I Am Watching...

Every newcomer to Saigon has a honeymoon experience. The people are positive, hardworking, and friendly. The energy is good. The country is booming. There is an emerging middle class. The food is good. There is no violent crime. The taxis are cheap, and there is no winter. The honeymoon seems to last about six months.

There is no defining event that brings the honeymoon to an end. It could be an encounter with the government bureaucracy or an emerging awareness that people around you seem to know what you're doing before you do. Eventually, you realize the everyone knows your business. That's when someone tells you about "the watchers."

The conventional wisdom is that every street has a watcher - someone who watches the daily comings and goings of all the neighbors. It's so stupid but then again no one says that the government attracts the best and the brightest - maybe the ambitious, the corrupt or the lazy but not the best and the brightest.

The guy with the piercing look and the Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt is an enigma to me. I have passed him every morning and every afternoon for almost a year. He never smiles or says hello, and I get a perverse delight in giving him a big smile and xin chao on my way to and from the office. I get nothing but this stare in return. Everyone else on the street is amused and delighted to play the game, but this dude is not playing. There is nothing covert about his watching. It's hard to believe, but he sits in his plastic chair on the sidewalk from sometime before 8am when I walk by until after 5pm when I walk by going the other way. The Vietnamese prize light skin. Women go to great lengths to cover themselves so that no skin will be exposed to the sun, but this guy is the George Hamilton of Saigon. He sits there in his little plastic chair all day long as the sun passes overhead - watching life go by. He never moves, at least I've never seen him move.

In Vietnam men are the weaker sex. Women do all the hard work - from hauling and mixing concrete to running small enterprises on the sidewalks and keeping their families together. The men sit in their little plastic chairs and drink tea until about 4pm when they switch to beer. During the day they gossip and at night they gamble and get loud. I haven't figured out how the guy in the picture fits in with all this, but maybe he's a retired watcher and doesn't know how to do anything else.

The Breakfast Cafe

This couple has one of the many tiny businesses that set up on my street every morning. I'm not even sure what their niche is. It's some specialty breakfast item. There are many like these two - probably half a dozen vendors serving a limited menu in the two and half blocks between my apartment and office. Some have a small heat source; some not. Some serve pho, the Vietnamese noodle soup. Some serve a kind of dry cereal or biscuit. Most have an array of soft drinks or tea. All of them have a cart to transport whatever is needed. Then they sit or squat and wait for their customers. I'm particularly drawn to this couple. There is an unfathomable sweetness to their dispositions. I pass them each morning about 8. I seldom see anyone buying from them, but they are always smiling and always pleased when I say xin chao (good morning). My simple greeting always gets a big return smile and a little chuckle. I know they are curious and amused but we don't have a common language so we share our interest and respect for each other by smiling and saying hello.

The mystery of small enterprises like theirs is how they subsist. Do they have other jobs? Do they have extended family that cares for them? I can't imagine that their little cart provides anything like a living. I was even more mystified when I discovered that they were gone before noon. I always imagined them sitting all day by their food cart until the day I walked home for lunch and noticed that they had packed up and departed. The same was true of most of the other mobile enterprises. Where do they go? What do they do for the remaining hours of the day? The Vietnamese are incredibly industrious, so I feel certain that when they pack up and leave it is for another spot and another Mom and Pop effort - maybe a better spot for lunch traffic or another job.

The Security Detail

The guys in the picture are the security detail for the Hollywood Cafe and Bar just down the block from my apartment. I don't know the exact nature of the Hollywood. Does a neighborhood cafe and bar really need 5 security guys 24/7 to keep things under control? And then there are the two good looking girls (not seen here)in black satin and stilettos greeting the customers. There never seem to be many customers but the big TV screens visible from the street make it seem more like a sports bar than love for sale. I stopped once with a friend for a quick beer at an outside table, and I still don't know exactly what the core business is.

I'm lucky to live just a short walk from the office and that has made me a bit of a local celebrity. As I make my way down the street, holding close to the curb (the sidewalk is reserved for motorbike parking) the locals wave and say hello to the white guy with the shoulder bag. The big guy in the center is the leader of the band and every morning he steps off the curb with a big smile and gives me a meaty "high-five." The other guys smile and nod but Mr. Big is The Man.

Vietnamese Social Security

I'm always startled by the contrasts in Saigon. As we sit drinking our $3.00 lattes at Gloria Jean's we look out on the early morning street life. This woman passes our window every morning on the way to deliver her load. The load is always like the one in the picture - two baskets filled with potatoes, yams, cassava, taro, bananas, avocados, etc. It has to weigh 50 or 60 pounds and she manages it with a serious limp. I don't know where she starts her journey, but she always pauses, puts down her load, and rests as she turns the corner into this little street. This is the Vietnamese Social Security system. There is no free ride or retirement age in Vietnam. You work until you can't work any longer and then your family provides. Families are large and close and very supportive. We have a Vietnamese friend who lives with his wife and 21 children and grandchildren in a 5 room house. Social Security is not perfect, but it is a safety net of sorts. That's what the family is in Vietnam. I don't know which system is better. I think it might be a combination. We warehouse our old and infirm. The Vietnamese work them until there isn't anything left in the tank.

A Family Affair

Gloria Jean's Coffee has floor to ceiling windows that are meticulously cleaned every morning by a middle-aged woman with an exquisitely beautiful and friendly face. I can only imagine what she looked like at 20. I'm sorry I don't have a picture of her to include here, because she is part of our day every day. Nevertheless, through these spotlessly clean and clear windows we look out, as we drink our morning lattes, on a narrow street that connects the two main arteries in downtown Saigon - Dong Khoi and Nguyen Hue. It's a fascinating contrast. The little family enterprise in the photo is a thriving street restaurant similar to what existed here 50 or 60 years ago - maybe even in the same location - but not 100 feet away across Dong Khoi Street is the flagship Gucci store just down the street from Louis Vuitton and the Sheraton Hotel.

Every morning this little family sets up shop on the sidewalk. Mama works the stove while Papa, in the baseball cap, serves the customers and washes dishes in two plastic buckets curbside. The daughter does take-out deliveries on her bicycle, riding with a perfectly straight back and the tray held up like a New York waiter as she rides out into Dong Khoi traffic. This is the essence of free enterprise in Vietnam. I'll show you more examples in the next few days.

Around the Neighborhood

When I'm at home in Seattle people are curious about what life is like in Saigon, and I sometimes struggle to describe what the neighborhood, neighborhood life, or neighbors are like. It's definitely different but it has its own "normal." Our normal day starts with a 5:45 taxi ride to the Rex Hotel fitness center and an hour swim or workout, then a quick walk over to Gloria Jean's Coffee on Dong Khoi Street. The coffee culture in Saigon is every bit as pervasive as it is in Seattle. It's robust and omnipresent, and even though Starbucks is thankfully absent, there are chains from the US (Coffee Bean), Australia (Gloria Jean's), Italy (Illy), and local brands like Highlands and Nguyen Trung.

Gloria Jean's happens to be our haunt and we know all the people who start their day there at 7am. There is Mike a venture capitalist and Hong Kong born expat from Dragon Capital, Andrew the vice-provost at RMIT the Australian technical university, Binh who sells beauty products and calls herself Brittany, Nga a single mom who has three kids and whose family business sells everything from flour to used cars. These are the hard core but there is always a sprinking of other regulars and some irregulars as well. Kurt Vonnegut says that everyone has a "karass," a small group of people they end up running into and spending time with. Gloria Jean's is our coffee karass.

I'm particularly taken with Saigon's "coffee art". Check out the swan in the cup above. Every morning the baristas strive to do something different. It might take a little longer to get the coffee but the pleasure is all mine.

More about the neighbors tomorrow.

Saigon's Trendiest Place

Yesterday's post was all about the inconspicuous entrance and passageway leading to L'Usine. L’Usine means factory in French, and L’Usine here is an old factory loft space in downtown Saigon that could be in NY’s Soho or the Marais in Paris. It is an ultra hip restaurant, gallery, fashion outlet and gathering place.

As I said yesterday you'd never find the place if you didn’t have insider information. You enter a covered alley off the main shopping street and pass through a dark passageway lined with stalls selling traditional Vietnamese paintings of women in conical hats. At the end of the stalls you turn right into a motorbike parking passage that leads to a stairway where the only clue to something more is a sign with a finger pointing up the stairs. The entrance to L'Usine itself is off a tile hallway on the second floor and is open to the outside with a view of the galvanized tin roofs that cover the inner courtyard. There are many secret spaces like this in Saigon. You often catch a glimpse of some wonderful French colonial villa or garden court through an open gate or door on a dingy street.

