Our last night on Phuquoc we were shown to a particularly fine table overlooking the sea and the just discernable red glow of the sun, now set. We ate an entree of bolied squid-rubber pieces, which I have become quite accustomed to.
The bright lights of the squid fishing boats lay strung out like a string of pearls across the blackness beyond the fringe of coconut palms.
This morning from the vantage of our early pre-flight balcony breakfast the last squid fisher turns off his lights. The floatilla of small boats head towards harbour across the grey sea in the grey light of approaching dawn.
Lacking the necessary cognitive ability to establish any belief regarding cause and effect the squid are condemned to forever fall for the same old trick with the lights. It's widely held that a pattern of causal thinking precedes, and indeed is, a prerequisite for language development.
For instance, a young squid will never ask "What are those lights for?" Similarly an older and wiser squid will never advise " Whatever you do don't go near the lights - you've been warned!"
27th February. Phuquoc - Not a Nice Place To Stay in The 1960's.
"It's just as well we get to swim first before lunch to forget about the prison" says Isabelle above the noise of the surf on another amazing beach of white sand.
If you happened to get on the wrong side of the South Vietnamese government in the 60's you might have also found yourself staying here on Phuquoc, in something less than four star accomodation along with 40,000 others. Needless to say this was the sharp end of a fairly brutal regime.
When lunch is served we have all spent a little too long in the sea, Isabelle for some reason without any sunscreen, is looking a bit like a BBQ'd prawn after less than an hour.
On the way back in the mini-bus my mind keeps dwelling on one particular barbarity, the torture of being put inside a roll of barbed wire in the full glare of the sun for days on end with a periodic dousing in salt water. "Seasoning" the guards called it, the result seems to have been complete loss of skin.
If you happened to get on the wrong side of the South Vietnamese government in the 60's you might have also found yourself staying here on Phuquoc, in something less than four star accomodation along with 40,000 others. Needless to say this was the sharp end of a fairly brutal regime.
When lunch is served we have all spent a little too long in the sea, Isabelle for some reason without any sunscreen, is looking a bit like a BBQ'd prawn after less than an hour.
On the way back in the mini-bus my mind keeps dwelling on one particular barbarity, the torture of being put inside a roll of barbed wire in the full glare of the sun for days on end with a periodic dousing in salt water. "Seasoning" the guards called it, the result seems to have been complete loss of skin.
26th February. Things Take Time.
The mini-bus grinds to a halt with the tell-tale sound of steam escaping at high pressure. "The other driver forgot to top up the water" explains our tour guide. Tch! If only life were that simple, in reality one fan belt is completely shredded.
The ergonomics of this particular Toyota are such that the engine is about as accessible as a ship in a bottle.
Luckily we are at a major intersection on the island; two dirt roads and a ramshackle cafe. We take tea and then we take coffee then tea again.
Eventually two mechanics arrive on a Honda with a bag of tools they proceed to strip off various components then go away again, it's likely it was the wrong fan belt.
We become the focus attention once the two resident small boys lose interest in the disassembly of the Toyota. How to juggle with stones, skipping with a length of telephone cable, riding a bicycle backwards, the Limbo again with the telephone cable, a see-saw, then a primitive working model Trebuchet.
As the first stone whizzes high in the air the boys are eager to try their hand. This proves all too much for our tour guide who suddenly steps in and hurls the Trebuchet components asunder, muttering something about the windscreen of the mini-bus.
We sit down again and continue our wait...
The ergonomics of this particular Toyota are such that the engine is about as accessible as a ship in a bottle.
Luckily we are at a major intersection on the island; two dirt roads and a ramshackle cafe. We take tea and then we take coffee then tea again.
Eventually two mechanics arrive on a Honda with a bag of tools they proceed to strip off various components then go away again, it's likely it was the wrong fan belt.
We become the focus attention once the two resident small boys lose interest in the disassembly of the Toyota. How to juggle with stones, skipping with a length of telephone cable, riding a bicycle backwards, the Limbo again with the telephone cable, a see-saw, then a primitive working model Trebuchet.
As the first stone whizzes high in the air the boys are eager to try their hand. This proves all too much for our tour guide who suddenly steps in and hurls the Trebuchet components asunder, muttering something about the windscreen of the mini-bus.
We sit down again and continue our wait...
25th February. Phuquoc Island.
We have been banished to a four star hotel on a rain forest clad island only 3 km from the coast of Cambodia.
A handful of guests take up afternoon position on the blue painted reclining chairs. The sound of two fat Russian ladies mingles with the chat of the overstaffed lifeguard facility. A warm onshore breeze rustles the fronds of the coconut palms as the waves break on the near perfect white sand, this must be like those trips that people win...
"Since I met you life's just been one long holiday" I remark to Isabelle whilst munching another handful of cashews. "It just doesn't make any sense though does it? Those guys out there on those fishing boats, I bet they all work harder than me and only make threepence-a-day..."
It's all just down to the whim of fortune.
