Vietnam's Blogosphere

In Vietnam about a quarter of the population is on the Internet. This is a quite impressive statistic: their connectivity is noticeably superior to most other countries in the so-called Developing World. But that is not what impressed me the most, but the use that the Vietnamese are giving to this technology. The government puts much less effort to control access and contents that are divulged through the Internet than other Socialist countries like, say, China. Thus, the Web has become in an instrument for people to exercise their freedom of speech, which is otherwise restricted in the country (although, again, not to the extent of other countries with similar systems).

Not so long ago a lawyer, relatively well known in the Saigon intellectual circles, was charged with sedition and arrested in a very public, well-orchestrated operation. He had been calling for some political changes in the country and questioning the authority of the party for some time, but it looks as if he went a little too far (in terms of the Vietnamese regime level of tolerance) by establishing international connections to support his cause and, above all, by writing an alternative constitution for the country that he used to promote his ideas of change. When we mentioned this news over lunch to a Vietnamese colleague of us, he just commented: “It will be interesting to see how the blogging community reacts…. He wouldn’t have dared to do something as risky if he was not counting on public support….”

It turns out that the blogging community is one of the most influential mechanisms to which independent opinions are expressed in the country. Thousands of blogs, being updated daily from pretty much every point of Vietnam’s geography are the most open, autonomous, and effective means through which information and opinions on the daily happenings are exchanged. Issues like corruption, poor government practices, sports (I love Asia, they really follow soccer!) (what’s wrong with the US!?), and so on are broadly discussed. The most influential bloggers are middle age journalists that have access to more information than the common citizen. They get to say on the web some of the things that you don’t read on the papers or see on TV. However, they still write much less than what they know: they seem to understand better than our hero of the previous paragraph (the apocryphal constitution’s author) that this system can be pushed just up to a certain limit…

Tres sitios en Nha Trang

Nha Trang es una ciudad relativamente pequeña en la costa vietnamita, a 10 horas en bus de Saigón. Su principal atractivo es su playa, pero también tiene sitios llenos de historia y cultura, sitios que muestran una cara distinta de este país diverso, rebosante de historia, y de un entorno natural hermoso, frondoso, y colorido. Si uno tomara un bote en esta playa y se adentrara en el Pacífico siguiendo una línea recta en la dirección apropiada terminaría en las costas ecuatorianas… pero acá, al otro lado del mundo, la vida de playa se siente distinta. Las motocicletas ubicuas se mezclan con cometas, banderas rojas con la hoz y el martillo, catedrales católicas, estatuas gigantes de Buddha y templos ancestrales del pueblo Cham.

Se me antoja dejar memoria escrita de tres, de los muchos lugares de por aquí que merecen ser recordados. El primero es la catedral: un templo católico construido en piedra en lo alto de un monte, y que parece dominar una parte importante de la ciudad. El templo como tal es precioso, pero lo más llamativo es su contraste con las decenas de banderas rojas que decoran las calles de la ciudad. Las hay con dos motivos: la bandera del país (roja completa con una estrella amarilla en el medio) y el símbolo comunista de la hoz y el martillo.



Una segunda parada fue una estatua de Buda gigante, también ubicada en la cima de un cerro, y que parece reinar sobre un sector de Nha Tram en el que la catedral católica empieza a perderse de vista. La estatua es parte de un complejo más amplio que incluye un monasterio, una estatua de Buda dormido muy conocida en esta región, y un cementerio. La llegada al templo fue mágica. Desde abajo se podía escuchar las voces de los monjes al interior de la Pagoda, cantando plegarias de fe con sonidos extraños pero hermosos. Una mezcla de mantras y música sacra que, intercalados con el tañido de una campana, creaban una atmósfera solemne.

Las escaleras de subida al Buda Dormido estuvieron llenas de ancianos y discapacitados pidiendo caridad, una escena en extremo cotidiana y conmovedora de esta Conchinchina de contrastes. También habían otras gentes, variopintas, curiosas, incluyendo una madre con su pequeño hijo vietnamita, a quien había vestido de pies a cabeza con un uniforme de camuflaje que tenía bordado en los brazos la bandera de Estados Unidos y en el pecho la leyenda “US Army”. A nadie llamó la atención, pero yo no pude dejar de mirar al niño por un largo tiempo, cautivado por lo fácil que es hacerle desplantes a la historia en nuestra vida cotidiana, y con algo de desazón.



Luego de la estatua de Buda Dormido continuamos nuestro camino hacia la estatua gigante de Buda en la cima del cerro. Hacer estatuas de Buda, hay que decirlo, no es un asunto fácil. Lo complicado no es, como uno que otro se apresurará a comentar, la barriga. Lo complicado es la expresión de la cara. No puede estar muy contento, pero tampoco puede verse triste. Una buena estatua de Buda es aquella que retrata al príncipe simplemente en paz, en perfecta armonía interior y con el mundo que lo rodea.



Por una de las escaleras a las que se puede acceder desde la cima de la montaña se llega a un cementerio, en donde todos los nichos son pequeños, conforme a las necesidades de la tradición budista de cremar a sus muertos. Incluso las paredes de la propiedad están hechas de estos nichos y coronadas por tejas rojas. En muchos de los nichos, además del nombre y fecha de la muerte de la persona cuyas cenizas albergan, puede verse una fotografía en blanco y negro. Las fotos muestran rostros de todas las edades, la mayoría inexpresivos… En medio de todos los nombres desconocidos encontré dos nichos, uno al lado del otro, con rostros de personas jóvenes, varón y mujer. ¿Cuál habrá sido su historia? ¿Se conocieron? ¿Quién los cremó, quién colocó las fotos y la inscripción, quién los lloró? Dos perfectos desconocidos que vivieron hace muchos años al otro lado del mundo, y cuya existencia y desaparición no harán ninguna diferencia en la vida de nadie en el resto del planeta… O talvez no tanto. Talvez hicieron una diferencia en mi vida ese día, cuando por mera casualidad me detuve frente a sus cenizas.