L’Usine’s space is huge, with the restaurant at the front and the interior space divided by a couple of walls but no separate rooms. The ceilings are high and floor is a distressed dark wood that is probably the original factory floor. L’Usine’s offerings are eclectic – art, fashion, food, design, furniture, and antiques but all in the very good taste of its owner.

Tib Hoang is a Vietnamese-Canadian born in Vietnam but raised in Montreal. She started returning here 15 years ago but didn’t make the permanent move back until two years ago when she married a Vietnamese who works for IDG, the venture capital firm. She is lovely and good taste obviously runs in the family. Her parents own one of the best Vietnamese restaurants in town, where President Clinton and his successor, who shall not be named, both dined. That restaurant, named after her, I presume, is called TIB.

The lunch crowd at L'Usine is as eclectic as the gallery – artists, ex-pats, US consular officers, venture capitalists, Africans, Europeans, Americans and a lot of upwardly mobile Viet Kieu. There are a few small tables, but the majority of the seating is around a large communal table where food competes with laptops for space. Another thing that sets L’Usine apart is the unfailingly good service, always with a smile and whether it’s male or female a good looking face to go with it. And, I forgot, the food is the best lunch fare we've tasted since we got here. Individual Quiche Lorraine, baguette sandwiches, fresh fruit smoothies, and cupcakes that are all to die for.

Tonight there is an art opening at L'Usine. I previewed it today. It's wide ranging, mixed medium, in both style and content, but very contemporary. The artist is a Vietnamese American woman, Tammy Nguyen, who trained at Cooper Union and came to Vietnam two years ago on a Fulbright. It's the first cutting edge, high quality art I've seen since we came to Vietnam 14 months ago - and we've been looking.

Try L'Usine if you come to Saigon. The inconspicuous entrance, with no sign, is at 151 Dong Khoi Street.

Secret Entrance

This is the interior passageway and motorbike parking garage inside a once grand French colonial building. Like most of the old buildings in Saigon the facade hides a vast and mysterious interior. The entrance to this one is an inconspicuous opening off of Dong Khoi, a street where luxury brands like Gucci and Versace share the spotlight with beggars, shoe shine boys, souvenir shops and street vendors selling fresh coconuts.

This picture was taken from the top of the stairs leading to a special place. You would never find it on your own. It's like a 1920's speakeasy. There is no street signage and only a discolored wall painting in the stairwell with the name, L'Usine, and a painted finger in 1920's lithographic style pointing up the stairs. This is the ultimate in secret, hip, exclusive, insider stuff. Tomorrow I'll show you more.

Back in Business

I'm the picture of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder these days. I can't get out of a taxi without going through the ritual of looking back at the seat and then jamming my hand in my left trouser pocket to make sure my "replacement" iPhone is not in the cab but securely in my pocket. Since I ride in 4 - 6 taxis a day this panic avoidance mechanism is consuming a lot of nervous energy. Still, having been without this lifeline to the larger world for almost 3 weeks I am determined not to let it happen that little device slip away again if I can help it.

The picture above was taken with my new phone. Proof positive that I have it and it works, but the story that goes with it is what this new life in Saigon is all about.

Last week I got a call from a colleague asking if I could deliver some flowers for a couple of birthdays. Flower deliveries are not a normal part of my job description, but these were special deliveries.

East Meets West has a program to support people with disabilities and the two people receiving birthday flowers are two Vietnamese pop stars who are acting as Goodwill Ambassadors for the disabled network support program. I imagined grabbing some flowers at the market and hustling them over to the birthday boys' homes and handing the over. Nooooooooooooo! Birthdays are a big deal in Vietnam, and pop star birthdays are HUGE.

So, here's the deal on birthday #1 - on Tuesday afternoon the office got a message telling us to be at an address near the city center. Kasim, the rock star, had bought his mother a "tearoom" as a birthday present and there was going to be a party there to celebrate. When we arrived the street in front of the tearoom was awash with huge flower sprays saying Happy Birthday. Inside, the crowd of trendy 30 somethings was murmuring in anticipation. That was 7:30pm. At 11:30 we discreetly made our way out to the taxi and a well deserved beddy-bye. In those 4 hours we heard singer after singer pour their hearts out in turgid ballads of unrequited love in a language I don't understand - but there was no mistaking the message. Kasim, himself, was gracious and let everyone know we were there and doing good things for the Vietnamese people.

Then, on Friday, we packed up again to attend Dam Vinh Hung's birthday bash. DVH is a mellow, pop icon, who is enormously personable with an easy manner - kind of short haired Michael Bolton. For DVH's party, in a much larger hall, we stopped on the way to pick up 6 blind kids from an orphanage. These kids had met him earlier and they are part of the disabled group that he is helping us raise money for. We arrived with the kids and were seated front and center. Here, the stage was like the street at Kasim's party - totally covered in flower sprays wishing him a happy birthday. There were probably 1000 mostly middle aged women in the auditorium and he welcomed and then put on a show for them. In the middle of the show he asked one of the blind kids to come up on stage to sing a song with him. It was a magical moment. The kid grabbed the mike and belted out the opening bars and then DVH with a huge smile joined in. It was truly fun. After the song was finished he introduced all of us and told the crowd about the great work East Meets West does with the disabled. Now that is a Goodwill Ambassador.

Neither of these birthdays was on my calendar when the week began, but they were highlights of it. In the process I learned that Kasim, on a recent tour of the Ukraine, raised $200,000 for the program. It's good to have friends like Kasim and DVH.

My Lifeline

Two years ago I was under pressure to buy a new phone. The choices were astonishing, but all I wanted was a cell phone to replace the small flip-phone that was going south on me. I'm not a big data guy. I don't need to be connected 24/7 to my email server. I don't listen to music or watch YouTube on my phone. I needed a phone not a pocket rocket computer. I wanted to make and receive calls when I was away from home. That's all I was looking for - an emergency line for necessary calls. It was almost impossible to find one, and what was available was almost as expensive as the tricked out ones with bells and whistles. Why not, I said, and caved for an iPhone on the family plan - 2 phones and a bill that wasn't much different than what we were paying for 2 phones and 2 different plans.

The iPhone is very seductive. I've never had a Blackberry or a Droid or any of the other hi-tech devices, but now I know what the iPhone hype is all about. I can make calls. That's why I wanted a phone in the first place, right? But, now I just pull up the Contact or look at my Favorites, touch the screen and Apple does the rest. Every day I synch my phone with my PC's Outlook calendar and contacts as well as getting a direct feed from my email server. If I'm anywhere near a wi-fi network, and they're everywhere, my email is updated in real time. If I want to know what the market is doing I touch the Stocks app, and if I'm worried about the weather here or someplace else I check the Weather app. I use the Clock's alarm every morning and I have Seattle, Saigon, and Sun Valley/Salt Lake City tabbed in the time zone feature in case I have a brain cramp and can't remember the 14 or 15 hour time differences. In fact, the phone knows what time zone I'm in even if I don't. I read the NY Times when I'm in the back of a taxi and I use the calculator to convert US dollars to Vietnam Dong. I check out what my kids, grandkids, and friends are doing on Facebook and use Google Maps and the GPS app to figure out the best way to get somewhere. I make almost free calls from Vietnam to the US using Skype, and when Marilynn and I argue over who starred in what movie, we Google it and settle the dispute. I do sometimes listen to my music, as long as it's there, on airplanes and I just spent time with a friend who is starting to download books to hers. I never imagined how dependent I would become or how useful this thing is.

You can imagine how I felt 10 days ago when I was getting ready to set the alarm and couldn't find the phone. I still can't believe it's gone, but gone it is. I reached into my jeans pocket to get money to pay the cabbie that night, and the phone must have slipped out of my pocket onto the back seat. By the time I called my own number the sim card had been removed and I got a "temporarily out of service" message. My guess is that within and hour it had been resold. These things are very expensive in Vietnam - roughly 5 times the US price and very desirable. It felt like my lifeline had been cut. It didn't help that Marilynn's phone had some kind of meltdown the same week. Here we are in Saigon without phones - and everyone does business here by text, call, or email. We opted for the beach and stuck our heads in the sand. We hired a car from a friend in the travel business, got him to give us a loaner phone, and went to MuiNe for a long weekend. It worked.

