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Published: November 19th 2008
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This is for you, Julie. (Well, that's not quite true, of course, but anyway.) It's a rough translation of the last blog. I did the German version first as I am now travelling with my sister and as it so happens we do tend to speak German with each other.
I won't write a lot as our days are full and we normally just fall into bed at a rather early hour. I do manage to write my journal, well, most days I do, but I didn't really have the energy to do a blog. But today, I mean, yesterday, the reason being that it is raining again, and raining hard. Hoi An has been spared the taifun (as in tropical storm - I have no idea how to spell the word) but the rain has been coming down hard and plentiful. There are basically three streets in downtown Hoi An which run parallel to the river, and the water had reached the second one late this afternoon. But people are used to it we have been told. They built there houses with two storeys and when the water starts flooding the first floor they move all their furniture one
storey up. Honest. We have seen the water marks on the walls.
I have named this blog "Lost in Translation" for two reasons. One is that some of the phrases I have used in the German version do not translate into English. For example, I used as the first subtitle "Vom Regen in die Traufe" which means something like "From the rain into the swimming pool", but the saying in English is "From the frying pan into the fire" which, of course, doesn't work at all in the circumstances.
The second reason relates to our first guide, Hanh, who accompanied us on the round trip in the north. Most of the time we couldn't really understand what he was trying to tell us. Other times he either stated the obvious, like when we were stopping at a red light and he would say "Red.", or he would start to mumble quietly and we weren't sure if he was trying to communicate with us or the gods. Whenever he couldn't come up with an answer to one of our questions ot when we had found out once again that what he had been telling us was not true, he
would laugh happily and the cigarette which was hanging in the corner of his mouth would dance up and down.
One typical example of how informative he was is the following. We were staying in the small town of Bac Ha which is famous for its very colourful Sunday market to which the people from various minority groups who live in the area come. It also has the remains of the palace of the last Hmong king who, in the seventies, moved to California with 8000 of his staff. When we were walking to a nearby village Hanh asked us: "Did you see the house earlier?" We asked:"Which house? - "The one of the Hmong King." - Oh, you mean the palace. No. Why didn't you tell us?" - "We were driving by too quickly."
But my favourite is this one. There was a group of women sitting at the roadside selling vegetables and fruit. Some of them were rolling up some kind of string into big balls. They later use it to weave a rough cloth. When we asked Hanh where the fibre of the string comes from he said: "from a tree." - "What tree?" - " It
grows three meters high." Well, now I know all.
On our tour through northern Vietnam we visited quite a few villages of ethnic minorities who still dress in their traditional clothes and live in wooden houses typical of their group. There are the Black and White Thai, the Hmong - black, red and blue - the Lu, the Nung, the Muong, and various others. It was very interesting to visit with them, have a cup of green tea, and then ... be "Lost in Translation" as Hanh had great fun talking to them but hardly ever translated anything. So we would sit and smile and nod and show photos from home and nod some more and smile and say good-bye.
Well, we enjoyed the tour anyway. The scenery was fantastic, the people friendly and their costumes impressive, the weather was good (!!!), ... but the food? We had rice, and noodles, and noodles, and rice, and rice ... This is, of course an exaggeration but only slightly so, for the north anyway. We had some really nice Pho (the traditional Vietnamese noodle soup) but only rarely was the food as tasty as we had been told. This has changed now,
though. Last night we had a delicious meal in a small restaurant here in Hoi An and today it was even better, and: we cooked all ourselves! We took a class in Vietnamese cooking
and what a success it was. From making our own rice paper for spring rolls, to a pancake with vegetables and shrimps, and a vegetable stew, food decoration included. Everything was bought fresh at the market though not by us as they would have charged us tourist prices and the buying is done in the very early hours of the morning. But we walked through the market with a guide and learnt everything about the spices, and the herbs, and the vegetables we were going to use. All in all, a terrific way to spend a rainy morning and afternoon.
I did get sidetracked here. This is not what I wrote in the German blog. That contains more subtitles and the promise to fill those in later. There was the "Traumschiff Surprise" (that doesn't really translate, either)which is about our trip on a junk through the beautiful Halong bay (see photo in German blog), the "Visit to a doctor the Vietnamese way" (I had pinched a nerve and was in great pain for days until I decided I just had to see a doctor - and what an adventure that was), "Flower Power" which is meant to be about the Flower Hmong, a minority group which dresses in especially colourful clothes, and lastlu "Culinary Delights".
This last one is not about rice and noodles but about some of the items which we found on a menu in a restaurant in Dien Bien Phu. My favourites are:
- Tear chicken to pieces salad
- Dip stomach in the boiled water
- Omelett eggs
- Simmered Ell (eel?) with gallegale and sour yeart
Well, this must be enough for now. I know there are quite a few gaps and you are probably dying to know about my experiences at the doctor's but you have to be patient. There will come another day.
P.S.: Oh, and I had a Chinese-style blouse made for me here in hoi An, which is famous for its tailors. You just go into one of the shops and choose a style and a fabric and they measure you thoroughly and voila, a few hours later, you get to wear your new garment. (And, lucky me, it is very well made, Miranda.)
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