Coincidentally fortune took rather a nasty turn here on Phuquoc for Isabelle's dad four or five years ago, after a meal consisting of oysters and other raw shellfish.
Some rare parasite decided to set up home in his heart and lungs. There followed three years of serious illness together with a whole battery of drug therapies until the all-clear could eventually given.
Phuquoc can also offer visitors a bout of Malaria courtesy of the Anopheles mosquito.
A handful of guests take up afternoon position on the blue painted reclining chairs. The sound of two fat Russian ladies mingles with the chat of the overstaffed lifeguard facility. A warm onshore breeze rustles the fronds of the coconut palms as the waves break on the near perfect white sand, this must be like those trips that people win...
"Since I met you life's just been one long holiday" I remark to Isabelle whilst munching another handful of cashews. "It just doesn't make any sense though does it? Those guys out there on those fishing boats, I bet they all work harder than me and only make threepence-a-day..."
It's all just down to the whim of fortune.
Coincidentally fortune took rather a nasty turn here on Phuquoc for Isabelle's dad four or five years ago, after a meal consisting of oysters and other raw shellfish.
Some rare parasite decided to set up home in his heart and lungs. There followed three years of serious illness together with a whole battery of drug therapies until the all-clear could eventually given.
Phuquoc can also offer visitors a bout of Malaria courtesy of the Anopheles mosquito.
24th February. The All Bits Combined Religion.
We turn up before the appointed 12 noon outside the Great temple of the Cao Dai-ists. The faithful, dressed in white sheets, are begining to flock together. Strictly no footwear inside, so in the queue the pavement burns the soles of the feet a little.
We take our place in the cool of the gallery which is reserved for un-believers. Over a thousand fully paid up members of the Waiting-for-God's-Representatives-on-Earth-To-Arrive Society file in, men to the right hand side and women to the left.
The Cao Dai have been hanging around since about 1920 in feverish expectation of the arrival of these mediators of the Almighty. Six or seven vacant chairs form the centrepiece of the temple, which to date have never been filled.
Briefly, the faith recognises Confucious, Buddha and Jesus, although Victor Hugo comes in on the act somewhere as well. There is lot of use made of pink and sky blue paint, melanges of serpents and then one huge eye, the Eye of God...
Anyway, an oriental string band starts up which accompanies the massed voices. The effect is not unlike early Pink Floyd, the end of the 'Obscured by Clouds' album, I think.
I'm only guessing, but this daily ritual and collective power of mind looks like it could easily be designed to hasten the imminent arrival of the seat-takers.
"Imagine if they did turn up today!" I say to Isabelle, "That would be a turn up for the books!" As we file out before the queuing starts again, in my mind I'm saying "I'll let you get on then" which of course is the polite way to say "I want to go now".
TONIGHTS MENU.
An entree of roll your own rice pancake with Intestinal tripe-rubber and lettuce (Don't eat the lettuce) dipped in fermented fish sauce. Followed by Curried pelvic cartilidge and frogs legs with onion pieces. Main course; Boil your own eel segments in spicey liquid with groundsel, grated banana peel and cold rice noodles. Washed down with two bottles of 'Saigon Red' beer.
We take our place in the cool of the gallery which is reserved for un-believers. Over a thousand fully paid up members of the Waiting-for-God's-Representatives-on-Earth-To-Arrive Society file in, men to the right hand side and women to the left.
The Cao Dai have been hanging around since about 1920 in feverish expectation of the arrival of these mediators of the Almighty. Six or seven vacant chairs form the centrepiece of the temple, which to date have never been filled.
Briefly, the faith recognises Confucious, Buddha and Jesus, although Victor Hugo comes in on the act somewhere as well. There is lot of use made of pink and sky blue paint, melanges of serpents and then one huge eye, the Eye of God...
Anyway, an oriental string band starts up which accompanies the massed voices. The effect is not unlike early Pink Floyd, the end of the 'Obscured by Clouds' album, I think.
I'm only guessing, but this daily ritual and collective power of mind looks like it could easily be designed to hasten the imminent arrival of the seat-takers.
"Imagine if they did turn up today!" I say to Isabelle, "That would be a turn up for the books!" As we file out before the queuing starts again, in my mind I'm saying "I'll let you get on then" which of course is the polite way to say "I want to go now".
TONIGHTS MENU.
An entree of roll your own rice pancake with Intestinal tripe-rubber and lettuce (Don't eat the lettuce) dipped in fermented fish sauce. Followed by Curried pelvic cartilidge and frogs legs with onion pieces. Main course; Boil your own eel segments in spicey liquid with groundsel, grated banana peel and cold rice noodles. Washed down with two bottles of 'Saigon Red' beer.
23rd February. No Alternative Health.
The phone rings constantly in the early morning but Isabelle's Grandparents are away, for once, at their other residence by the sea. These callers are in all probability desperate Mothers of sick children. Grandfather seems to be the only healthcare system available in Trang-Bang and covers both angles, Conventional and Chinese.