On Monday when we got back I charged the old Model A type phone I bought when we first got here. I got a new sim card and now I can at least call or text people. Marilynn's phone is up and running, so we're back in business. Marilynn's assistant in Seattle bought me a refurbished 3GS iPhone and it's on its way by FedEx. It's really quite amazing to lose your phone, look into the abyss, and have to admit that it really is your lifeline. I don't want to go through this again, but since I lost it almost everyone I've talked to has told me their story about losing a phone - some have lost 2 or 3. Right now I'm thinking about having it surgically implanted. I don't want to go through this again.

Giving and Receiving

A little more than a year ago a friend wrote to tell me that he thought I had found the secret to retirement - a really great new job. I think he's right, although there are moments when stress, conflict, or just plain fatigue makes me want to pack it all in and veg on some tropical beach with a no-brain thriller.

We've been back in Vietnam for two weeks now, and there has been plenty of stress, jet-lag, conflict and fatigue. We've been busy reestablishing relationships, going to meetings, attending to a 4 day staff retreat in central Vietnam, and spending a couple of days with the President of the foundation reviewing local operations and looking at budgets. These two weeks have been unusually busy but there is an exciting buzz to being back and some remarkably good things to look back on.

We have a small office in Saigon. When I arrived a year ago there were three of us, and our mission was to explore the fundraising potential here in the business center of Vietnam. We're still around, but we have added four more staff in the last six months. They are working on clean water projects for villages in the Mekong delta funded by a large Australian government grant. Two of the four on the water team were in place before I went to the US in June - the project leader, a Vietnamese woman, named Binh, with lots of experience in this area and Gary, an Australian engineer on loan for a year from Engineers Without Borders. While I was away Binh hired two more engineers, both young and both with Master's degrees from universities in Thailand. An is a handsome, confident, kid with excellent English and interpersonal skills and Ha Chau is a shyly beautiful equally talented young woman.

Since our work doesn't really intersect and because we work in a tall narrow Vietnamese house with four levels, we don't have a lot of interaction in the office. The trip to Quy Nhon and the three days at the staff retreat gave me a chance to get to know them.

I am so impressed with the quiet grace and generosity of the Vietnamese people. There is a tradition here that mandates that a new friend or guest be given special treatment at mealtime. I've experienced this twice. The first time I didn't really understand it. This time it was explained to me.

Almost all Vietnamese meals are communal. The food comes in bowls or platters and everyone shares. As we sat down for our first meal together, An and Ha Chau sat beside me and as the food and beer arrived they served me first. I accepted this as a normal courtesy and didn't pay much attention until I noticed that each time I took a sip of beer or bite of something from my bowl of rice the glass or the bowl were instantly replenished. And each time a new dish arrived and a new dipping sauce appeared they served me and then explained what it was and how to eat it. Eventually, I understood that as long as I kept eating or drinking my glass and bowl would be filled. This is a lovely tradition and it continued throughout the three days. Each time we ate together and something new appeared I was served first and given a little tutorial about it. They paid me great respect and in turn it gave me a warm appreciation for them and their tradition.

I'm not a big fan of team building retreats, but I learned a lot at this one. Not only did I get to know these two young colleagues who work in my office, but I also learned that the Vietnamese are different from Americans in other ways. They love group activities and hi-jinks. Like children they enthusiastically embrace the games and exercises. Maybe I thought I was too cool for these things, but they wouldn't let me miss out. On the second night of the retreat there was a EMW Idol or EMW's Got Talent kind of show with a series of funny skits and some very talented singing and dancing by staff members. My office brought costumes and performed a looney skit that had me dressed up as a traditional Mandarin. A few beers helped me get over being cool, and once our skit was over I gave in to the simple pleasure of watching their pleasure.

This experience demonstrates once again that even with significant differences, there are also remarkable similarities. We are learning from each other and working together to help the poor and disadvantaged people of Vietnam. This job is a great gift for me.

Eating Out

I like rituals - not routine but rituals. Sometimes a regular pattern serves as a ritual but it's a pattern with a purpose. In Vietnam our alarm goes off at 5am, we're out the door on our way to the gym at 5:45, walk in the morning heat to the espresso bar at 7 and on to the office at 8. It's not exactly the Holy Eucharist but it is a pattern that serves a purpose. It gets us organized and moving, helps us stay healthy, and while we sip our lattes we have some personal one-on-one time. At the end of the day, if there is not an event to attend, we go out to dinner. We almost never eat at home when we're in Vietnam. Latte's in the morning and dinner in the evening are the bookends that frame our days in Saigon.

In the States the pattern is much different. Latte's in the morning, yes. Dinner in the evening, yes. But, for the most part both meals take place at home. There is a completely different vibe that goes with them. At home, I make the coffee drinks, grab the papers, and we settle in the living room with our respective newspapers. I have the NY Times and Marilynn has the local rag. It's parallel play. At home the gym workout comes at the end of the day and dinner comes after, later than recommended and tired to boot. I think of Vietnam as ritual and home as routine. There is something to be said for eating out.

Eating out is not about the food, although we are both very interested in good food and its preparation. Eating out, at its best, is an event. It involves choices. What kind of food sounds good? What atmosphere do we want? Sports bar, bistro, ethnic, large, small, crowded, intimate? What's the right price point? Bargain or splurge? What's the other clientele likely to be? Young, old, hip, conservative, dressed up or tattered jeans? When we eat at home the choices are limited; it's about the food and how much energy we have to prepare it.

Last weekend we went out. What is really hip these days is a small place with hardly any signage, preferably in an old warehouse, loft or garage, with a polished cement floor, exposed brick walls and an open kitchen. The wait staff wears True Religion jeans and black T-shirts, and the men all have ponytails or shaved heads. It's cosmically chic to be seen there. Of course, we had to go.

The place is called Sitka & Spruce - homage to the Northwest. For several years it was located in a strip mall and was so small that it was almost impossible to get a seat at the communal table. There is something perversely appealing about a place that is so exclusive you can't ever get in. Of course, they didn't take reservations. That would spoil the vibe.

The new location is bigger. This time we managed to get in, but we were seated side by side on stools at a long shelf that runs the length of the restaurant. The good news is that there was a window also running the length and overlooking the alley below. Let there be light. At least we were in. That turned out to be the best part of the evening. It was 15 minutes before the black T-shirt and ponytail came by with menus, and the menus themselves offered only a few "small plates," one of the other tragically hip elements of trendy restaurants these days. Nevertheless, we ordered: she chose a simple garden greens salad and I ordered chicken liver pate on a baguette. We both ordered BIG glasses of wine, and it was a good thing we did. It was another half hour before the $16 salad of bare greenleaf lettuce, lightly dressed and too salty, arrived followed 15 minutes later by my baguette with charred edges.

When we have a bad restaurant experience we always replay a set piece. Marilynn starts by pointing out the obvious shortcomings, then I chime in and start defending the staff. They're really busy. We were the last to come in. The kitchen is backed up. The waiter is trying. Don't complain; it will only make things worse and besides the waiter can't do anything about it. Blah, Blah, Blah. As an ex-restaurant owner I have sympathy for the people on the other side. But - I need to get over it. This was bad service, marginal food, and an interminable wait for two entrees served 15 minutes apart. Did they have to kill the chickens, mince the livers, and mix the terrine in the kitchen while we watched the goings on in the alley? What other explanation could there be for an hour-long wait for pate?

We are suckers for trendy new restaurants, but I hate to waste my money when they don't deliver. We'll never go back to Sitka & Spruce. We'll keep trying the new places because they usually deserve the good hype, at least for awhile. The sad part here is that we go out to have a special intimate social experience. Food is the excuse, but these outings, unlike a play or a movie, are interactive. We go out to share ourselves with each other over a meal. Good restaurateurs know this and work hard to facilitate the experience. I feel cheated when I go home disappointed or angry. But, it's a little like love - you keep on looking until you find it.

Two Places - What is Real These Days?

This weekend I was in Santa Monica. It’s a magical place; but there is something surreal about it. I think it’s because I can’t help comparing it to Vietnam and the contrast is so astonishing. Don’t get me wrong; Santa Monica is fabulous. This morning I grabbed a coffee and walked along the boardwalk, actually a paved multi-use walkway that borders the beach. On Sunday morning, probably every morning, the whole spectrum of humanity is there to feast on – runners, walkers, roller-bladers, cyclists, people in wheelchairs, little people, BIG people, tall bikini clad girls with after-market augmentation, children, Russian speakers, Spanish speakers, Arabic speakers, Asians, Africans, Europeans, gringos, dogs and a guy on a tricked out bike with a huge boombox broadcasting loud enough to carry from Malibu to Manhattan Beach. It’s a crazy wonderful kaleidoscopic visual treat. But I still think it’s a bit surreal.