El tercer sitio también se encuentra en una elevación, ésta no tan alta como los dos anteriores. Se trata de las torres de Po Nagar Cham. Estas estructuras, la más antigua de las cuales fue levantada en el siglo 7, han servido como sitios de culto religioso a diferentes grupos que, a lo largo de los años, han ocupado este territorio. Sin embargo, por su origen y características arquitectónicas y por el uso que se les ha dado durante la mayor parte del tiempo, se las considera representativas de los Cham, un grupo étnico con mucha historia en esta región del mundo. Una dosis de historia, de esas de más de 200 o de 500 años que me cuestan mucho asimilar a plenitud, quizás por falta de costumbre.

In between China and India

A lunch with a couple of professors at the School (who provided a unique combination of the American and the Vietnamese perspectives) yielded a very interesting conversation about land ownership and infrastructure in a country where, at least officially, you don’t have markets to allocate resources.

The topic at hand was land ownership, and here are some of the things I learned. Officially, all land in Vietnam belongs to the State and the Government grants long-terms rights to usage (which because of their length function very much as full ownership). Those rights can be transferred to other people in exchange for compensations (so there is a market…), but the Government in different stages must approve the transfer. There are 3 different “official” uses of land: agriculture, residence and industry. The rights of use of agricultural land usually are in the hands of local farmers, who live in villages close to the plots, and they are most frequently used to grow rice or other agricultural commodities.

What if an investor wants to use some agricultural land to develop an industrial project? This is how it works. The developer first needs to deal with the government, and get a temporary permit that states that the government has authorized to change the type of usage of the land (from agricultural to industrial) and authorized they to advance an agreement with the current owners of the land rights. Then a negotiation process takes place: the developer would approach the farmers, and offer them to take their land in exchange for a given compensation. Sometimes, the compensation would reflect “market prices”, that is, the value that the land would have in the current state given all the available information on possible future developments that would affect the price.

Often enough, though, the developers would trick the farmers into giving them their land, frequently telling them untrue stories… “You know, now the government has declared this land to be for industrial use, so you won’t be able to use it to grow rice anymore. It is of no use to you, so you may as well sell it to me”. The compensation given to the farmers would frequently be as low as it can get: around 2 dollars per square meter. Once there is an agreement with the farmer, the developer needs to go back to the government officials to get a definitive authorization, and then they would have to make an additional payment: since the land is changing classification, it works like they where granting usage rights for the first time, and the government gets to collect the respective fee.

Collusion between investors and bureaucrats seems to be… not uncommon. Frequently, just after the land has been transferred from farmers to developers, there would be “news” about the government building a big road or bridge connecting the recently transferred land to the city or the ports. Thus, the value of the land would increase dramatically. Let me borrow the following example: imagine… that the developer manages to get a large amount of agricultural land deprived of infrastructure and connectivity to the city, with the intention of turning it into some productive facility. They get the land for 2 dollars a meter, and they pay the fee to the government… 5 dollars a meter. Then they invest in basic infrastructure, bringing the costs (and the value of the land) up by 10 additional dollars per meter, for a total of 17 dollars per meter. Then the news of the government’s investment comes and, all of the sudden, the price of the land rights goes up to 100 dollars a meter!



Then come the land disputes. Farmers, seeing the land value skyrocketing and having been paid only 2 dollars per meter, demand from developers an additional compensation. And they go to the authorities asking for justice, and they protest in Saigon or in Hanoi… It wasn’t clear to me how these conflicts usually get settled, but it looks like, at least occasionally, farmers get some additional compensation.

“Here in Vietnam”, our Vietnamese friend said, “we are sort in between China and India. Unlike the way it is in China, here the local governments here cannot decide to allocate a piece of land to an investor; each rights owner has to agree to the transaction. So we are not as efficient as China, but certainly more democratic. However, we don’t get to be as democratic as India…”

What struck me as unique is that in this socialist system ownership rights can be far more extreme than in many market economies. If the owner of a land right, urban or rural, doesn’t agree to transfer his or her right, nothing can be built on that piece of land without authorization. And the point is that sometimes people just do not agree, and you get 4 lanes roads turning 2 lanes along a short stretch, or houses placed right in the middle of a racetrack in a stadium...

