beginner-level English, will lift anything from the Internet – Wikipedia, newspapers, professional reports – and call it their own. They always seem shocked when I catch them. One of the other Fulbrighters taught a lesson on poetry, and for homework asked her students to write a simple poem, something like an acrostic or a haiku. Bear in mind that these students had just learned what rhyme was, rhyme not being common in the mostly monosyllabic Vietnamese language. Next class she received several works from the likes of Emily Dickinson and Langston Hughes. Some of this blatant cheating comes from an overwhelming fear of failure. Students would rather cheat than risk a failing grade. Some of this cheating comes from apathetic or overworked teachers who allow such behavior. Also not helping matters is the fact that the university itself is massively involved in piracy. All my university’s texts are photocopied. With counterfeit goods being the norm, and universities being some of the greatest perpetrators of piracy, I can’t help but see my students’ behavior as a mere reflection of their society.

Vietnamese Homesickness

In my last post I discussed how important the family is in Vietnamese society and how painful it can be for Vietnamese to be separated from their families.  I've recently had a dramatic example of just how tight Vietnamese homelife can be.  

I was assisting with a first-year Reading class one evening and was running a simple vocabulary exercise.  As my students were working, I noticed that one student seemed to be asleep with her head on her book.  I approached the student only to find that she was moaning in pain.  Realizing that this was a bad time to force the student to practice her English, I called Ms. Ngan, the head teacher, over to see what was wrong.  I continued the lesson, helping the other students complete their work.  When I looked back to the moaning student, I saw that two of the boys were more or less carrying her out of the classroom.  She looked like she had fainted. 

Concerned, I asked Ms. Ngan what the problem was, and if we should run to get help.  Ms. Ngan smiled and said that it was nothing serious.  She told me that the student just hadn't been eating.  Seeing my concerned expression, Ms. Ngan went on to say that this was very normal.  Many first-year students, especially girls, miss their mother's cooking so much that they simply don't eat the food at the cafeteria.  This student, right before my eyes, had more or less passed out from hunger, self-imposed hunger at that.  While I've certainly had some bouts of homesickness myself, I couldn't imagine refusing to eat (and I've had some pretty wild meals).  

The whole episode showed me again just how vital the family is to the average Vietnamese.  It also helped me to see myself through my students' eyes.  If my students were having this much difficulty being a few dozen kilometers from home, they probably couldn't imagine being in my shoes, 12,000 kilometers away from my family.  The idea of being that far away must be terrifying to them.  I now understand why I'm constantly asked the question "are you homesick?"  My answer?  I'm happy to say that I'm doing well, especially compared to the tribulations my students.  

Ten Kilometers - Very Far!

The Vietnamese have a different sense of distance than Americans. Growing up outside of Washington, DC, I became used to long commutes, like my father's one and a half hour fifty mile marathon that he used to run twice every day. For two summers I had a thirty mile, forty minute commute to my job at the Washington County Maryland Circuit Court and really didn't think too much of it.

These distances would be almost unimaginable to the average Vietnamese. Most Vietnamese live much closer to their place of work. Indeed, for most of them, their home is their place of work.  In many cases the first floor of a home is comprised of a shopfront or office.  A common Vietnamese commute is walking downstairs.  Even if a Vietnamese works outside of the home, however, they usually don't live more than a ten or fifteen minute motorbike ride away.  

Most Vietnamese don't seem to like going very far from their hometown, or even their home neighborhood.  I once went on a walk with a friend from Ho Chi Minh City.  After we went about four blocks from her home, and she said she was unfamiliar with the area.  I asked her why she didn't leave her neighborhood very much, and she said that she could get everything she needed in the streets around her house.  

This more limited sense of what's "far away" holds true in Cao Lanh as well.  Most students don't go beyond the half-mile strip of cafes and food stalls that run along the front of the campus.  My students are very unfamiliar with downtown Cao Lanh, which is a whopping three miles to the north, accessible by bicylce in about fifteen to twenty minutes.  Personally, I get pretty bored staying around campus, and try to get out into town at least a couple times a week.  It must be my American wanderlust coming out.    