I flew to LA on Saturday to help arrange an event that will honor a doctor who has been helping the people of Vietnam ever since he served there as a Navy doc 35 years ago. Peter is not a saint, but he does have a big heart and he wants to help reverse some impressions America left with the Vietnamese those long years ago. Not that he needs to do it for the Vietnamese, 65% of that population was born after the war and most of the others have forgiven us or moved on. I have never felt the least bit of resentment toward me as an American, even though America did terrible things to the people and the landscape. Vietnam is fresh in my mind. I’ve been back in the US about a month and I’m still involved with my office in Saigon on a daily basis. I work with my staff there early in the morning and late at night when it’s business hours there. I can almost see the traffic, hear the noise, feel the heat, and smell the smells as if I was actually there. I suppose that’s why Santa Monica seems surreal. It’s such a contrast.

I think the contrast is heightened because in the last 3 months I’ve read two Vietnam war novels; one just released and written by a former Marine platoon commander and the other a few years older by a former NVA soldier who left Hanoi in 1965 and spent the next 10 years in the jungle. Their stories are not that different – not nearly as different as the contrast between Santa Monica and Saigon. The American novel is called Matterhorn, and the author, Karl Marlantes, spent 30 years putting it together. The Vietnamese novel is The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh. It’s one of the most powerful novels I’ve ever read. Karl’s may be in the same category. I haven’t met Bao Ninh and probably never will but I had lunch with Karl Marlantes today. He lives just a few miles from me, and my friend, Kit Duane, edited his book.

I had lunch with another Vietnam vet recently and we agreed that the war in Vietnam, what the Vietnamese call the American War, was the single most important geopolitical event of our respective lifetimes. It has shaped and reshaped the thinking of my generation, My son, Doug, spent 9 months in Afghanistan in 2002 and it’s likely he’ll be there again in 2011. That will be his war. I don’t want him to go, but he’s a Special Forces warrior and it’s part of his contract if he does. Nobody wins these things. If you read Matterhorn or The Sorrow of War you get two sides of the same terrible story – carnage, death, misery, vanity, and a crippling sense of the futility of it all. Santa Monica seems like a dream, war is a nightmare. Saigon has emerged from the nightmare, but it has a long way to go before it feels like Santa Monica.

Friendship

In 1962 I was in the entering class at UC Berkeley's Boalt Hall. There were 250 of us and we were divided into 3 classes sorted alphabetically. By the end of the year I knew almost everyone A-H.

Like all social organisms we also sorted ourselves - mostly by age and experience. When you're 25, three or four years can seem significant. That year I made friends with Dick Duane. Dick had spent a couple of years as a Naval officer and I was coming off a 4 year stint as a Marine Corps pilot. He was a swimmer and water polo player at Cal, so we often went down to the pool at Pauley Pavilion to swim laps. Dick did 3 to every 1 of mine.

When I think back on those years I don't remember spending much off-campus time with him - maybe an occasional beer at Larry Blake's or down College Avenue at McNally's, but he had his friends - and Kit, the girl he married - and I had another group that lived in a big house on Scenic Ave and drank beer and played music on the weekends. I think Dick was more serious than I was. As it turns out, he was also a better musician but I didn't find that out until years later. He was pretty quiet when it came to talking about himself.

For 3 years we continued our lunchtime swims and casual conversations. Those were heady days in Berkeley. During the summer of 1964 Dick went to rural Georgia to work on a civil rights project and that fall the Free Speech Movement took over the campus.

After graduation I went to Europe, then to Los Angeles where I found out that practicing law was not for me, and then on to New York when I took a job with Pan Am. Dick stayed in Berkeley. 45 years later he's still there.

Law school was formative, and I remember this incident clearly: Sometime in our first year Professor Jackson, a humorless straight-arrow Contracts teacher, gave us a piece of homespun advice. He told us that there was great satisfaction to be had in being a small town general practioner. Picture Abe Lincoln. We all thought he was demented. Everything in a major law school points to the large corporate law firm as the highest and best career path. I can tell you that for me life at Loeb & Loeb in LA was a mind-numbing experience. So much so that I never tried Professor Jackson's formula. Dick, however, did take that path. He's been handling small to medium size cases across a variety of disciplines for 45 years. He's still doing it, although his son Dan is getting tired of hearing that "This one is my last case."

Dick and I have stayed friends and in touch over all those years, even though we have never lived in the same place and made different choices. Dick continued his practice, married Kit, had two children, became a rock climber (climbed El Capitan when he was 60) and developed a taste for vacations in France. Kit became an accomplished book editor and last year edited Karl Marlantes Vietnam war novel, Matterhorn , which Sebastian Junger says "may be the best novel of the Vietnam war - or any war for that matter." In short, they have led interesting and productive lives.

Dick and I talk on the phone every couple of months and Marilynn and I have had the good fortune to see them on visits when I have to work in Oakland. They've been married almost 50 years. They live in a small Berkeleyesque house on the unglamorous flats below Shattuck. They've been there 30 years. Their son, Dan, is an accomplished novelist and magazine writer and daughter Kelly is an award winning documentary film maker. Dick and Kit are great friends - and my heroes. They are perfectly ordinary in many ways and perfectly exceptional in many others. They are accomplished professionals at their work, they have two accomplished children who alternately love and hate them, they love their friends and go to the mat to celebrate each other's accomplishments.

Everyone has a story. I like theirs.

Power Sharing...

If the guy on top gets electrocuted the guy lower down takes over. That's the power back up system in Saigon.

For the past couple of months daytime temperatures have been hovering around 100 degrees here. Even the natives are complaining. When it's this hot you want to be inside with the A/C on and the fans turning. Unfortunately, there isn't enough power in Vietnam to go around so power in the industrial and hi-tech parks is usually only available 3 days a week. Most of those plants have their own aux generators so they can keep going. In the rest of the city the power authority does its best to keep it on, but every day some neighborhoods get taken off the grid to save the system from catastrophic failure. If you're lucky you find out ahead of time. If not, the lights go out, the A/C goes off, and you grab your laptop and head for a coffee shop with wifi in another part of town. I've come to know that if the power fails before 10am it will be off most of the day.

I'm almost as fascinated by the wires and wire bundles of Saigon as I am by the mysterious rules that govern motorbike traffic. I've been told that it's so difficult to figure out what the wires are actually hooked up to that the power company waits until they fall down - then they trace them back to the source. Take a look at this picture and multiply it by every intersection in a city of 8 - 10 million. It's a miracle anyone can figure it out.

Yesterday the Seattle Times had an article entitled "Deadly shocks in Vietnam raise safety-rule concerns." At least somebody is paying attention, but I guess when school kids start to die because there are live wires on school grounds or customers die because they touched an ungrounded ATM it starts to get noticed. Check it out:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2012094687_vietnamshocks12.html
It's an exciting, some would say electrifying, place. Remember to wear your rubber soled shoes.

The Women of Vietnam

Marilynn made these observations about the women of Vietnam recently.

"The woman thing” here is fascinating----it is very hard to get real info; so much of what I say is just based on observation and what people who have been here a long time say. All day long there are multitudes of men sitting on little plastic chairs on the street mostly in groups---during the day they smoke, drink coffee, gossip, or gamble. At night it's the same but with beer.

People truly live on the street here even if they have somewhere else to go. Women only sit on the little chairs to eat and then leave. No ”lollygagging” as my Mother used to say.

Women seem to “man" all of the food stands that are everywhere on the street. Same with most shops, and, by the way, the stands have to be pushed into place everyday. It's usually a long push and the sites have no running water, so they bring that too---plus all the ingredients collected fresh early in the day.

Older women seem to be the primary street sweepers and garbage collectors---this is very unattractive work, dirty, hot and collection is to pushcarts—so of course they are pushing them by hand---all the woman of this class wear the print polyester/silkish pajamas. This includes all of the construction women even if they are mixing concrete. Women seem to carry most of the “loads,” bars balanced across shoulders---heavy loads both baskets-----even very old women who have some difficulty doing this.