El Barrio Chino de Saigón

Como si andar en bicicleta en medio de motos en Saigón no fuera suficiente para experimentar el Asia a carne viva, decidimos darnos un paseo dominguero por el barrio Chino de esta ciudad (Cholon, Chinatown… el nombre queda al gusto del cliente…)

La primera parada fue determinada por el hambre de media mañana sin desayuno, y fue en un restaurante en donde se podía pedir Dim Sum. Para quienes esto les suena a Chino (impresión bien fundada, por lo demás), aclararé que se trata es una comida tradicional que suele comerse en el desayuno o almuerzo, se sirve con té, y consiste en un conjunto de bocados que vienen en porciones pequeñas. Uno elige los platos que quiere, y típicamente te sirven pequeñas porciones de 2 o 3 bocados. Me recuerda al concepto de las tapas Españolas, solo que aquí en vez de que a uno le sirvan paella, jamones, o quesos; le sirven alimentos también buenos, sabrosos, pero de los que por lo general uno no sabe el nombre. La visita al restaurante vino acompañada de dos pequeñas experiencias turísticas. Primero, es la primera vez que veo en un Menú que se ofrecen platos en base a aletas de tiburón. Me hizo pensar en toda la matanza de estos animales solo para extraerles las aletas, me impresionó. La segunda fue menos amarga: conocí por primera vez (aunque estoy seguro que buscando bien en mi lindo país encontraré más de uno) un baño con un urinario que da de frente a una ventana grande, abierta, y expuesta a una calle transitada y a edificios con balcones perfectamente dispuestos para la que los espectadores no se pierdan un detalle de lo que pasa detrás de la vitrina…



El “plato fuerte” del día, sin embargo, vino después, con la visita a las pagodas de Quan Am y Phuoc An Hoi Quan. Estos lugares no son solo interesantes por su arquitectura colorida y caprichosa, sino también porque a ellos concurren grandes cantidades de fieles de una forma de Budhismo (que no me quedó claro si era puramente Chino o ya incorporaba las variaciones Vietnamitas a esta fe) que, a diferencia de las prácticas estándar de esta religión, no enfatiza tanto la meditación sino la realización de rituales en donde la gente venera a una notable variedad de personajes sagrados. En la puerta antes de entrar, así como en los templos católicos venden velas para que los fieles coloquen a los santos, aquí venden inciensos. La gente compra por lo general un paquete de entre 30 y 50, y los consume en un lapso de 15 o 20 minutos.

El ritual es el mismo para todos: primero toman un puñado de inciensos (5 o 6) y los encienden en candelabros o pequeñas estufas que están distribuidas por todo el lugar. Luego, se dirigen a la figura frente a la cual van a orar (no estoy seguro si orar es el término adecuado en este caso, pero valga para efectos de la descripción) y sostienen los inciensos encendidos por encima de su cabeza, a veces tocando la frente con sus manos, a veces de pie, a veces de rodillas. Las expresiones son de absoluta devoción, incluso se puede ver ocasionalmente lágrimas en los ojos de la gente. Y luego de la oración toman los inciensos, los ubican en un depósito de arena (de los que también hay muchos distribuidos por todo el lugar), y se mueven en dirección de una nueva figura frente a la cual el ritual de veneración se repite desde el principio, una y otra vez, hasta agotar el paquete original de inciensos. Cada 5 minutos los depósitos de arena se llenan de inciensos encendidos, y un trabajador del lugar pasa limpiándolos, arrojando al incinerador todos los inciensos, prácticamente enteros.

Comidas, sitios, creencias tan ajenas para mi, pero que son simplemente cotidianas para tanta, tanta gente…

Placidity

Saturday night was just right, from the start until the end. I started by obtaining the most basic survival resource, which I had longed for since I arrived in Vietnam: Cheese! Real cheese! We found the place to get it (the same French restaurant where we celebrated Widhar’s birthday), and I just couldn’t hold myself. It is unbelievable how something that you are used to have on a regular basis and suddenly becomes scarce can turn into the most precious treasure.

Cheese in hand, we needed to stop by our place in order to drop it in the fridge. As we arrived, we found a very typical scene: in front of the house, on the street, a few small plastic chairs had been placed and the landlady was sitting there with her mother and her son, having a relaxed and happy chat. When she saw us arriving, she promptly took out additional chairs, and invited us to sit and chat with them. It was a very pleasant conversation indeed… although I missed at least half of it. Well, the lady, lovely as she is, doesn’t speak a word in English, and her mother speaks a little less than her. Luckily enough the son does, and between his occasional translations and Djudju’s “Basic Vietnamese Phrases” Book (I should comment on the chapter “romance and sex” of that book one of these days) we managed to learn a little more about our host and her family.



Then, straight to our last stop of the night: Café Serenata, a sound recommendation of Lonely Planet: “Tables here are scattered around a lush, pond-filled courtyard and inside a charming villa. Popular with couples after dark with live music some nights”… and that was one of those nights! The Menu had the most unique feature: there were two sets of prices, one for the day, and one for after dark (s.t.f.e.: a case of effective price discrimination).

And after the talk, the music came. There was a small band that played alone first, and then two lady singers followed. The first of them sang exclusively in Vietnamese, and had a very strict routine for each piece: First, with the most charming smile and a very delicate and feminine voice, she announced the name of the song. Second, her face turned inexpressive and she looked as if she hated each and everyone in the room while she stood there waiting for the band to start playing. Third, just as the melody started to sound and as in an act of magic the smile reappeared, and she graciously sang a song that, although always indecipherable to me, was unequivocally romantic.



The second singer, on the other hand, was specialized in foreign language songs. She didn’t have a routine as structured as her predecessor: just sat there and got the job done. It was, however, a great performance. Inspiration followed. Smiles. Pure placidity.

Caminando Saigón

Una caminata sabatina en un día soleado es una de las mejores formas de conocer un lugar, apropiarse de él, percibir a grandes rasgos (si bien aún con ojos extranjeros) pistas de sus vicios y virtudes… A eso nos dedicamos con Djudju y Widhar luego de un contundente desayuno en el Mercado Ben Tanh: a impregnarnos de Saigón.