Many Dong Thap students feel that they are impossibly far from their homes.  Students from different parts of the province tell me that their home is "ten kilometers, very far!"  Students from neigboring provinces feel that their journey to university is a true cross-country affair.  Students from beyond the Mekong Delta are considered hardy, if not crazy, to go so far.  As for me, travelling from the United States, I might as well be coming from Mars.  

Part of the reason for this different view is cultural.  Vietnamese culture is very much based on agricultural village life.  Even as Vietnam modernizes and moves beyond its agricultural base, the extended family, most of  which usually lives in the same village, maintains a paramount social importance.  So important is the Vietnamese family that pronouns are based on family titles. In Vietnam, you don't call other people "you," "she," or "he," instead they are "uncle," "older sister," or "grandfather."  Vietnamese society is built around the family, and the family has usually stayed in the same town or village.  To leave your town is to leave your family, and this is a very painful prospect for most Vietnamese.

Another more pragmatic reason for the more limited Vietnamese view of distance is the lack of infrastructure.  In the US, we have highways that allow us to travel quickly in our cars.  Vietnam is not so fortunate, and the expressway is unknown.  It's about ninety miles from Cao Lanh to Ho Chi Minh City.  In the US, the trip would probably take a little over an hour and a half.  In Vietnam, the ride is a long three and half hours.  The bus has to put up with delays like slow long-haul trucks, broken down motorbikes, and, occasionally, livestock.  No wonder, then, that the Vietnamese concept of travel and distance should be on such a smaller scale than in the United States.  

The DMZ

This past weekend I visited the De-Militarized Zone, more commonly called the DMZ. The DMZ was the border between the Communist North and the anti-Communist South for over twenty years. During the Second Indochina War (what you folks back home call the Vietnam War), the area was anything but demilitarized. The US and its allies had observation posts and artillery scattered throughout the area. The North had dug some 114 tunnels throughout their strip of territory. Bombs fell like rain, mines were everywhere, and the area was ten kilometers of general destruction.

I was perhaps expecting to see some of this destruction. To this day, anti-mining efforts are active, and unexploded bombs are still found from time to time in farmers' fields. Despite all of these remnants of war, I would not have known that I was in the DMZ if I hadn't had a guide with me. Most of the area has apparently been cleared and developed. Indeed, the DMZ is quite lovely. Unlike much of Vietnam, which has its buildings and development packed tightly together, the DMZ has lots of room for farmland and forests. Much of the area destroyed by napalm is now used for farming rubber, and neat lines of rubber trees run throughout the territory. Most of the former US presence is gone. One of the bases was turned into a village, although I didn't have the opportunity to see this. The largest base was bulldozed to make room for a highway. Only a burned out M41 tank stands as a reminder to America's presence forty years ago.

We visited an American observation "tower", which really looked like a bunker. This area is now populated by cows and rubber trees instead of American GIs. Our guide pointed to the remains of what looked like burlap sacks, explaining that they were old sandbags. Maybe, mabye not; I wasn't quite convinced either way. After all, there is a lot of litter in Vietnam, even in faraway areas.

One vestige of the war that still remains are the tunnels. Much of the Northern population went underground once hostilities started. Most of these tunnels are gone now, but one remains. The tunnel opens up to the sea, where supplies from the USSR and China were shipped in by fishing boats. The whole area was covered by a bamboo forest, and would have probably been quite lovely during the war were it not for the constant artillery and aerial barrage from the South. The people of Northern DMZ did as well as they could underground, digging relatively tall tunnels (I could stand up at some points), complete with bedrooms, ammunition storage, maternity wing, and movie theater. Not quite what our boys had back in Saigon, but the Northerners were certainly adept at making the best with what they had.

One other reminder of the war are the bomb craters. Scatterecd throughout the region, some of these holes are massive. One held a cow, who was grazing quite comfortably with room to spare in the crater. Otherwise, the Vietnamese have removed most reminders of the conflict. Life has moved on in the DMZ, and people prefer looking forward rather than back. This sense of forward progresion and avoidance of the painful past seems so common in Vietnam. The DMZ, once the symbol of the nation's division, now seems to be a symbol of Vietnam's hopes for future development amidst the scars of the past.