This is the Vietnamese social security system-----Maybe some of our folks screaming about entitlements should see this---probably just say “they should have pulled themselves out of this while they could.”

Then there are the brides---Jack and I spend Sunday AM’s in a very Starbuckish coffee place across from the big cathedral ---watching endless parades of brides in the most elegant of Vera Wang---like dresses---we are told that most of the dresses are rental—but they are beautiful---the hair and makeup too are gorgeous---even the most ordinary of girls look luscious----the whole wedding thing is amazing it is a huge business here---I don’t know who the brides are but it looks like a real setup for long term disappointment from here---they arrive by limo or taxi with a decked out groom and a cadre of red carpet type photographers who rearrange the veils---float them for pictures—have the brides running and the train floating---it is so amazing and funny to us and sort of sad…………….me thinks the groom will be in a little plastic chair in about a year………….

The Next Shanghai

Jimmy Antzoulis is the project manager on the Bitexco building in the heart of Saigon. He's a Greek-American from Astoria, Queens, New York City. Jimmy is the best of America although he hasn't lived there since 1983. He works for Turner, one of the biggest building contractors in the world. He's lived in China, Abu Dhabi (his favorite), Dubai, London, and a host of other places before coming to Vietnam two years ago. Yesterday, he loaded us in the external hoist and took us to the 57th floor of the new building. It will eventually be 68 stories, but they are only up to 57 at the moment. The crews work 24/7. This is Vietnam. They plan to open for business with 5 floors of high-end retail and 63 floors of leased office space by the end of October.

When I got to Floor 57 I poked my camera through the webbing and took a picture of the Saigon River and the green grassy patch on the other side. It's not all grass; there are houses on the river and the government is building a tunnel and a freeway to take away some of the traffic stress that plagues the city. But, beyond the riverside houses it's grass, trees, and farmland.

I was in Shanghai this time last year and witnessed the most amazing urban landscape on the planet. It's called Pudong. It's across the river from The Bund, the old commercial district of the city. At night you can stand on the promenade and look across to Pudong. There are hundreds of modern skyscrapers, including the world's second tallest building,the world's tallest hotel, as well as a building with a 60 story video screen that runs day and night. It's incredible. 30 years ago it was all farmland.

Jimmy told me yesterday that the green patch I was photographing is Saigon's Pudong. There are plans to pave and build just like they did in Shanghai. The Sunday Vietnam News had earlier reported that there are projections of 30 million people in the greater Saigon area by 2050. Unofficially, there are 10 million now. This is a centrally controlled economy. The people in those riverside houses and huts will be "relocated". I think that means evicted.

Their Spa...

If you looked at the picture of our spa in the previous blog you will see the contrast in lifestyle amenities. At the other end of the scale is the guy in the picture on the right. I pass him every day on my walk to work. He always says hello and touches his chin to show that he'd like to give me a shave. Since I don't have any hair there isn't much else in his marketing quiver. Still, that doesn't seem to keep the shoeshine boys from wanting to shine my flip flops or Marilynn's running shoes. After all, this are bootstrap entrepreneurs. My barber friend is a classic sidewalk operator - he has two ripped unmatched chairs patched with strapping and duct tape sitting on the sidewalk with an torn dirty awning above and a hand mirror propped on the windowsill. There is no running water, so he has a bucketful sitting against the wall. He's not always busy, but he's busier that I would imagine, and he does shaves with a straight razor (scary thought) and lots of haircuts. Since he works in the street he doesn't worry about the hair that falls on the ground. Apparently no one else does either, because all the broken pavers and and cracks in the sidewalk are full of hair and have been ever since I started walking this street 9 months ago. It's an interesting contrast, because almost everyone has a small Vietnamese broom and they are always sweeping dirt and leaves. There must be a special dispensation for fallen hair. No one else seems to care or notice. I guess it's a cultural difference.

There are many...

Our Spa...

I'm feeling guilty, negligent, remorseful, petulant, and unworthy at the moment, because I made a promise to myself to be disciplined and diligent with this blog. I could blame work, which involves long tiring days, but I think it's a different kind of fatigue. I have too much to write about and by the time I decide to sit down I can't sort and select the right subject so I do nothing.

This picture was taken at one of the spas where we go on the weekend to be pampered. Saigon is full of spas. I guess, if I had thought about it before I came, I would have imagined that most would be what we Americans call massage parlors. The truth is that there are many high-end luxury spots where pampering is an art and the price at the top end is about one-third of what you would pay in the US. Marilynn and I have become massage sluts; we can't get enough of a good thing. I don't have any hair, but Marilynn gets her hair shampooed and blown dry, complete with a half hour neck and head massage for $10. Then, for $15 you can have a one hour foot massage with two masseuses working from the toes to the knees while you sit or snooze in a big easy chair. Or, for $27 you can have a 90 minute "relaxation" massage with your choice of scented oils to improve your circulation. But, the ultimate massage experience is the 90 minute 4-hands massage with two therapists working out the kinks at the same time. I know it's a rationalization, but with the heat and chaos of the city and the long work days it is easy to justify the indulgence on the weekend.

Today is Liberation Day

We live one mile from the United States Consulate in Ho Chi Minh City. The new Consulate was built on the ground where the US Embassy stood thirty-five years ago, and on this day thirty-five years ago NVA troops were pouring into the city and US helicopters were running a last desperate shuttle between the Embassy grounds and ships of the Seventh Fleet carrying US citizens and loyal Vietnamese nationals away to safety. It was the end of the "American War," the end of a divided Vietnam, and the beginning of the Vietnamese diaspora - the displacement and dispersal of more than 2 million Vietnamese across the world.

After the war the US embargoed Vietnam and the victorious North Vietnamese confiscated all the private property in South Vietnam and built "re-education" camps to enlighten its newly unified countrymen in the South. I've met people whose family members spent 7 years in re-education camps. There is still friction between the North and South over the camps, and South Vietnamese that didn't escape in the last days of the war resorted to desperate escape strategies on overloaded, unseaworthy vessels or arduous treks across borders to find refuge.

Vietnam today is modernizing at a remarkable rate. There is an emerging middle class and some have established great wealth, but for more than 15 years after the war the country was desperate and impoverished. The change began in 1989 when the government made the decision to accept private investment and allow a flow of market products and services. Today Vietnam's economy is thriving even though there are still large pockets of poverty.

April 30 is Vietnam's Fourth of July - Liberation Day. It's huge - parades, fireworks, political posturing, red and yellow banners on every tree and the red Vietnamese flag with the big yellow star flying from every house, including ours. It's a four day holiday that includes May Day. Thirty five years after the fall of Saigon the old Embassy buildings are gone. Fifteen years ago the US and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam resumed diplomatic relations. Vietnam returned the property where the US Embassy stood and a new Consulate was erected. We went to a lawn party there recently and the Consul General addressed the mixed group of global citizens in perfect Vietnamese.

But tonight we decided to have our own party. We went to a new Mexican restaurant where we drank Margaritas with chips and salsa and got an early start on Cinco de Mayo. After all, Liberation Day isn't really our holiday.

The Change

Sunday's Vietnam News headline boasts that "Ho Chi Minh City has ambitious plans to become a major Asian economic centre, with a projected population of 30 million by 2050." The city is laboring under the weight of its current 8 million inhabitants. Can it find a way to manage the exponential kind of growth the paper projects?

The city's existing infrastructure can't deal with its present demands. The streets are groaning under the pressure of 4 million motorbikes and the growing number of automobiles. Twenty years ago these streets were full of bicycles and cyclos. Twenty years from now there will be fewer motorbikes and more cars. How will the city accommodate the change? Somehow the authorities will have to figure it out because they're coming. Get ready. China is the paradigm for dealing with this kind of change. Seattle's boots will be in the sucking mud 40 years from now and they will still be debating freeways vs. tunnels long after the people have arrived. A centrally controlled economy "can" be much more efficient. It might be riddled with corruption but if the decision is made to build something, it will get done.

Vietnam, as I have said repeatedly, is an amazing place. It's messy, orderly, dirty, clean, primitive, sophisticated, fast, slow, energetic, and lazy. It's a complete paradox. Every week we walk or drive past a building that has been gutted or razed and will soon be full of new shops. Every week a construction fence comes down to reveal a new office tower with Armani and Versace filling the retail space. Next door the people are squatting on small stools, eating pho and washing their dishes in a bucket on the sidewalk. It's all about contrasts.