Caminar sus calles implica encontrarse a cada paso con su gente, sortear motocicletas y automóviles al tratar de pasar las calles, acostumbrarse al ruido constante, a la vida en cada rendija. Y a cada paso se encuentra una postal, imágenes inolvidables del día a día del Vietnam urbano. Muchas mujeres usan sombreros cónicos, y los vendedores ambulantes llevan sobre los hombros palos de bambú en cuyos costados atan telas en las cuales sostienen los productos.



En el mercado y en la calle encontramos monjes budistas caminando, casi flotando con sus túnicas mientras la gente, las mascotas, las motos y bicicletas, mientras esta rabiosa Ciudad Ho Chi Minh pasa a su lado, sorteándolo con un profundo respeto. Djudju se apresuró a ir a la tienda y comprar dos almuerzos para llevar, y corrió a buscar a uno de los monjes para regalarle la comida. Widhar me explicaría luego que en Indonesia, especialmente en algunos pueblos tradicionales, aún está muy viva esa costumbre: los monjes son casi venerados, y como no pueden trabajar, cuando salen a caminar por las aldeas la gente se les acerca, a veces de rodillas, para ofrecerles comida y bebida. Los monjes aceptan los presentes, y lo retribuyen con oraciones y bendiciones.



No entramos al Museo de Bellas Artes porque llegamos en la mitad de lo que parecía ser un gran evento social. Los invitados llegaban en su mayoría en motos, y el guardia en la puerta se encargaba de controlar el ingreso: tomaba nota de la placa de cada moto que ingresaba, y en lugar de darles un ticket de parqueo escribía sobre la moto un código con tiza. Decidimos que no estábamos debidamente vestidos para la ocasión, y enrumbamos por un callejón caprichoso, lleno de tienditas de artesanías (con figuras de Buda dominando casi todos los sitios) y otros servicios, incluyendo un sitio para reparación de cámaras al cual pronto enviaré la mía que falta que le hace un buen ABC.

Desembocamos en lo que habrá de convertirse en nuestra heladería favorita: Fanny Icecream. El verídico sitio BBB. No solo es cómodo y con la ventilación y la sombra adecuada para guarecerse del sol del medio día, sino que tiene una asombrosa variedad de sabores, especialmente helados de frutas locales que en mi vida he probado. Además de los precios más que razonables, el lugar se da el lujo de decorar lo que sirve con un gusto que bien que les hace falta a muchos de los lugares que conozco por los Estados Unidos (por ejemplo, la copa de mi sorbete traía una orquídea, y la de Djudju un sombrero cónico vietnamita en miniatura).

Bien nutridos, a retomar la caminata. Pasamos por la (ahora ya bastante familiar) estatua de Ho Chi Minh, frente a la cual están ubicadas varias galerías de arte. Las pinturas locales tienden a ser muy lindas, pero al parecer los vietnamitas también tienen cierto gusto por tratar de reproducir famosas obras maestras occidentales, tarea en la que, deberé decir, tienen aún mucho potencial para mejorar…

Vagabundeamos por veredas concurridas en donde los cables de electricidad cuelgan tan bajo que este cristiano, que lo que no tiene de chiquito lo tiene de distraído, corre serio peligro de quedarse colgado de un momento a otro. Exploramos un par de parques, en donde la gente se sienta en las bancas y en las veredas, pero nunca en el césped: está prohibido por las autoridades. Y bajo una luna preciosa, casi llena, terminamos en la oficina de correos de la ciudad, un precioso edificio construido por los franceses en el sigo XIX, fuera del cual vendedores ambulantes ofrecen pequeñas colecciones de estampillas, monedas y billetes vietnamitas que mi vocación de coleccionista simplemente no pudo resistir.



La caminata también nos reveló el lado menos luminoso de Vietnam: su pobreza. Hay mendigos, talvez no tantos como en Loja, Quito o Guayaquil en algunas épocas del año, pero los hay, y gente durmiendo en las calles. Está ahí y es muy penosa, pero deberé decir que no es tan extrema ni tan chocante como las cosas que he visto en América Latina. Quizás allá es más fácil ver los contrastes entre los que muchos tienen y los que nada tienen. Aquí no tanto: es, después de todo, una sociedad mucho más igualitaria. Mi jornada por la Conchinchina está entrando ahora en una nueva etapa, más de observación e introspección, de la que espero cosechar lecciones de vida, de esas que te sirven en los momentos menos esperados.

Ben Tanh Market

Our first Saturday stop was Ben Tanh Market, one of the highlights of Ho Chi Minh City. Even though I had visited it the week before, just upon arriving to Saigon, this time the experience was completely different.

We had brunch in one of those places where locals and tourists alike gather to enjoy the most colourful and tasteful buffet of traditional Vietnamese food. Ordering consisted of finger picking what you wanted out of the many delicious-looking options exhibited in the small display cabinet, which were neatly divided into the meatless dishes and the non-vegetarian dishes (there is always a way of saying something simple in a more complicated way, hehe…). And then, as if the previous was not enough, we were offered coconut water. In the middle of the market they set up a low table and a set of plastic chairs, those really small ones that in my country would be used exclusively by children. And then, the feast followed.



Then we took time to explore the place. It has everything, of the most varied qualities. We found exotic fruits, candies, a great variety of coffee, rice, handicrafts, clothing, travelling bags, barber shops, beauty shops, house supplies… and what you couldn’t’t find in the market itself, you could find in the surrounding neighborhood.

