Sprinkles from Heaven

En route to my hotel on the first day here, the chauffeur showed me some people who stood in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary, located directly in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral. There was a miracle, he said. The statue was crying. For days now, believers and plain gawkers have been flocking to the area to witness the shedding of the tear by the stone icon. It would have been difficult on that night to discern the difference between the tears and the drizzles that sprinkled from heaven.

I asked some locals, most of whom misinformed me that there were two religious camps in Vietnam: 50% Buddhism and 50% Catholics. Further reading shed better understanding on this topic: there are a handful of religions instead: Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism (predominantly Mahayana, as opposed to Theravada or Hinayana Buddhism), and Christianity. The first three, along with Vietnamese animism (the belief that the material world possesses souls) combine to form the Tam Giao (Triple Religion). Catholicism in Vietnam, beginning around the 16th century, is today practised by 8-10% of the population. There are also Cao Daism (a religious sect that fuses the secular and religious beliefs of the East and the West), Hoa Hao Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism. I was also informed that, unlike in China, communism in Vietnam did not eradicate the esixtence of any form of religion.

While driving across the United States might yield plenty of Flamingo and Gnome sightings on people's lawns and frontyards, driving through the countrysides of Vietnam produced a curious view: statues of either standing female manifestation of the Buddha, or of the Virgin Mary, or of Christ the Redeemer, all of whom occupied the second-story balconies of the people's two or three-story homes. Seen from outside, these figures (especially of the Virgin and Christ) seemed to welcome you into the owners' homes. Perhaps that was indeed the intention. I remember wondering if there was a sense of competition inter- and intra-religion (i.e.: Buddhism vs. Catholicism; the cult of Mary vs. the cult of Jesus Christ).

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On an unrelated note, I also observed that during a trip to Nha Trang from Saigon (an arduous 9+ hour bus/van ride; mon Dieu I will take a plane ride next time . . . if there is a next time!) the existence of plenty of graveyards; or at least what I originally thought was formal graveyards, until someone explained to me that soldiers who died during the War were buried immediately and at the site where they had fallen.

The road between Saigon and Nha Trang was the same route used by the North to advance to the South, the very same area where the South positioned its defense. Rather than moving these makeshift burials to a designated formal graveyard or a military gravesite, the soldiers' families returned to the site and built upon the makeshift burial. As a result, the landscape along the route was dotted with mounds after mounds of memorials to the fallen ones.

I thought this was a more effective and constant reminder to any passers-by of the toll any war can take. Gathering the fallen soldiers in one formal site and honoring them would have been a solemn gesture, but leaving them where they fell across miles and miles of a major highway would hopefully persuade passers-by to reflect on their sacrifices.

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During that same road trip, I was also amazed by the existence of many Internet kiosks. In the seemingly most remote village where I did not think electricity existed, there appeared kiosk after kiosk of Internet access. Word had it that Vietnamese who fled the country in 1975 and had returned back to Vietnam either to visit their relatives or to repatriate had decided to bridge the digital gap and to make modest amount of money in the process. That reminded me of the speed at which a Vietnamese friend of mine in Los Angeles travelled to get his hands into this burgeoning and blossoming market that was Vietnam.

Saigon, Have I Seen You Before?

I just landed at the Tan Son Nhat Airport (Saigon Airport), an airport built by the US Army that used to witness the comings and goings of the US military aircrafts during the Vietnam War. The airport bore a quaint reminder of what Jakarta airport was like in the 70s (quick, quick, if you do not know how the Jakarta airport looked like in the 70s, come to Saigon now!). Lines at the immigration was long, but there were more than ten staff members working to process the entrants. The immigration workers had dour faces and worked very slowly, doing what Indonesian immigration used to do a lot: stamping, stapling, stamping, stapling, stamping, stamping, stamping. Then more stamping, stamping, looking at the photo in my passport, then at my face, then stamping, and stamping again. Finally, another round of stapling and stamping, and then returning the passport to me. *Whew* I looked inside, there was only 1 stamp. What the hell?