The photo above is of the building that dominates the Saigon skyline these days. It's the Bitexco Tower, a 68 story office building under construction and scheduled to open in October. The story behind it is pure modern Vietnam. The owner is one of the richest men in the country, but he grew up in a very poor province in the north. He's made a fortune since the country became a free market economy. This building is not a shrewd business venture. It's all about pride - personal and national. The 68 stories will be almost twice the height of the next tallest building in Saigon. And, its shape is inspired by a lotus flower. The foundation is oval in shape, so there isn't a straight line or a right angle in the entire building. The exterior is all glass and every custom cut piece of it is different in size and curvature, because it expands in volume from the base to the 48th floor and then contracts for the next 20 to give it the lotus shape. Did I mention the heli-pad on the 50th floor, probably not because there are no private helicopters allowed in Vietnam.

Mr Hoi, the owner, doesn't care about cost, efficiency, "green" construction, or anything but building the dominant, signature, skyscraper landmark in Ho Chi Minh City. This building is every architect's dream - where the owner says you know my vision, now go create it. Whatever it costs is fine with me.

This is modern Vietnam.

If It's Tuesday This Must Be Can Tho

11 days on the road in Vietnam - From Saigon to Danang to Hanoi to Can Tho and back to Saigon. Four different places, four different climates, four different cuisines, four different architectures.

Danang is always a nice change from the madness of Saigon's noise and dirt and swarming motorbikes. It has wide streets, reasonable traffic, soft warm breezes off the South China Sea, earthy food I can't begin to describe, and a mish-mash of architectural styles from Five-Star resorts, to galvanized tin lean-to's. China Beach is becoming the Vietnamese Riviera as a dozen new mega-resorts open or get set to open in the next couple of years. But Danang, Vietnam's third largest city, is still wrapped in a pretty plain wrapper. It's all about business and education - pretty no-nonsense.

After a week in Danang, I flew to Hanoi which seems to me like several cities in one. I like the old part around Hoan Kiem Lake with its small pagoda where legend has it that Le Loi received the magical sword, from a golden turtle, that enabled him to defeat the Chinese and liberate Vietnam in the 15th century. I like the streets near Hoan Kiem that specialize in particular goods - Silk Street, Shoe Street, Handbag Street, Crafts Street, etc. But the weather in Hanoi is confused. It can be cool and humid at the same time, making you feel like you're living under water. You don't feel warm but your clothes are damp and clinging. The good news is you can get almost any cuisine you want to eat almost anytime. It may not be as international feeling as Saigon, but there are many more non-Asian faces on the street. The Hanoians think of themselves as the only true Vietnamese and they are very critical of other regions, dialects, climates, and cuisines. I don't see it, but I'm not Vietnamese.

On day ten, I flew from Hanoi to Can Tho in the Mekong Delta and I felt as if I'd been let out of my cage. Can Tho is tropical - coconut palms, banana trees, wild orchids. It's hot, but it's summer hot like the beach, and there's water everywhere. Can Tho is a modern city, but the surrounding area is rural, delta country with boats for transportation, and huts built out over the Mekong canals and tributaries. I can't imagine how you navigate those canals, rivers, and backwaters. It's a maze, but the people there are as warm and welcoming as the weather, and I was invited with a group to lunch after a ground-breaking ceremony at a school we are renovating. There were about 25 of us at a long table under a thatched room. I have no idea what I was eating, but most of it was tasty. The principal of the school was determined to fatten me up, so she kept putting mystery things in my rice bowl and the head of the People's Committee kept filling my beer mug and toasting. It's tough to say no to the People's Committee in Vietnam, but just when you think this thing will go on forever everyone gets up and walks away. I didn't see any signals, but it ended suddenly. Then it was a six hour drive back to Saigon, a shower, and beddy-bye. I was really glad to get home.

The News Feed

For the last 40 years I have regarded The International Herald Tribune (IHT)as my paper of choice when traveling. If I could get a hard copy at home in the States I wouldn't hesitate to subscribe. In 16-18 pages they pack in serious international news, arts, sports, and opinion. The paper has an interesting history but now it is a joint enterprise of the New York Times and the Washington Post, which probably doesn't endear it to the American right wing although I see people of every stripe reading it in cafe's around the world. It's really the only game in town.

Here, in Saigon, I only buy the weekend edition of the IHT. I don't have time to read the daily. I get lost in it and read it cover to cover, and there isn't that much time in my day. I do need daily news however and I get it in various ways. There are two English-language papers published here, Vietnam News and The Saigon Times. I read both at the local espresso joint in the morning. They both reflect the government approved news, but they are indispensable in understanding the business side of this rapidly expanding economy. Like the IHT they include some arts and sports news, but they are pretty thin in those departments.

Another source for us, God bless the internet, is live streaming of NPR. During the week it's hard to time the 14 hour difference to the West Coast, but on weekends I tune in to KPLU or KUOW at 6am Saigon time and catch All Things Considered as we're getting up and eating breakfast. It helps keep us in touch with Seattle area news, as does the online edition of The Seattle Times which Marilynn checks out on a daily basis. I confess to being relatively uninterested in the Seattle "process" which consumes way too much time, but she fills me in if she thinks there is something I "need" to know.

We watch relatively little TV, because there is relatively little to watch but we usually tune into CNBC in the evening for an update on the world markets, and we catch the sound bites on CNN International at the gym in the morning. The truth is it is hard to get away from the news with newspapers at work and in the coffee shops, TV in our living room, online editions of every news source, live streaming of broadcast media, and blogs to give us opinion and advice on just about everything.

One thing I thought I would miss is magazines. We subscribe to half a dozen or more in the States. It's funny but I don't miss them at all. Here, in Saigon, there are two excellent English-language magazines - The Word and Asia Life. Both are well written and include serious journalism as well as extensive food and entertainment sections. At month's end I can hardly wait for the next edition, and I find myself reading both of them cover to cover. Last month Asia Life devoted most of the issue to articles on climate change. Vietnam is especially vulnerable to changes in climate since a rise in the level could place 10% of the country under water. Most of the southern part of the country is at sea level already. Asia Life did an excellent job of reporting on the problem.

Many of us have a love-hate relationship with media, but I am keenly aware of my own need to stay connected to the world at large and to what is happening where I live. I just hope that in the changing world of media, where newspapers are disappearing and bloggers are exerting a big influence on opinion that we all can learn to sort and select the responsible voices from those that are not. And, in that regard living here has another advantage; I never have to hear the voices of Rush Limbaugh and Bill O'Reilly, even by accident.

Is This Creepy or What?

One way members of the ex-pat community stay in touch with each other and have an opportunity to meet new people is through a series of networking events. Some are privately organized; some are sponsored by the various Chambers of Commerce (AmCham, CanCham, EuroCham, AusCham).

Networking in a foreign country is different than it is in the US. Here, people actually circulate and talk to one another. In the US people tend to stand in small groups and talk to the people they already know. Here, everyone has a story, and it is always interesting to dig for it when you meet someone new.

I've been lucky enough to meet hundreds of people since moving here in September. In an earlier blog I mentioned that gender attitudes are sometimes highlighted in this environment. Eligible ex-pat women generally complain that the men have very little incentive to look for a serious relationship when there are so many beautiful women falling at their feet.

Two months ago I met a guy at one of the networking events and he drew me in for a few minutes before I broke the code. He was totally self absorbed and had a story that was too good to be true. Last night I saw him again. He's one of the many men who come to Asia looking for quick and easy female companionship but can't be straight about it. He's created a myth about himself and he self-hypnotizes and spins it out continuously. Last night someone Googled him to see if anything would come up.

Check this out:

http://www.10k4awife.com/flashVersion/flash/mainTest2.html

Is this creepy or what? There are so many good people doing good things over here, but people like this guy give ex-pats a bad name.

It's All About Attitude

Attitudes among Vietnamese Americans vary radically when it comes to the question of returning to their homeland. Some, like our friend, Tami, think it's a terrible idea. They hate the government that took away everything and sent them to re-education camps - sometimes for years. They dislike their rapacious relatives who are only interested in what their rich American relatives can bring them when they come. They are still angry and grieving for the lives they lost when they climbed into a boat and set off for an uncertain future.

But, many Vietnamese Americans have a different take on returning. They see adventure or opportunity or the spirit of philanthropy. There is a lot to be said for checking out where you or your parents were born and to scoping out the landscape - human, cultural, and geographic. There is an intense curiosity and there are many reasons to return. Some are very personal, like meeting uncles, aunts, cousins or other family members who never left. Some are altruistic and involve decisions to help where it is obviously needed. Some return for an adventure or to get away from other pressures. They are all good reasons, but there seems to be a difference in what happens once they get here - and often it is gender related.