The Pharmacy is looking a little tired after all the years of 7-days-a-week queuing to see the Great Dispenser of Herbal Remedies, now a nonagenerian. Hardwood drawers are stuffed full of esoteric dried substances which are then heaped up into the appropriate combination following diagnosis in Grandfather's consulting room. Alternatively one may be prescribed a bottle of brown liquid tincture best described as a Tonic, possibly for the nerves.
One may scoff and say that it could all be one form or other of 'snake oil' and at worst it doesn't do you any harm, but the business has remained popular. This has provided a considerable bounty as there is no free healthcare in Vietnam.
It's rumoured that take-home is something of the order of 2000$ US. a-day. One can appreciate the position that this provides when many of the population have to make do with one $ a-day...
"If a person is poorly, receives treatment to make him better, then no amount of reasoning known to medical science can convince him that it may not have been the treatment that restored his health" - Peter Medawar.
The Pharmacy is looking a little tired after all the years of 7-days-a-week queuing to see the Great Dispenser of Herbal Remedies, now a nonagenerian. Hardwood drawers are stuffed full of esoteric dried substances which are then heaped up into the appropriate combination following diagnosis in Grandfather's consulting room. Alternatively one may be prescribed a bottle of brown liquid tincture best described as a Tonic, possibly for the nerves.
One may scoff and say that it could all be one form or other of 'snake oil' and at worst it doesn't do you any harm, but the business has remained popular. This has provided a considerable bounty as there is no free healthcare in Vietnam.
It's rumoured that take-home is something of the order of 2000$ US. a-day. One can appreciate the position that this provides when many of the population have to make do with one $ a-day...
"If a person is poorly, receives treatment to make him better, then no amount of reasoning known to medical science can convince him that it may not have been the treatment that restored his health" - Peter Medawar.
22nd February. The Uninvited Dinner Guest.
Progressing through all the various courses, we are seated at another Saigon restaurant, a farewell repast for 'K' and Brother-in-law Ayk's departure for Tokyo tonight.
Chopped-up small roasted piglet, mainly thick brown skin with white fat and visible body parts. Spicey eel, salty but good. Boil-your-own white squid-rubber, fish and water cress in a tamarind liquid; great for blocked sinuses. ("We never stay long in the city because of the pollution" admits Isabelle's step-mother.)
Suddenly there is uproar diametrically opposite! 'F' and 'K' are out of their seats and on their feet with loud exclamation. Apparently a large cockroach is enjoying it's High Tea beneath the table. "Everybody's got to eat" comments Brother-in-law Ayk, with a drole shrug of the shoulders, still seated.
Concerned staff are quickly in attendance, chief among them the young woman in denim mini-skirt whose main responsibility seems to be making sure the ice in one's beer is topped up. Wielding one of the vacated plastic seats the unsuspecting diner is unceremoniously crushed, mid-mouthful, under a chair leg.
Although we did at one time have a couple of plates of roasted Cicadas, close cousins no doubt, the Cockroach is remarkably one of the few things not to have featured on any menu to date; menus that are so extensive as to require a book binding.
Chopped-up small roasted piglet, mainly thick brown skin with white fat and visible body parts. Spicey eel, salty but good. Boil-your-own white squid-rubber, fish and water cress in a tamarind liquid; great for blocked sinuses. ("We never stay long in the city because of the pollution" admits Isabelle's step-mother.)
Suddenly there is uproar diametrically opposite! 'F' and 'K' are out of their seats and on their feet with loud exclamation. Apparently a large cockroach is enjoying it's High Tea beneath the table. "Everybody's got to eat" comments Brother-in-law Ayk, with a drole shrug of the shoulders, still seated.
Concerned staff are quickly in attendance, chief among them the young woman in denim mini-skirt whose main responsibility seems to be making sure the ice in one's beer is topped up. Wielding one of the vacated plastic seats the unsuspecting diner is unceremoniously crushed, mid-mouthful, under a chair leg.
Although we did at one time have a couple of plates of roasted Cicadas, close cousins no doubt, the Cockroach is remarkably one of the few things not to have featured on any menu to date; menus that are so extensive as to require a book binding.
21st February. 14 Million Tons of High Explosive.
"Bomb, bomb, bomb... flat! had been Grandmother's explanation as to the fate of her original family home.
A fact borne out by the War Remnants Museum in Saigon.
I make a lone expedition, claiming special interest, except it's all mixed up with the Apollo moonshots, The Monkees and anything else coming through the airwaves about the US in grainy black & white, 405 lines.
It's all here in full grotesque Technicolor; Napalm, Phosphorous and Agent Orange which certainly "Spread across the sky like marmalade", all 70 million litres of it.
Near the end there is a glass case containing the medals of a highly decorated American Sargeant, a gift to the museum with an apology in cross-stitch, "To the people of a united Vietnam, I was wrong. I am sorry".
AIR RECONNAISANCE DREAM.
I am strangely able to hire a light aircraft, a twin-seated Cessna, despite having neither a pilots licence nor any experience of flying. I ask J. Franklin if he fancies a flight up Glenshee since it's such a clear crisp day, that's ok with him.