The best part of the market is that nothing has a fixed price, that is, it was the perfect way to put to use my Bahia-de-Guayaquil developed bargaining skills (ask the Ecuadorians about it), so underutilized in the last few moths. It just happened to be that I needed a pair of sandals, and we passed by a local that had just the ones I was looking for. The lady started by asking 35 US dollars,… perfect for Payless Shoesource but completely out of place for Ben Tanh Market. I just smiled and pretended I was leaving. She stopped me, and said that she was willing to sell the sandals to me for 30 dollars. Mistake: not only did she reveal to me that she was way above her last price (s.t.f.e.: reservation utility), but she lost her advantageous position in the negotiation… now it was me who got to make the call (hehehe). Five, I said. She looked at me as if she was offended, and said “noooo, that is too little!”. “Ok, thank you then” I muttered as I waived her good bye. She just thought for a second… “Ok Ok, pay one more dollar”… So I got the sandals for 6 dollars, and I am positive that it still was good business for the lady (s.t.f.e.: I did not extract all her surplus). I guess that growing up in a country like Ecuador does equip you with some of the essential skills of a development practitioner, after all…

"On the Move" Barber Shop

As every day since I got to Vietnam, this Friday was a journey of culinary discoveries. For the first time ever (I love that line, specially because I get to use it a lot lately) I tried Che, which in Vietnam is not a well reputed revolutionary but a sweet soup that can be had hot or cold, and that it is usually served as dessert. It combines fruits and beans, and mine today had also coconut milk. Very recommendable. And, as some of the best things, happened without being planned: Uyen, the administrative assistant of the school, asked me if I wanted to try some just as I was on my way out to find a new place to have lunch.

After the dessert, however, I was still in the need for a bite of… whatever should have come before the dessert… so I headed out for a short “exploring the surroundings” operation. I didn’t find quite what I was looking for, but I did encounter another bit of what will constitute my memories of hot and humid Ho Chi Minh City. In the middle of the sidewalk, quasi blocking the pedestrian transit flow, a small business, testimony of the entrepreneurial spirit of the Vietnamese. It was a mobile barbershop, mobile in the sense that it wasn’t settled in a fixed place, but could be taken to where it could be needed. The C.E.O. and only full time employee of this apparently flourishing business decided to put all he needed in the basket of his bike, along with a chair and a mirror, and just bring the service to the costumers. When I bumped into him in the middle of the sidewalk he was in absolute trance, focusing in his work as I have seen few people focus, while his costumer supervised everything through the mirror. The motorbikes and cars passed one after the other, just a couple of meters away, but somehow this time they seemed not to be as noisy as usual.

When it rains in Saigon...

Since the very first day here, Widhar and I had been telling ourselves that we should get an umbrella or a water poncho. It rains pretty much every day during this season, only that until now it had only rained during office hours, when we were indoors.

I am sure you noticed I said “until now”… Well… today when we where half the way to the school, I felt the first drop… and then the second, and the thousand thirds, and the million forths… we decided to stop and stand on the sidewalk, protected by the salient roof of some store, until the rain stopped. It usually rains unexpectedly and hard, but just for 5 minutes…. Well, not this time. This time it wouldn’t stop. At some point, Widhar disappeared. Alone with my camera and my random thoughts, I tried to capture in images the wilderness of the city under the rain… The motorbikers were still there, as active as always, only that now everyone was wearing a water poncho. For the rest, business as usual.



And just as I was starting to wonder what kind of crazy people venture into such a storm equipped only with that plastic garment and sailed on a two-wheeled vehicle on these streets turned into small rivers and as trafficked as usual, Widhar showed up again, bringing a pair of brand new Saigon-style water ponchos and that big smile of his. So of course we put them on, got on our bikes, rolled up the sleeves of our pants, and resumed our journey.



A day of happenings… Today was also the day of our first blackout in Vietnam. The wind was very strong, and it was clear that it was going to rain again any moment. Then, all of the sudden, the lights went off. And the wind seemed to blow harder. I didn’t feel that surprised; after all, we do get blackouts from time to time in Quito. The people of the School, however, said that it was unusual. It took me a while to understand that it wasn’t unusual to get blackouts in Vietnam, just in the School, since it is placed in the same neighborhood where the Party’s headquarters is, and where many influential people live… A colleague just got to the School a few minutes after the blackout, and told us that the wind was so strong that trees branches were falling on the streets, and that that may have been the cause of the blackout… At any rate, we seized the opportunity to have a long chat with our coworkers about the history of the country, its government and the liberties that there are and that there are not, and possible weekend-travelling locations. Lots of plans already cooking…

So much for the benevolent central planner...

It was a quiet, mildly rainy day that started a little before 6 AM. We were planning on going for a run at 6 in a stadium that is located just half a block away from our alley. On our way out of the house, we bumped into a small magical moment. The landlady was kneeling in front of a small altar that is placed on the floor, by the stairs that lead to the guest rooms. She was holding five lightened incense sticks, while bowing towards the altar in some sort of ritual. The family is Buddhist, like a large part of Vietnam’s population. But you would not see such prayers in other Buddhist countries (Widhar, a Buddhist himself, wasn’t familiar with them), as Vietnamese Buddhism is different than other types, focusing more on ceremonial rituals that on meditation. Thus, it is not infrequent to see small altars, just like the one in our house, in many places around the city… We remained silent for a moment, and waited until she had finished and left the still-burning incenses in the altar before heading outside the house.



