Here I am
Monday, July 22, 2002
Hong, Kong:
So, here I stand at the place where I started this diatribe almost five months ago. Reuters has been kind enough to again offer me free internet access, and there is a strong chance that I am using the same terminal as I did on six March. It's raining today in Hong Kong, though only lightly. From my perch I can see the harbor and several islands in the background. Oh, the joys of the layover....
The last three days were spent in Bangkok. [Another instance: as it began, so it shall...] Honestly, I cannot decide how I feel about Bangkok. Everytime I formulate an opinion, something happens and I change my mind. Even this time, I went from positive, "what an interesting place this is", to negative, "there is nothing even remoting intriguing about this Los Angeles-wanna-be" [read: sprawling city without charm,] and back to positive, "I've just walked for five kilometers in a straight line and have not left the market. I briefly joined forces with a lost Brit during my day of shopping madness -- she was quite lost, though her map was so much better than the virually-crayon drawn version -- not that there is anything wrong with crayons -- that I'd been toting around in my bag since March. [Don't worry, I successfully left it behind after some haggard bartering excercise.]
Interestingly enough the time in Bangkok put a cap on a pattern that I've been observing recently. There is something in this part of the world about a fight to the death that is extremely appealing. In Hanoi, I was shown examples of fighting fish, grown by the hundreds in their own individual glass jars so as not to kill each other before a proper competition. In Jinghong, I was witness to the wonders of cock-fighting. While the event that I attended was rather lackluster -- it was two in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and the birds did not fight to the death as it was a training exercise -- the atmosphere of the real thing was almost palatible.
Then finally, Sunday evening in Bangkok, I attended a series of Muay Thai matches [that's Thai boxing, for those of you not in the know.] Almost-full contact kickboxing, the event takes place in a ring located in the pit of a small indoor stadium. While no one was actually mortally wounded in my presence [and I'm quite happy about that] there is certainly the possibility that someone could. During more than one match, an opponent was exposed to a series of blows that left them motionless on the mat. While there was a slight air of professional-wrestling, they were definately experiencing some actual discomfort.
Yet, this was only the background for the real event. The excitment in the audience was much more interesting. I stood in the second class section, which was much more alive than the catatonic "ring-side" seats that were obviously being pushed only on foreigners willing to pay three times the price. Men around me were yelling, and flailing their arms about in a combination of cheering and gambling -- neither which I was actually able to decipher.
After a few rounds, the sweaty-men kicking each other around for twenty-five minutes during the preliminary sets begain to grow somewhat boring, but I really wanted to wait around for one of the "main events." I started look around a bit more intently, and I noticed that there was a much more exciting series of events unfolding below. I'm not such if I was alone it noticing the conflict, but as I watched the intesity of the participants grew. In the ring-side seating, two amateur photographers were batting it out. One would move in to capture a poorly composed shot of ropes in focus, with the already completed kick of a boxer in the blurry background. The other would then jockey to position himself to get the reaction of referee [is that what they are called in boxing?] but would fail as the first blocked his view. The intensity, the fire in their eyes as they tried to better one and other was maddening. I hoped maybe there would be a small tussle, but alas when the gauntlet was laid down [one of the guys tapped the other guy on the shoulder] the recipient of the challege bowed out. With that completed, there was little else to see and I buckled down hoping for an early knock-out to bring the final match sooner.
Friday, July 19, 2002
Hanoi, Vietnam:
Being a novelty is a feeling that had avoided me for sometime. Yesterday it came streaming back as I took a ride across the old railroad bridge to Gia Lam (pronounced "Za-Lam.") About halfway across the once bombed span that crosses the wide Song Hong -- Red River -- I noticed that I was on the receiving end of glances that I had not experienced since the less populated south of Lao. The bicycles that glided past me toward the city carried the young and the old, those coming from school and those going to market. While not everyone, nor even a large minority of my fellow travelers even noticed me, there was enough notice that the odd feeling of being somewhat unique was revived.
In some ways I find the notion to be odd that such a feeling would be missed. The result can be as daunting as it is endearing. In a land where there is a different ethnic majority, I am both a novelty and an pariah. But this is only on the other side of the river, only in the places where the tourist is not a ubiquity. In the old-quarter of Hanoi, I am yet another visitor from the west. Seen either a source of income, or simply a obstacle, or maybe not even seen at all.
The conflict with which I am sometimes encompassed is the question whether I want to be see or remain invisible. Really, there is very little benefit to being the object of attention other than a inflated sense of importance, yet in a land where I will always be an outsider there is some solace that at least I can be sometimes held as something different. A smiling ambassador from the west who has simply come to see, and not to pillage or exploit.
As I navigated the tiny medeval-esque streets of the other side of the river, after being lost for a moment in the expansive rice paddies not far from the river bank I was meet with the glee of children.
There were "hello"s, and even a few "What is your name?"s as I maneuvered my Japanese-made bicycle along the streets free of the horns cars, trucks and buses that otherwise seem to pervade most other corners of the city.
At last I began my way back across the aging span bridging the great river, the class of novelty began to evaporate slowly. Seemingly, the closer I became to the Hanoi bank, the more pedestrian I became as a fellow traveler. With one last acknowledgement of my inconsistency I was the object of a shriek from a bridge worker before I reclaimed the anonymity that again surrounded me in the streets of Hanoi.
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
Hanoi, Vietnam:
The Fourth of July has come and gone. I, as should you, was not surprised that the auspicous day for an American passed without the slightest blink of an eye.
Monday, July 01, 2002
Hanoi, Vietnam:
I've been a bit remiss with posting recently I know, but the reality is that I've slowed down a bit and there have been fewer crazy things to relate. But, need not worry, there are a lot of gaps that I have yet to fill in. stay tuned.....