We fly northwards, the distant snow clad hills glistening in the sun resembling more some part of the Himalayas than Perthshire...
The flight goes steadily enough, there's not that much to it really, this piloting thing. Then I have to take action to avoid some power lines, soon we are out of control, aeronautically and emotionally, panicking as I push foot pedals and anything else to forestall disaster.
Somehow we regain a level flightpath, great, except for the fact that we are now flying upside down. JF looks to me to rectify this matter, I push the joystick hopefully, then gritted my teeth as the plane twists round in one sickening manouvre.
We need fuel, I'm a little apprehensive of making a landing, never having done it before, but we spot a road in the snowy landscape, which now looks like Canada, miraculously we land and taxi to a gas station.
It turns out this isn't Canada it's the US. They refuse to sell us any fuel on account of me not having the right paperwork. Search as I might I can't find any documents relating to anything at all. We are stranded God knows where? and I'd only hired the plane for an hour.
A fact borne out by the War Remnants Museum in Saigon.
I make a lone expedition, claiming special interest, except it's all mixed up with the Apollo moonshots, The Monkees and anything else coming through the airwaves about the US in grainy black & white, 405 lines.
It's all here in full grotesque Technicolor; Napalm, Phosphorous and Agent Orange which certainly "Spread across the sky like marmalade", all 70 million litres of it.
Near the end there is a glass case containing the medals of a highly decorated American Sargeant, a gift to the museum with an apology in cross-stitch, "To the people of a united Vietnam, I was wrong. I am sorry".
AIR RECONNAISANCE DREAM.
I am strangely able to hire a light aircraft, a twin-seated Cessna, despite having neither a pilots licence nor any experience of flying. I ask J. Franklin if he fancies a flight up Glenshee since it's such a clear crisp day, that's ok with him.
We fly northwards, the distant snow clad hills glistening in the sun resembling more some part of the Himalayas than Perthshire...
The flight goes steadily enough, there's not that much to it really, this piloting thing. Then I have to take action to avoid some power lines, soon we are out of control, aeronautically and emotionally, panicking as I push foot pedals and anything else to forestall disaster.
Somehow we regain a level flightpath, great, except for the fact that we are now flying upside down. JF looks to me to rectify this matter, I push the joystick hopefully, then gritted my teeth as the plane twists round in one sickening manouvre.
We need fuel, I'm a little apprehensive of making a landing, never having done it before, but we spot a road in the snowy landscape, which now looks like Canada, miraculously we land and taxi to a gas station.
It turns out this isn't Canada it's the US. They refuse to sell us any fuel on account of me not having the right paperwork. Search as I might I can't find any documents relating to anything at all. We are stranded God knows where? and I'd only hired the plane for an hour.
20th February. Helmet Not Included.
Boasting an engine size of only 50cc. and with a very soft suspension, the Saigon motor-cycle taxi experience may be an option, if you're not too massively Western.
It transpires en-route that red lights really are only for guidance when to use the horn.
The basic rule seems to be that everyone has right of way, all the time and from all directions at once. That is, everyone assumes that everyone else will get out of everyone else's way. A simple working algorithm such as governs the outwardly complex movement of flocks of birds or shoals of fish.
To be fair the motor-cycle taxi men all have use of four limbs but then this gives no clue to the real attrition rate within their profession.
It transpires en-route that red lights really are only for guidance when to use the horn.
The basic rule seems to be that everyone has right of way, all the time and from all directions at once. That is, everyone assumes that everyone else will get out of everyone else's way. A simple working algorithm such as governs the outwardly complex movement of flocks of birds or shoals of fish.
To be fair the motor-cycle taxi men all have use of four limbs but then this gives no clue to the real attrition rate within their profession.
19th February. Day Trip To Cambodia.
Vietnam is like a chocolate box Switzerland or Austria compared with Cambodia.
We head west to the border through a vast expanse of green rice paddies stopping only to pick up an official. We are then ushered through the checkpoint, no passport or visa required, directly to the new casino which is conveniently right up against the border. The arrangement helps to avoid any unpleasant local sights.
This supposed Las Vegas style enterprise has more in common with Tijuana, it occurs, when we pull in at the rather underwhelming 'International Border Market', half a mile further on.
"Very very cheap!" says Isabelle's dad gleefully as we squeeze through the baking, fly-blown market, assailed by women with babes-in-arms, as the dust from the street swirls around with a mixture of plastic litter.
This is a pretty miserable place and not at all quaint I remark of the condition of the locals as we slip effortlessly back into the comfort of the air conditioned Toyota.
Brother-in-law Ayk still claims that this represents civic pride compared with his recent Bangladesh experiences??
We head west to the border through a vast expanse of green rice paddies stopping only to pick up an official. We are then ushered through the checkpoint, no passport or visa required, directly to the new casino which is conveniently right up against the border. The arrangement helps to avoid any unpleasant local sights.
This supposed Las Vegas style enterprise has more in common with Tijuana, it occurs, when we pull in at the rather underwhelming 'International Border Market', half a mile further on.