There was another baggage scanning done during customs check, and observing very briefly, about 10% of the people were sent to the red lane for a more thorough check. A small kiosk of foreign exchange services stared me in the face so I took the opportunity to get my first Vietnamese Dong (VND): I have tried earlier to acquire VND in Japan and in Hong Kong, but none carried VND. The Hong Kong foreign exchange kiosk staff informed me that not a lot of people travelled there, so the exchange did not carry any VND. Back to the Saigon Airport foreign exchange kiosk: to my surprise, the bills given to me were spanking new. Certain bills, similar to the Indonesian Rupiahs, seemed to be made of Tyvek-like ingredients, making it untearable and longer-lasting.

It was drizzling outside when I finally breathed in the Saigon air, seasoned only with a hint of humidity as I chose to visit the country at the end of the rainy season. The hotel limo picked me up and drove me to my hotel (see review here), about 8 km away in Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC). I want to remind you that Saigon and Ho Chi Minh City are two names for the same city. Before 1975 the city was Saigon, but after that year, it was renamed the Ho Chi Minh City. According to guidebooks and learning from locals, the name Saigon is still much prefered here in South Vietnam.

As I was driven through the city, I felt a familiar scene welcoming me: low rise buildings and multitudes of store fronts, street vendors jamming the sidewalk and road traffic running amok, all serenaded with a cacophony of car horns and bike bells. Such encounters I have had in other Southeast Asian big cities. I could be in Bangkok or Surabaya, and probably would not know the difference unless I see local writings and hear people talking. All of these nations have been colonized at one point or another by a Western power: Indonesia (the Portuguese, the Dutch, and the Japanese); Singapore and Malaysia (the British Empire); Vietnam (the French), and the Philippines (the Spaniards). Some came out strong and prosperous, some remained probably more or less the same, and some, like Vietnam, is still catching up with time.

I was delivered to District 1, so named probably because of its importance: most of the city's prominent buildings and formal government offices were located in this area, such as: the Reunification Palace (pictured above), the Opera House, the Main Post Office building, and the People's Committee Building (formerly Hotel de Ville), to name a few. For the rest of the late evening I stayed indoor, having woken up very early today to make the trip from Japan to Saigon by way of Hong Kong. I ordered Pho from room service, all the while telling myself not to expect much from any hotel food. I was surprised to find the dish very tasty, as tasty as the best Pho outside of Vietnam in Little Saigon (Westminster, Southern California).

*sigh*...gone is my first day in Saigon...

Bridges, Creeks, and Maple Trees

If I ever imagine a Japanese Eden it would be in the form of Ukai-Toriyama in Takao-san (Mt. Takao), a sprawling compound of lush greens and Japanese Maple trees, divided by creeks, united by bridges, and dotted with a multitude of pavilions, none of which has the same architectural design.

When my friend asked me out to eat lunch here -a mountainous area 50 minutes away from Tokyo's Shinjuku station by an express train- I had no earthly idea that I would end up in such heavenly a place. From Shinjuku-eki, we took the Keio train to Takaosanguchi. A complimentary bus from the Ukai Toriyama company picked us up and delivered us to the second restaurant (the first was a smaller one at a lower level of the mountain).

Reservation had been made for 4 people the day before; otherwise, it would be almost impossible just to walk in and expect to get a pavilion. There is no dining hall; instead, the vast area is host to numerous pavilions scattered throughout. To reach any of these private rooms, one has to navigate on a pebble track under a canopy of trees while listening to the sound of flowing water in the creek down beneath the many bridges that have to be crossed. I do not think anyone would mind.

We chose the highest course in the menu and were rewarded with a parade of small dishes containing many different Japanese vegetables and meats. At one point, each of us was given a suspended rock that was really hot. This was to be the place to put our raw beef with ground miso topping. As there really is no such thing as "main entrée" in a Japanese meal, each dish bears equal weight.

(When we left Tokyo, it was actually raining very hard. As we were waiting in a station somewhere along Tokyo and Takao-san, an earthquake shook the northern part of the country [6.8 in the Richter scale]. We did feel the train rocked back and forth while in its stationary position.)

It was still grey when we reached the mountain, but as we consumed our repast, the cloud broke and the sun appeared, sending his mighty rays to our compound but they were filtered by the leaves of the Maple trees. The effect was just so beautiful that neither words nor photographs could capture its essence.