Yesterday's Vietnam News, one of the two English language papers, contained an article, entitled Singular Comfort, by a young woman named Thu Anh. The gist of the article was skeptical, even cynical, about men in her young professional age group. In my limited experience this is a common lament. These young women see the men as uninterested in serious relationships at best and lazy predators at worst. The Viet Kieu women always point out that there are so many Vietnamese girls who are ready and willing to service the guys that there is very little incentive for the men to think about a serious relationship. It's a sad comment on all three sides of that equation. It's all about attitude.

The Vietnamese Diaspora

Việt Kiều is the name often given to Vietnamese people living outside Vietnam. Of the roughly 3 million Viet Kieu now spread around the world the majority left Vietnam as refugees in 1975 or the years following the Fall of Saigon and the Communist takeover. This exodus is often referred to as the Vietnamese diaspora. Unlike the Jewish diaspora this was not the result of foreign conquest and expulsion. It was the product and outcome of the bitter division within a country fighting to reclaim it's own national identity. Vietnam was officially and artificially divided by the Geneva Conference in 1954 following the defeat of the French at Dien Bien Phu. Four years earlier the southern part of the country declared its independence and soon became the Republic of Vietnam.

Vietnam is not homogeneous in either population, geography or climate. There are distinct differences in accent and dialect. Central Vietnam adds a third dimension, because it is not like either north or south in these regards. And, there are two distinct climates. Three years ago we left the hot humid south on a train and a few hours later walked out into a cold drizzly rain that persisted for the rest of our stay in the north.

People in the north feel that theirs is the true Vietnamese culture and people in the south think the people in the north are arrogant and lazy. The situation is not unlike the north and south in America. We had our Civil War and Reconstruction and they had their civil war and re-education camps. There's plenty of pain to go around and it's not all gone.

But the "Overseas" Vietnamese, the VK, are bringing their experience with other cultures back to the country they left 40 years ago. Almost every day I meet VK who have come back to find out about where they and/or their families came from and if there is a place and opportunity for them here. My newest VK friend is a 26 year old from Seattle. She grew up dirt poor in White Center, one of the Seattle housing projects left over from the Second World War. But family is everything to the Vietnamese and she and her family scrimped and saved and worked hard to help her succeed. And, she did. She graduated early from Seattle University with a degree in accounting and went to work in the audit department at KPMG. She was on her way there, but she wanted to know more about the place she and her parents left. She bagged the audit job and bought a one-way ticket to Vietnam.

She's been here a year and a half, tried a couple of jobs, and is now part of a start up software firm in its stealth phase. She's bright, independent, opinionated, beautiful and VERY confident. Her two brothers are happy in the US, but she needed to find out about Vietnam. She's found out a lot of things she would rather not have known about Vietnamese men and women and about VK men who have returned. More about that in the next post.

It All Happens on the Sidewalk

This photo is pretty typical of the sidewalks of Saigon. They are crowded, chaotic, torn up, obstructed, and messy. They are also orderly, organized, and surprisingly clean. Like a lot of other things in Saigon they are paradoxical. For an outsider they take a little getting used to.

I like to learn a city by walking it, but it's close to impossible to do here. Except for Dong Khoi, the main shopping street in the tourist center, there are almost no walking streets in Saigon - and for practical reasons almost no one walks anyway. It's hot. It's humid. And, except for Sunday, there is almost never enough room to negotiate the narrow spaces between storefronts and the streets.

My view of sidewalks was formed in urban America where they are pedestrian zones that provide a safe path, off the street, for strolling, exercise, or neighborhood shopping. In Saigon they are extensions of the streets, restaurants, living rooms, showrooms, bedrooms, parking lots or playing fields. At any time of the day or night they are teeming with activity. At 3:30AM families are setting up their food stands or sidewalk retail operations. As the day emerges they expand into motorbike parking lots, alternative motorbike roadways, communal living rooms, cottage industries, social centers, and classrooms of this energetic country.

If I had seen the future I would have invested in children's furniture 15 years ago. Every Vietnamese sidewalk is crowded with the tiny tables and chairs that characterize the entrepreneurial spirit and energy of this city of 8 million. At first I thought they were comical, but they are just another practical solution to the space problem - and they are surprisingly comfortable.

The sidewalks of Saigon are an interesting challenge for Westerners but they are also the business hubs and venture projects of an emerging economy that cannot be contained by its architecture. So, grab a tiny chair, order a ca phe sua da (Vietnames iced coffee), and enjoy the show. This is where it's all happening.

Two Vietnams

This is one view of Vietnam, but Vietnam is a country of contrasts, and last week Marilynn and I saw some of the extremes that exist in this amazing country.

On Friday we flew to Danang where we spent 11 hours visiting East Meets West projects with Bob Greenwood, one of the organization's strongest and most articulate advocates. Bob is helping us adjust to changing times and develop new funding strategies for the projects that are the lifeblood of the organization. That’s his business and he’s very good at it; but EMW is in a different category than his other clients. Bob loves Vietnam. He was here in the Navy during the war and he’s been back a number of times since the country opened up to tourism in 1995. It is no exaggeration to say that people who visit this incredible country come away transformed. Bob is a classic example. This time he came to see EMW projects up close in order to better understand them. I’m inspired every time I visit the programs and traveling with Bob gave us both another chance to see them and the people they serve.

We left our apartment in Saigon at 3:45AM, flew to Danang, and 13 hours later Marilynn and I were dropped off at the Furama Resort just outside the city. We started out at the Village of Hope orphanage, one of the signature EMW projects, where we support 150 orphans, 35 of whom are hearing or speech impaired, and help prepare them for life as adults. Then it was on to the EMW dental clinic where last year 3 staff dentists, supported by volunteer dentists from all over the world, performed more than 40,000 procedures on more than 10,000 children, most of whom had never seen a dentist. After a quick lunch we drove out to the countryside to visit a school and 30 of the more than 6000 students from the poorest families in Vietnam who receive EMW scholarships from the 3rd grade through high school. But the school itself is only part of the story. You have to visit the kids’ homes to really understand the program. We visited two homes; both families with a single mother and 3 siblings. The houses themselves, sturdier than most in this impoverished area, were “compassion homes” donated by another NGO. Each had 2 small rooms, cement floors, corrugated tin roofs, and small add-on outside kitchens made of materials left over from the homes they replaced. On Friday it was about 90 degrees. This is the coolest time of year. Imagine what that hut feels like in summer. Yet, the mothers were smiling, and the kids stood proudly in uniforms with white shirts, orange kerchiefs and baseball caps embroidered with the name SPELL, the scholarship program that supports them. SPELL is designed to show them the way to a better life through education. By providing scholarships to the poorest of the poor, parents are encouraged to keep their kids in school instead of sending them out to work and contribute to the household income. It will either break your heart or make a true believer out of you. These kids get tuition, fees, books, uniforms, and tutoring twice a week. In high school they get a bicycle if they live more than a mile from school.

At the end of this long day Marilynn and I were dropped off at the Furama Resort (picture above) on China Beach just outside the city of Danang. From a sweltering afternoon in huts with tin roofs to a 5 star luxury resort with Italian sheets and pool boys; this is the kind of contrast Vietnam offers – from abject poverty to absolute luxury. It’s jarring.

We loved our weekend at Furama. It was one of total indulgence – but in the end we’ve talked more about the kids we saw on Friday than the luxurious comfort of the hotel. Vietnam has a long way to go, but it is going to get there. It’s a privilege to be part of process.

The Grand Opening

A Vietnamese-American friend told me recently how much the Vietnamese hate having their country regarded as Third World, an emerging market, or a developing economy. They are a proud people with an impressive culture and a history of upsetting expectations. The Chinese, the French, and the Americans have all been beaten here, and now it's economic warfare in a global economy.

It's an exciting place to be these days, but the truth is that Vietnam is a Third World country. In 1994 much of the population was starving and the economy was in the tank. It was at that moment that the Socialist Republic of Vietnam decided to take the pragmatic step of subordinating ideology to experiment with a market driven economy. It was a good decision for the people who energetically have worked their way back to prosperity (of sorts).

But, the new economy, like those in other Third World countries, is not benefiting everyone. There are the have's and the have-not's, the nouveau riche and the homeless, and an emerging middle class.