"Very very cheap!" says Isabelle's dad gleefully as we squeeze through the baking, fly-blown market, assailed by women with babes-in-arms, as the dust from the street swirls around with a mixture of plastic litter.
This is a pretty miserable place and not at all quaint I remark of the condition of the locals as we slip effortlessly back into the comfort of the air conditioned Toyota.
Brother-in-law Ayk still claims that this represents civic pride compared with his recent Bangladesh experiences??
18th February. Integrity Testing.
We sit in large reclining armchairs waiting for 'K' to reappear from her massage, in front a massive plasma screen shows an unintelligible documentary about water-weed. A young woman, mini-skirted, brings peanuts and 'Tiger' Beer; Brother-in-law Ayk seated alongside, remarks "My wife brought me to a whore house".
"Yes there does seem to be more on offer here, I reply.
Both of us had shared a similar experience, the walking on the back massage followed the usual routine, but once rolled over to face upwards, things began to take a much more frightening direction.
The only way out was to make clear, despite the language barrier, that massaging of the 'Old Man' wasn't strictly necessary.
"That was difficult" admitted Brother-in-Law Ayk.
"Yes there does seem to be more on offer here, I reply.
Both of us had shared a similar experience, the walking on the back massage followed the usual routine, but once rolled over to face upwards, things began to take a much more frightening direction.
The only way out was to make clear, despite the language barrier, that massaging of the 'Old Man' wasn't strictly necessary.
"That was difficult" admitted Brother-in-Law Ayk.
17th February, Cu Chi Tunnels.
"You look like your gonna gag on that mate" advises a sun-aged Australian sitting opposite at the crude dining table. This is Manioc, Cassava or call it Tapioca, if you will, the carbohydrate that sustained the Cu Chi Guerillas in the relentless campaign against the 'Evil Americans'.
We are in an underground canteen, part of a subterrenean network totalling 260 kilometres. According to the over-dubbed black & white documentary this allowed the Viet Cong to appear and dissappear at will, exacting a heavy toll of US casualties.
One particular fierce young woman was decorated twice, once as 'Brave Exterminator of Americans' and later, 'War Hero American Killer'
The retired Aussie informs me about conscription from Down Under, "I think they just put your name on a marble and then pulled it out, I guess I was just lucky"
It's hard to imagine visiting "The Tunnels of Baghdad" in thirty years, to hear how brave freedom fighters beat back the 'Evil Americans' once again, while we eat some kind of middle-eastern flatbread.
We are in an underground canteen, part of a subterrenean network totalling 260 kilometres. According to the over-dubbed black & white documentary this allowed the Viet Cong to appear and dissappear at will, exacting a heavy toll of US casualties.
One particular fierce young woman was decorated twice, once as 'Brave Exterminator of Americans' and later, 'War Hero American Killer'
The retired Aussie informs me about conscription from Down Under, "I think they just put your name on a marble and then pulled it out, I guess I was just lucky"
It's hard to imagine visiting "The Tunnels of Baghdad" in thirty years, to hear how brave freedom fighters beat back the 'Evil Americans' once again, while we eat some kind of middle-eastern flatbread.
16th February. The Biggest Street Party in Vietnam.
Tonight I have been exempted from viewing the festive flower show, safe here in the gated community of The Rex Hotel, downtown Saigon, famously the haunt of journalists during the Vietnam War. Music plays from a Trio that wouldn't have been out of place before World War II, this is real peace compared with the armies of people outside.
In the run up to New Year's Eve (tomorrow) the populous can't seem to resist the temptation to be even more crowded together than usual. The streets that aren't closed to traffic are grid-locked with mopeds, the ones that are shut have an uncountable seething carpet of pedestrians .
Comparison to that other Hogmanay experience comes to mind, 'The Biggest Alcohol-Fuelled Street Party in Europe' etc etc. Perhaps my own lack of sociability unless fully 'tanked up' is the clue to the desire to hide in The Rex Hotel?
All these masses of predominantly young people, no violence and no one puking their guts up.
There's a lot of things they don't have in Vietnam; Thrash metal, Graffitti, War Memorials listing the dead and another one of them is the morning after 'pavement pizza'.
In the run up to New Year's Eve (tomorrow) the populous can't seem to resist the temptation to be even more crowded together than usual. The streets that aren't closed to traffic are grid-locked with mopeds, the ones that are shut have an uncountable seething carpet of pedestrians .
Comparison to that other Hogmanay experience comes to mind, 'The Biggest Alcohol-Fuelled Street Party in Europe' etc etc. Perhaps my own lack of sociability unless fully 'tanked up' is the clue to the desire to hide in The Rex Hotel?
All these masses of predominantly young people, no violence and no one puking their guts up.
There's a lot of things they don't have in Vietnam; Thrash metal, Graffitti, War Memorials listing the dead and another one of them is the morning after 'pavement pizza'.
15th February. Morning Callers At The Front Gate - Trang-Bang.