Would you mind my sharing with you a little bit more of the pictures I had taken from my outing today? Please visit www.flickr.com/photos/bloompy.

From Here to Eternity...

It may not look like it, but this Oedo-subway-line escalator at the Kokuritsu-kyogijo (by Sendagaya JR Train Station) seems to be one of the longest escalators I have ever seen in Japan, in the U.S., or in Europe. When you hop in it and stay put, it takes quite a while to reach the top (or the bottom). I actually started reading Tolstoy's "War and Peace" at the bottom and finished it three steps before reaching the top. And I read that twice.

Currently Tokyo is building its 13th line, somewhere down beneath the Meiji-dori (Meiji street), one of the busiest streets in the city. While that is not yet near completion, Oedo line will for the time being carry the title of "the last" subway to be built in Tokyo.

Oedo line, the 12th subway line, was inaugurated on 12/12/12 (December 12 on the Japanese year 12 [the Japanese year starts on the beginning of the reign of a new emperor, and as such, the year 2000 was equivalent to the Japanese year Heisei 12]). The depth reached close to 50m at certain points, making it one of the deepest subway lines in the world.

The picture above is just one of the series of escalators that one has to take in order to reach the street level. At the Roppongi station, for example, you have to take at least 4-5 sets of escalators to reach down. Forget having any cell phone signals down there. Perhaps the long journey down to reach the train or up to return to the street level is one reason why the line has not been so popular. The ridership has been below what was originally predicted.

Next time you are in Tokyo and happen to ride this line, bring a good book. A thick book. Forget the thick book: bring your parents' entire Encyclopaedia collection, or do your family tree, going up to your great-great grandparents and down to your grandniece twice removed.

The Shinjuku-2-chome Festival

The Shinjuku-2-chome Festival, originally uploaded by bloompy.

Gay Pride Parade began in Tokyo a few years back, but about three years ago it stopped. I could only speculate why, as I have yet to find out the real reasons. Be that as it may, 2005 saw the rebirth of the Pride with a Lesbian & Gay Parade on Saturday (August 13) starting from and ending at the Yoyogi Park (which I unfortunately missed because of a food allergic reaction) and a festival today at the Shinjuku-2-chome, home to the local LGBT Tokyoites.

The Parade went through the Shibuya district, then turning onto Meiji-dori, heading toward Harajuku (via the Omotesando-dori) and back to the Yoyogi Park. I overheard people saying that the Parade was much better than the last one three years ago. Let's hope that the Parade will be repeated next year.

The festival today started around 5pm and supposedly ended around 9pm. I was there with a couple of friends for the first two hours (as we mistakenly thought the festival would start earlier; we were in the area 3-4 hours earlier, and had had to kill time until the festivities started; geez, I really need to do my homework!!! ).

In other Japanese festivals like the Sanja-matsuri in Asakusa, two rows of attendants would collectively hoist a portable shrine on their shoulders as they did a procession from one point to another (i.e., from the gate to the temple proper). Such a procession was simulated here today, but when it started, everybody died laughing. Instead of marching to the traditional chants or to the beating of Taiko drums, this procession marched to the tune of the popular Romanian disco song "Mai Ai Hee/Dragostea Din Tee" blaring from the loudspeakers in full force. It was a fantabulous riot!!!

The festival brought out the transgenders, transvestites and lesbians out of the woodwork. This is the part of the community that I seldom see in 2-chome. Some attendants wore their yukatas, and at one point, 5 seemingly happy girls with their colorful and patterned yukatas made their stroll in the main street, stopping here and there to flirt with booth attendants. They were also kind enough to let others snap their pictures.

Taking pictures in such event is rather a thoughtful process as one has to consider the privacy of the people involved. True, they are out in public having fun and, to a certain degree, "let their hair down", but it does not mean that they would like their orientation or association with the community be broadcasted to the entire world. At times, when in doubt, yours truly had had to ask the permission of the subjects before immortalizing their images, including of those portrayed above.

Today's festival is dwarfed by the similar Pride-related parties in other big cities in the world, but it is nonetheless significant for the Japanese LGBT community to let their presence known. The Saturday's Parade covered the youth-oriented Shibuya, Omotesando, and Harajuku. Someday, perhaps, the Parade will march through the more traditional Ginza where the older generation is.