We found the stadium right away, and headed right into the racetrack. The first thing we noticed is that it was made out of a seemingly very expensive synthetic material… quite an investment in sports infrastructure, arguably a bit too much for a country with many others evidently unmet needs… Talking about this we started running, among the locals who frequent the place to jog, practice Tai-Chi, or just to hang out and enjoy the open space. Everything was going just fine until we ran into a house.

Yes, well read. A house, right in the middle of the racetrack. The only way of continuing our jog was to go around the corner of the house and resume the track on the other side. Again, the images tell more than a 1.000 words, so check out the pics. What happened? How in a socialist system, where decisions are allegedly centralized, can something like that be? I guess the central planners, benevolent as they may be, were either not such good planners or not as centralized as the name suggests.





Meanwhile in the world, Barack Hussein Obama landed on Saudi Arabia, a visit that is mean to signal that we are living a totally new era in the US foreign policy, which includes new ways of relating to the Arab World…. I love the guy, and I think it is a bit unfair that we stopped paying so much attention to his whereabouts once he made it to the White House. So far, he still seems to be fighting the system, at least some hairy ugly parts of it… way to go.

Bicycle and alley (with simultaneous translation for economists)

Riding a bicycle in Ho Chi Minh City looks from the sidewalk just as enjoyable, though a little safer than what it feels once you actually do it. A little after 7:30 Widhar and I got on the vehicles an ventured into Nguyen Thi Minh Khai, the busy street by which the Alley where we live is located. When you are moving along by them you get a totally different perspective of the celebrated Saigon’s motorbikes. They are no longer those curious picturesque objects that carry the widest imaginable variety of characters, and that you navigate among once in a while when trying to cross the road. They are now menacing creatures, half human half wheels, that seem to enjoy (s.t.f.e.: to draw utility from) getting as close to you as possible, that never approach you individually (always at least in pairs), and whose faces, when not covered by masks, have a ridiculously calm, almost cool expression. These creatures, however, just make the ride more fun. Full treat: fun an efficient: it took us less that 15 minutes to get to the School (s.t.f.e.: we produced a Pareto Improvement) (it must be said though, for the sake of completeness, that going back was a little bit more… challenging… in terms of sorting obstacles and avoiding fellow commuters).

I should have gone for the bicycle in the afternoon, when I was trying to decide how to get to an electronics store to get a transformer (I need to use 110V gadgets in this 220V country). The IT guy from the School advised me to get a UPS, and gave me the directions to the store that, he said, was very close to the school. Widhar, before I left, wisely suggested that I should ask the guy if I could borrow an old UPS that they had at the school, but I thought the guy had already suggested that they couldn’t lend it to me, so I didn’t follow that invaluable piece of Indonesian wisdom… Wrong! To make a long story short, lets just say that the idea of “close” and “far away” seems not to be the same for Ecuadorians and Vietnamese… I ended up walking for over an hour, just to find that I would have to pay over 100 dollars for a UPS that I would be of no use back in Cambridge. And when I got back to the School, exhausted, it just occurred to me to explicitly ask the IT guy about borrowing the that old UPS laying against the wall. He just said: sure! And Widhar just looked at me, smiled, and promised not to tell anyone…

After work, it is nice to get back home and just take a minute to enjoy the alley where our place is located. There are many small restaurants that at breakfast, lunch or dinnertime are always full of locals. Tastes and prices are amazing (however let it be on record that I liked the southern Vietnamese food much better than the northern Vietnamese food) (s.t.f.e. SVF is srongly preferred to NVF for consumer i=JP). You can get an amazing breakfast of sticky rice with shredded chicken, fried tiny shrimp, and sausage on top (believe me, tastes great, no matter how it sounds) for about 50 cents, much cheaper than what you would have to pay for the same food just few blocks away, in the touristic district (s.t.f.e. the fact that we effectively want to and do take the local’s “contract” is indisputable evidence that in this context we are the “high type”). You also find a DVD shop, a dry cleaner (which I should visit one of these days), a couple of barber shops (which I should definitely visit one of these days), a tailor, small fruits and vegetables stores, convenience stores, a cellular phones store, and many other businesses, all very convenient to have nearby. What a lively, busy, exciting place we ended up in.



Meanwhile in the world, I am sure something is going on… but that TV set is staying off tonight, I’ll find out in the future (s.t.f.e.: my daily energy constraint is binding, good night). 

Glossary: s.t.f.e. = Simultaneous translation for economists.

First day of work in Saigon

What is supposed to be the story of my first day of work at the Fulbright Economics Teaching Program, will end up being the story of Widhar and myself, wondering around Ho Chi Minh City trying to find one place or the other.

The first place we were trying to find was the School itself. We decided to walk, following the photocopy of a map and the directions of one of our favorite friends (she goes by the name of Google Maps). Of course, as anyone who has visited the city knows, and as every single tourist guide repeatedly mentions, walking around Saigon means being surrounded by motorcycles, the symbol of this city. Simply impressive. Coming out of everywhere, going everywhere, running so close to each other and to the cars that one wonders if they are actually different moving entities… We successfully passed the “crossing the street” test for the first time, and over and over again. Even made a video of that. Indeed, informal institutions do work, or at least they have kept us safe and sound for today.