First off, an escaped chicken en-route to market or kitchen, pursued by two women.
This freedom-loving pullet, much to the delight of the dogs, is cornered at the gate but makes another break for it before final recapture. Luckily Isabelle is powerless to intervene on its behalf as it squawks out its alarm.
Next a youngish man, not completely with-it, probably the village druggie, lurks on the pavement. The dogs bark angrily at the extended palm, the unending racket brings Isabelle's dad out of the house who dispenses some small denomination note. The young man wanders across the street then accosts a small girl in a pink dress who after a short interval wisely runs away.
A chauffered Toyota arrives, a white shirted official enters through the gate bearing a case of Heineken and other gifts for the New Year, the dogs don't bark at all. We line up to shake hands, apparently it is the Deputy Minister for the Environment, "He must have his work cut out" I comment, sotto-vocce, to Isabelle.
BIZARRE RESTAURANT DREAM.
A large breakfast bowl arrives with the usual chopsticks, a clear consomme with a dead rat still with all its fur on, half submerged in the middle. I look to Isabelle's dad for confirmation that it's 'OK'.
GOT CHANGE OF A FIVER?
I request some change for a 50,000 Dong banknote from Isabelle's dad, in the process he exclaims, "Look at this! In-credible! one Dong! ONE Dong!
At the current exchange rate this coin is worth precisely three-hundreths of a penny or if you like, thirty-thousandths of one Pound Sterling. Buying anything at all can easily lead to a mental arithmetic headache. As for buying something like a car or say a block of flats and we're quickly up in the realms of Astronomy.
This freedom-loving pullet, much to the delight of the dogs, is cornered at the gate but makes another break for it before final recapture. Luckily Isabelle is powerless to intervene on its behalf as it squawks out its alarm.
Next a youngish man, not completely with-it, probably the village druggie, lurks on the pavement. The dogs bark angrily at the extended palm, the unending racket brings Isabelle's dad out of the house who dispenses some small denomination note. The young man wanders across the street then accosts a small girl in a pink dress who after a short interval wisely runs away.
A chauffered Toyota arrives, a white shirted official enters through the gate bearing a case of Heineken and other gifts for the New Year, the dogs don't bark at all. We line up to shake hands, apparently it is the Deputy Minister for the Environment, "He must have his work cut out" I comment, sotto-vocce, to Isabelle.
BIZARRE RESTAURANT DREAM.
A large breakfast bowl arrives with the usual chopsticks, a clear consomme with a dead rat still with all its fur on, half submerged in the middle. I look to Isabelle's dad for confirmation that it's 'OK'.
GOT CHANGE OF A FIVER?
I request some change for a 50,000 Dong banknote from Isabelle's dad, in the process he exclaims, "Look at this! In-credible! one Dong! ONE Dong!
At the current exchange rate this coin is worth precisely three-hundreths of a penny or if you like, thirty-thousandths of one Pound Sterling. Buying anything at all can easily lead to a mental arithmetic headache. As for buying something like a car or say a block of flats and we're quickly up in the realms of Astronomy.
14th February. Marriage Parfait.
This anniversary we breakfast at a well patronised restaurant, serving individual fried-up prawns in a special eggy-batter, six different people work this production line process.
There are visitors here probably from the U.S. "All prostitutes!" declares Isabelles dad, which seems rather harsh... Granted they all have plucked eyebrows and still maintain a certain look despite the advancing years. One woman sits with her husband and extended family. There's no doubt from his characteristic wide jaw that this American is a returning war vet who managed to get his girlfriend out of the country before the VC overwhelmed this seaside resort. Vung Tau was popular for 'R&R' during the war and also the final point of departure of U.S. forces.
Thirty-odd years, a successful enough marriage despite the odds. Actually, today marks only our 10th year, a record for me but still small beer compared with Isabelles grandparents. Their union has stood sixty-five years, produced thirteen children and survived three wars; Japanese, French, and American, to quote one of Isabelle's dad's most popular phrases "In-credible!"
ENGLISH.
We take our lunch in a primitive but relaxing restaurant shack in a mangrove swamp. I skip the first course of deep-fried barnacles in batter for fear of shellfish bottom or worse. One has to be quick with the main course, to dig in with chopsticks and get a share of the fish but not the driver's flu.
The driver and I are drawn together by the recognition of the common bond of difficulty with conversational French. In his case complete incomprehension and mine, semi-incomprehension. We drink 'Saigon' beer whilst swinging in hammocks and struggle with other languages, ie English and Vietnamese.
I gather that the driver is twenty-nine and yes, you have to pass a driving testin Vietnam. He has been driving for three years and has twenty-five brothers and sisters? "In-credible!"
I have to resort to Isabelle's dad for clarification... The driver has one brother aged twenty-five. There is much amusement in the universal language of laughter.