Last night, we were invited to the Grand Opening of the Hard Rock Cafe in Saigon. The event said a lot about the new Vietnam. The venue, in the equally new Intercontinental Hotel, is beautifully done - well designed and appointed with all the bells and whistles. But the Hard Rock Cafe is a tired brand where the clientèle worldwide is more about T-shirts than celebrities and glam. I remember the Hard Rock in London in the '80's, but in 2010 I have a hard time with the $15 burger. Nevertheless, for the moment, it works here where nouveau riche is not part of the vocabulary and understatement is not in style.

The inexperienced management, drawn from a local coffee company, put on a terrific event though the stress in the days leading up to it was tangible and not very attractive. Running a coffee business and opening an upscale internationally branded nightspot require different skills. Just because you're young and know something about the musical tastes of your target audience does not mean you know how to work with the corporate management of an international brand or have the diplomatic skills to deal with vendors, entertainers, wait staff, government regulation, media, publicity, and public relations. The PR guy is in way over his head and the GM is a good guy and a good manager but doesn't have the right support at the moment.

Still, as I said, the grand opening was a well attended high profile Hollywood preview-style extravaganza complete with red-carpet, beautiful models, young and old hipsters, corporate execs and diplomats. The food and drink was delicious and in abundance. There was never a moment when someone wasn't offering you something. After the red carpet preview on the mall outside, the vetted and invited crowd was ushered down into the cafe where the entertainment took over. There was a 1980's US cover band called the American Hitmen, a sensational Vietnamese rocker named Kasim(the best thing on the bill) and American hip-hopper Run DMC, specially imported for the GO.

There is a new no smoking law in Vietnam, but "public places" has not been defined, so restaurants and bars continue to allow it, and I woke up this morning with a scratchy cough and clothes that smelled like an ashtray. I think I'm too old for the hardcore nightclub scene. Maybe next year when "public places" has been expanded to include the Hard Rock.

Vietnam will not be a Third World country for long, but the presence of a Hard Rock Cafe won't be the reason. We'll see where both of them are in 10 years. I'm betting on Vietnam.

All News is Local

Headlines in today's Vietnam News, the local English language newspaper:

WILD ELEPHANTS HAVE DESTROYED MANY HOUSES AND CROPS

TOAD EGGS DEADLY FOR CHILDREN (Story on page 4)

ONE HORNED RHINOS ON VERGE OF EXTINCTION (Story on page 6)

FOUR JAILED FOR TRYING TO OVERTHROW THE STATE (Page 1)

I had no idea toad eggs were deadly, so that was good information. The article went on to say that not only were the eggs deadly but that "toad flesh does not contain many highly nutritious elements that are good for children." I didn't know that either. Without treatment both toad elements "could lead to death." Well, it wasn't on my diet anyway.

Living in Saigon it is also easy to lose sight of the fact that there are still elephants, rhinos, and tigers out and about in the countryside. I just finished a Vietnam war novel by Karl Marlantes in which a Marine at a forward listening post is carried off in the night and eaten by a tiger. Personally, I think crossing the street in Saigon is dangerous, so I'm going to ignore the tiger menace, let the kids deal with the toad eggs and give myself over to focusing on traffic safety.

Everybody Knows About You

Sometimes you think you know how things work. Sometimes you do. But, sometimes you really don't.

We live in a fairly nice apartment. The view, as you can see, is not scenic but we have a maid and 24 hour security. We have a one year lease on a 2 bedroom flat. Occasionally, we have an overnight guest and twice we have let friends or co-workers stay in the second bedroom when we were away. No problem normally, but we didn't understand how things really work until we returned after Christmas and "heard" that there was a big flap about some of our guests. In fact, it turns out that 3 of them, traveling together were turned away. But to this day the only people who have talked to us are the rejected guests. To be fair, there is a law that says guests need to be registered with the police. Depending on where you are in Europe or Asia you may have to surrender your passport when you check into a hotel. We have all come to accept that. In Vietnam it extends one rung lower and individuals have to register guests staying in their homes. Practically speaking it doesn't happen if it's a one or two night gig, but they are serious about longer stays.

Here's the way it generally works: the tenant is obligated to notify the security guy, who is obligated to notify the landlord, who is obligated to notify the police. Not only that, there are "watchers" in the neighborhood who inform when someone, like our landlord, doesn't comply. It's a kind of coconut telegraph. Word gets around.

But, there's more. Saigon looks like a happening place - lots of bars, lots of bar girls, busy streets any hour of the day or night. But, the truth is it's a sleepy little place with 8 million residents where you're supposed to be in bed by 11pm. Yep, that's right, 11pm and some apartments and houses lock the door and won't let ANYONE in or out after that, not even the people who live there. It sounds crazy, but our gorgeous French-Mexican neighbor told us that her first apartment here was just like that and she got locked out more than once. I can understand that the security guys aren't crazy about getting up at 3am to let our little French fox in or to let us out at 4 because all the flights to the US leave at 6. Still, it is their job isn't it? And, we're paying the rent and them, right? Well, apparently not totally right. They squeal to the landlord and we hear about it.

And though you could argue that it's a safety issue guarding the old homestead, it's not just at home that there are extra eyes. On Monday, we had an office visit from one of the local security police (the guys in the bilious green uni's). He said "different" people than normal had been seen coming and going from our office. He wanted to know about them, and he wanted to know why our office assistant left and who we were interviewing for the job. This is totally weird and off-putting. I lived in Berlin before the wall came down, but the Stasi were on the other side of the wall. Now they're in our courtyard and somewhere on the street where we live. This is an amazing country. We love it, but sometimes we have to suspend our disbelief and focus on how great it really is to be here, watch it grow, and follow the law no matter how strange it seems to us.

Why We Travel

"We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again - to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more. The beauty of this whole process was best described, perhaps, before people even took to frequent flying, by George Santayana in his lapidary essay "The Philosophy of Travel." We "need sometimes," the Harvard philosopher wrote, "to escape into open solitudes, into aimlessness, into the moral holiday of running some pure hazard, in order to sharpen the edge of life, to taste hardship, and to be compelled to work desperately for a moment at no matter what."

Pico Iyer: Why We Travel from Salon Travel 2001

Sunday in Saigon

I like Sunday because it’s an unscheduled day that unfolds in interesting ways if I just get out of the way and let it flow. This is particularly true in Saigon where Marilynn and I have learned to let the day find its own rhythm. We usually sleep in, which for us means 6:30 or 7, since we're normally up at 5. During the week I make a beeline for the kitchen to grab a banana and some creamy yogurt and then it's a step by step routine till we're out the door to the gym. But, Sundays are different.

On Sunday I slow down enough to feel the cool tile floors under my bare feet and the warm soft air coming in off the street. The cool, smooth tile is very sensual. There is no wall to wall carpet in the tropics, and one takes off shoes to enter every house. For people from temperate climates Vietnam seems very exotic. Even the fruit on the dining room table is exotic. Oranges are not orange but dark, dark green. And they are full of seeds but juicy sweet. I squeeze my own orange juice every morning and probably throw 100 seeds in the trash when I'm through. And, the tiny finger-sized bananas in the fruit bowl are mixed with miniature tangerines, pomelo, star, and dragon fruit. We each have some fruit and a cup of yoghurt before we head out for the Cathedral of Notre Dame at the top of Dong Khoi Street.

There is an English mass at 9:30, but we love to spend the hour before the service nursing a tall latte on the terrace of the Coffee Bean and watching the people and the motorbikes spin through the square.

My favorite occupation, however, is to check out the brides in the square around the church. They come to be photographed. There are other places in Saigon that draw them too, like the Opera House and the Hotel de Ville, but the garden and promenade in front of Notre Dame is their favorite site. The groom is usually around, but he's a minor player. It's the bride's moment. They are all beautiful and the dresses are luscious - acres of creamy peau de soie. And the photographers pose them in every conceivable way - leaning against the cathedral with the long train spread across the sidewalk, framed by a plot of colorful flowers, or my favorite, lounging langorously on the seat of the groom's flame red motorbike with the train spilling into the street. It's a real feast for the eyes as well as one's sense of humor. I don't know where the weddings themselves take place, but Notre Dame is the clear favorite for photo ops.

It's very addictive; every bride is different and the viewing always includes the unexpected. I'd love to see the motorbike bride again, but there will be something new this Sunday and I'll be there to see it.