                                    

We got lost of course. And circled around the school’s neighborhood for a while enjoying… well, while experiencing the kind of tropical heat and humidity that one would never get in cold Cambridge. Perfect time for pictures and for mango-juice stops…

Once in the school everything went just fine. They gave us our desks (right next to each other), set up our computer user accounts, introduced us to the faculty and the staff of the School, and showed us around the place. The usual business. I must admit though, that Vietnamese names give me an even harder time than non-Vietnamese names, both when it comes to pronouncing them, and (even more so) when it comes to remembering them. The exception is the Financial Officer, a lady named Trieu, whose name I will never forget and will always pronounce accurately and, who knows, even graciously, since she took the time to explain the pronunciation to us. The took a piece of paper , wrote “Don’t you”, and asked us to read it loud. Then, she covered the letters “Don”, and asked us to pronounce just the second part…. “Trieu, Trieu… that is how you pronounce my name!”. Trieu also had a couple of cell phones ready for us, which was yet another reason not to forget her.

After a very nice lunch with our host, Jonathan Pincus, we had a short afternoon of semi-work, had our first 4 pm Vietnamese coffee that I intend to turn into a tradition for the next 2 months (strong, really strong) (really really strong) (but good, very good), and decided to venture to our second Ho Chi Minh city walk. This time, the goal was to rent a pair of bicycles for our time here (yes, we decided against the motorbikes option) (yes, we know we may regret it) (we will get over it, though). Soon enough we realized that our second walk didn’t necessarily need to be a walk, and that cabs are, after all, not that expensive around here. And we got on one of those, and it took us to a place that the people from the School had referred to us. As it turns out, people don’t rent bicycles, only motorbikes. Buying a bicycle is cheap enough, making the rental service not that profitable. And there were no bicycles for sale in the neighborhood.

So we got on a second cab, just as rush hour was starting. As we were explaining to the driver that we wanted him to take us to a place where we could buy a bicycle, it became clear to us that the guy really didn’t speak English. Not a word. Not even “yes”. From time to time we would ask if we were still far away from the place he was taking us to, and we would respond in Vietnamese and moving his hands… I interpreted: “Yes, we are almost there. Have patience. There are many bicycles to choose from where I am taking you…”, though I reckon he might just as well could have been saying “I don’t understand anything of what you are saying, I just got that you wanted a bicycle because you drew it to me. I’ll try to take you there, but it is not that close, and there is a lot to traffic. Besides, I am hungry and I miss my mom”… or pretty much anything else… After a while I decided to stop speaking to him in English and started speaking to him in Spanish. It was fantastic. Now he really looked as if he finally understood what we were asking! But then again, who knows: he kept answering in Vietnamese and moving his hands, same same as before.

                                          

The fact is that we eventually got a very nice pair of bikes. We paid for them half of what the first store we visited asked for, and since it was already dark, we put the bikes in the same taxi and drove back home. And we went on with our conversation with the driver, but this time it was not about bicycles anymore. Well, at least not on our side…

I really like the Vietnamese people. I have found it very easy to connect with them straight away: they look you in the eye, they smile a lot, they seem to be just very laid back, not too sophisticated but noticeably smart and friendly people.

The Lonely Planet guide to Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and the Greater Mekong, starts its Vietnam section with the phrase: “Welcome to another world, a world where the colours are more vivid, where the landscapes are bolder, the coastline more dramatic, where the culture is richer, the history more compelling, where the tastes are more divine, where the life is lived faster. This is the world of Vietnam, the latest Asian dragon to awake from its slumber”. That spirit has definitely come through after my first couple of days in Conchinchina.

Meanwhile in the world, BBC reports, an Airfrance plane going from Rio de Janeiro to Paris is missing, and Chrysler and General Motors filed for bankruptcy, the largest bankruptcy in the history of the US. Unsettling. A reminder of how insignificant the previous account is in the context of this planet’s last 24-hours turn. But aren’t most experiences that are big in your personal history mostly insignificant for the rest of humanity? And still, they remain meaningful as long as you perceive them as such.

Reporte de inspección lojana al territorio de la Conchinchina

En Ecuador eran pasadas las 11 de la noche cuando desperté, luego de haber dormido toda la mañana. Mi primer amanecer en Ciudad Ho-Chi-Minh, antes Saigón, la capital comercial de la República Socialista de Vietnam. Es la habitación 232 del hotel Tan Hai Long 3, lo primero que encontré al borde de la media noche, luego del viaje de 33 horas desde Boston. Mis primeras impresiones de este país estuvieron un poco nubladas por el cansancio del viaje. Aún así, me queda la sensación de un aeropuerto nuevo y funcional, de una ciudad con una gran vida nocturna, de taxistas que, sin hablar ni gota de Inglés, entienden y se hacen entender a la perfección, y de gente acogedora, servicial, sencilla, que sonríe con mucha frecuencia. 

También aquí con la novedad de que la calidad sí hace la diferencia en los sombreros de paja toquilla. Algo que debí haber supuesto antes de elegir el más barato para traerme a Cambridge luego de mis vacaciones de fin de año, y que entendí plenamente luego de que el mencionado ítem llegó a Ciudad Ho Chi Minh quebrado en varios sitios, como si alguien hubiese tomado un cuchillo y lo hubiese cortado aleatoriamente, para pasar el aburrimiento.

Antes de almorzar salí a buscar la casa de huéspedes en donde voy a estar viviendo los próximos 2 meses. No fue fácil dar con ella. El taxi me dejó en un callejón, en donde al menos 8 casas tenían el mismo número que yo tenía apuntado… sin otra referencia que la dirección (ni siquiera el nombre de la propietaria, ni otra seña particular del sitio) tuve que preguntar y ser guiado por los vietnamitas del vecindario que, aunque siempre serviciales, hablaban tanto Inglés como yo su idioma.