There are visitors here probably from the U.S. "All prostitutes!" declares Isabelles dad, which seems rather harsh... Granted they all have plucked eyebrows and still maintain a certain look despite the advancing years. One woman sits with her husband and extended family. There's no doubt from his characteristic wide jaw that this American is a returning war vet who managed to get his girlfriend out of the country before the VC overwhelmed this seaside resort. Vung Tau was popular for 'R&R' during the war and also the final point of departure of U.S. forces.
Thirty-odd years, a successful enough marriage despite the odds. Actually, today marks only our 10th year, a record for me but still small beer compared with Isabelles grandparents. Their union has stood sixty-five years, produced thirteen children and survived three wars; Japanese, French, and American, to quote one of Isabelle's dad's most popular phrases "In-credible!"
ENGLISH.
We take our lunch in a primitive but relaxing restaurant shack in a mangrove swamp. I skip the first course of deep-fried barnacles in batter for fear of shellfish bottom or worse. One has to be quick with the main course, to dig in with chopsticks and get a share of the fish but not the driver's flu.
The driver and I are drawn together by the recognition of the common bond of difficulty with conversational French. In his case complete incomprehension and mine, semi-incomprehension. We drink 'Saigon' beer whilst swinging in hammocks and struggle with other languages, ie English and Vietnamese.
I gather that the driver is twenty-nine and yes, you have to pass a driving testin Vietnam. He has been driving for three years and has twenty-five brothers and sisters? "In-credible!"
I have to resort to Isabelle's dad for clarification... The driver has one brother aged twenty-five. There is much amusement in the universal language of laughter.
13th February. Mekong Delta Blues.
Seated two by two we plough through the choppy grey waters of the Mekong River in a traditional longboat. We have paid for Isabelles anxiety to be first in the queue by being seated at the stern next to yet another unsilenced diesel. 'K' and 'F' are in another boat together with the sun cream.
The local people conduct their whole lives on the water, we power past floating markets and boatyards, the spray leaving a dubious film on the lips, Isabelle videoing continuosly. I nudge her elbow as I feel I should point out that 'F' is videoing us from the other boat running alongside, this results in a mid-shot disruption and aggravation. "You're so ****ing irritated!" I yell above the racket of the diesel outboard, what I meant to say was irritable. Anyway I make a mental note not to point out anything else...
This silence in relations is soon smoothed out against the clatter of another, incredibly large, diesel engine, the prime mover for the rice mill, our next stop on the tour.
The local people conduct their whole lives on the water, we power past floating markets and boatyards, the spray leaving a dubious film on the lips, Isabelle videoing continuosly. I nudge her elbow as I feel I should point out that 'F' is videoing us from the other boat running alongside, this results in a mid-shot disruption and aggravation. "You're so ****ing irritated!" I yell above the racket of the diesel outboard, what I meant to say was irritable. Anyway I make a mental note not to point out anything else...
This silence in relations is soon smoothed out against the clatter of another, incredibly large, diesel engine, the prime mover for the rice mill, our next stop on the tour.
12th February. Apocalypse Then.
The diesel engine chugs relentless as we progress slowly up some backwater of the Mekong a la Martin Sheen. Finally in the heat of midday we step ashore deep in the hinterland...
Another restaurant. No one has gone AWOL and lost their mind here...
At table, the conversation continues in french, I interject: "Would you eat a baby if it was properly cooked?" 'K' and 'F' looked puzzled, Isabelle glares at this 'faux pas'. The conversation has obviously moved on somewhat from discussing what one is prepared to eat.
I'm sure 'K' said she'd eaten monkey...
CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH AN INCUBUS.
I lie down in room 307 at the Hoa Phuong Hotel to catch forty winks before going out to another restaurant.
Suddenly a powerful male entity grabs me from behind, muttering something in my ear.
At the same time I am being subject to an extraordinary violation!...
I wake up and think this can't be happening, the door was locked, it must be a dream or is it? I try to move or shout out but find I'm completely paralysed and speechless for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time.
I'm left curious as to whether I've been fitted with some kind of alien probe.
Another restaurant. No one has gone AWOL and lost their mind here...
At table, the conversation continues in french, I interject: "Would you eat a baby if it was properly cooked?" 'K' and 'F' looked puzzled, Isabelle glares at this 'faux pas'. The conversation has obviously moved on somewhat from discussing what one is prepared to eat.
I'm sure 'K' said she'd eaten monkey...
CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH AN INCUBUS.
I lie down in room 307 at the Hoa Phuong Hotel to catch forty winks before going out to another restaurant.
Suddenly a powerful male entity grabs me from behind, muttering something in my ear.
At the same time I am being subject to an extraordinary violation!...
I wake up and think this can't be happening, the door was locked, it must be a dream or is it? I try to move or shout out but find I'm completely paralysed and speechless for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time.
I'm left curious as to whether I've been fitted with some kind of alien probe.
11th February. Goats Udders Rule.
We jolt down the highway in the jeep as the red disc of the sun sinks behind. Our destination tonight, one of Grandfathers favourite haunts.
The patron welcomes us under the vaulted corrugated iron roof as some martial arts drama flickers unwatched on the tv and what proves to be a huge captive snake tastes the air with its forked tongue.