Pero llegué. Y conocí a la propietaria, Co-Wang (o algo por el estilo…), una señora muy amable, con una sonrisa generosa, y con un conocimiento del Inglés tan avanzado como el de sus compatriotas mencionados en los párrafos anteriores. Me mostró mi habitación en el segundo piso. Bonita, cómoda. La ducha en el baño distinta a lo que conozco: nada la separa del resto del cuarto, ni cortinas ni divisiones en el piso, con lo que cada ducha implica un lavado completo de toda la habitación. Y la vista de mi ventana tampoco nada del otro mundo: da directo a la puerta de entrada de otra de las habitaciones de alquiler que hay en la casa. Esto, sin embargo, resultó muy conveniente, pues cuando Co-Wang se dio por vencida en su intento de superar a punta de lenguaje de señas nuestras diferencias idiomáticas, llamó a la puerta del frente de donde salió quien sería nuestro traductor y mi primer amigo en Vietnam. Es un estudiante coreano, que estudia el Idioma Vietnamita en la Universidad Nacional en Ho Chi Minh City. Acababa de terminar su tercer año de cuatro en total, y esa noche volvía a Corea para pasar allá el verano. Ni su Inglés ni su Vietnamita eran impecables, pero fueron suficientes para que nos entendamos con mi arrendataria y me instale en mi nuevo lugar.

Se me ocurrió entonces que el Coreano era el informante ideal para encontrar una solución Triple B al hambre que acababa de desempacar. Así que le pregunté que dónde me recomendaba almorzar. Se quedó pensando por un momento, y me respondió con otra pregunta: “¿Comida de dónde te gustaría comer?” (queda claro que la población de extranjeros es significativa en esta ciudad y/o que los Siangoneses - ¿se dice así? – gustan de comer fuera de casa y de la cocina internacional). “¿Será que se puede encontrar comida Vietnamita?”, pregunté, medio bromeando, medio en serio…

Pho 24, esa fue su sugerencia. Al salir del callejón tomar la derecha, pasar los locales de los peluqueros, los cafés, el lavado en seco, cruzar la calle, pasar el KFC (sí, Kentucky Fried Chicken, no siglas de ninguna palabra en Vietnamita) (y de esos hay muchos, pero muchos por acá), y luego de 10 metros encontrar el lugar, que abre desde las 7 de la mañana hasta “tarde”. Supe luego que era una cadena vietnamita que no solo está aquí, sino en otros lugares de Asia. 

Pho es el nombre de la sopa de fideos típica Vietnamita. Por supuesto, eso es lo que había que almorzar. Buena decision. Claro está, tampoco el almuerzo estuvo libre de episiodios en donde la asimetría idiomática, esta vez con el mesero, se hizo evidente: nunca logré que me traiga una servilleta pero sí terminé con más de una toalla húmeda para limpiar las manos (aunque ahora que lo pienso, creo que eso es lo que usan aquí, no servilletas), y sin importar el entusiasmo y claros gestos que utilicé para pedir una botella de agua fría, refrescante, ideal para el calor y la humedad que para esa hora eran ya notables, lo único que conseguí fue una taza de sabroso té Vietnamita, calientito, casi hirviendo…

Luego, a caminar por la ciudad se ha dicho, armado solo con la fotocopia de un mapa que conseguí antes de salir del hotel en la mañana. Sabrosa experiencia, aunque un poco ofuscada por el calor de la tarde. 

Las motos sin duda son el rasgo característico de la ciudad, lo mismo que todas las guías turísticas y los recuentos de los visitantes dicen. Y no se puede sino caer en la repetición y decir la misma historia una vez que se está aquí, porque el asunto es simplemente impresionante. Salen de todo lado, sin parar, a toda hora, y van a un ritmo de vertigo en todas direcciones. Llevan vietnamitas y visitantes de toda factura, personajes tan llamativos que ninguna crónica sería capaz de describirlos cabalmente.

La ciudad es tropical, ruidosa, alegre, caliente… se me ocurre muy parecida a Guayaquil, al menos a las zonas que se le han escabullido a la regeneración. Caminé por una zona de museos: el de la Independencia, el de la Revolución, y por la Catedral de Notre Dame que queda en la calle Pasteur (huellas del pasado colonial del país). Y terminé en un Mercado, de esos que me gustan visitar en cada sitio. Simplemente encantador, con toda clase de comestibles y no comestibles de venta, mariscos secos, frutas que en mi vida he visto, camisetas de Ho Chi Minh junto con otras del Ché Guevara, peluquerías, locales para que las damas locales se sienten a hacerse el pedicure bloqueando parte del tránsito, tiendas de ropa muy al estilo de la Bahía en Guayaquil y, por todo lado, negociante que también comparten el espíritu de la Bahía (me ofrecieron un par de zapatos a 25 dólares, y en cuanto me di la vuelta para seguir a la siguiente tienda me los volvieron a ofrecer en 10…).

En fin, una tranquila tarde de domingo, mi primer domingo en la Conchinina. (Sí, si alguna vez te dijeron que algo quedaba en la Conchinchina, lo estaban ubicando –con o sin conocimiento de causa- en la región sur de Vietnam que limita con Camboya, en donde la ciudad más representativa es esta Saigón que tan amigable ha sido en recibir al suscrito lojanito).