The reptile is indeed fortunate not to be on the menu as this is the speciality goat restaurant. Our table top fryers are set up and Grandmother swizzles the mouth watering entree of sliced pink meat and okra around.
What's the best thing you've ever eaten ? Quite possibly deep fried goats nipples
- no joke.
The patron welcomes us under the vaulted corrugated iron roof as some martial arts drama flickers unwatched on the tv and what proves to be a huge captive snake tastes the air with its forked tongue.
The reptile is indeed fortunate not to be on the menu as this is the speciality goat restaurant. Our table top fryers are set up and Grandmother swizzles the mouth watering entree of sliced pink meat and okra around.
What's the best thing you've ever eaten ? Quite possibly deep fried goats nipples
- no joke.
10th February. The Mystery of The Massage Place.
"What happens if I get an erection?" I pondered, as a lithe young woman in a mini skirt led us upstairs.
"Just think of your mother" warned Isabelle. This particular fear proved groundless even as the masseuse straddled my bare back, the pummelling and thwacking caused Isabelle, who was spectating, to remark; "Crikey your back's as red as a beetroot".
That was only a prelude to the climax of being repeatedly walked on. A final twisting and wrenching and I was free to go. The fear of dislocation together with the shear heat of friction had successfully kept any potential eroticism at bay.
The consensus from 'K', Isabelles sister, was that it could all still be a front for prostitution. This opinion was based on the uncommon levels of eye make up alone...
"Just think of your mother" warned Isabelle. This particular fear proved groundless even as the masseuse straddled my bare back, the pummelling and thwacking caused Isabelle, who was spectating, to remark; "Crikey your back's as red as a beetroot".
That was only a prelude to the climax of being repeatedly walked on. A final twisting and wrenching and I was free to go. The fear of dislocation together with the shear heat of friction had successfully kept any potential eroticism at bay.
The consensus from 'K', Isabelles sister, was that it could all still be a front for prostitution. This opinion was based on the uncommon levels of eye make up alone...
9th February. Respect! Ancestors.
The incense slowly burns down on the living room table, this is the allotted time given to the ancestors to first have their fill of the roast suckling pig and other delicacies. Not surprisingly they don't seem to eat much, possibly because they no longer have stomachs or bodies for that matter. If they were simply living a purer afterlife existence as vegans they could have just had the rice.
These kind of details are always a bit hazy, or simply glossed over, but it's worked well enough for 6000 years so Isabelle's dad tells me.
However, belief seems to be nowadays restricted to the elderly, possibly for good reason...
These kind of details are always a bit hazy, or simply glossed over, but it's worked well enough for 6000 years so Isabelle's dad tells me.
However, belief seems to be nowadays restricted to the elderly, possibly for good reason...
8th February. Saigon Fish.
Directly from bagage reclaim we emerge into the peace and quiet of Saigon, the streets are deserted... Well not quite... traffic levels are chaotic even by Vietnam standards.
In the sea of vehicles the mopeds are like shoals of mackerel, our driver steers upstream, miraculously the mackerel part around the bow as if of one mind. We navigate by dead reckoning to our first port of call, a restaurant.
We eat crunchy dried minature fish then a large boiled fish out of a glass tank - tasty though.
SAIGON PROLOGUE Shitting Over Cambodia.
As I sit on the loo we start our descent to Saigon, I have to make haste, this is wierd, 30,000 ft below this stainless steel pan are the rain forests of Cambodia.
In the sea of vehicles the mopeds are like shoals of mackerel, our driver steers upstream, miraculously the mackerel part around the bow as if of one mind. We navigate by dead reckoning to our first port of call, a restaurant.
We eat crunchy dried minature fish then a large boiled fish out of a glass tank - tasty though.
SAIGON PROLOGUE Shitting Over Cambodia.
As I sit on the loo we start our descent to Saigon, I have to make haste, this is wierd, 30,000 ft below this stainless steel pan are the rain forests of Cambodia.
7th February. Mood At C.D.G. Airport Paris.
"Just get me any kind of baguette" I mouthed, (curiously renamed a sandwich, just for contrariness). Fillings proved rather unimaginative, I thought; boiled egg with lettuce and tomato, something like Mother would have dreamed up in 1974.
Staffing levels are visibly still up there with the De Galle era. In fact George Bush famously hit the nail on the head; "The trouble with the French is they don't know the meaning of entrepreneur"...
Staffing levels are visibly still up there with the De Galle era. In fact George Bush famously hit the nail on the head; "The trouble with the French is they don't know the meaning of entrepreneur"...
6th February. Vacances Gastronomique d'Indochine.
The fact of the matter is we have to be transported to Vietnam tomorrow, by Air Something-or-Other, straight into Isabelle's Grandparents kitchen. It's going to be another marathon eating vacation. More or less a working holiday as far as the digestion goes. Restaurants too numerous to mention and then there's the meals dished up by the woman from Cambodia that lives in the kitchen and sleeps on the dining table.
There's very little that isn't eaten in this part of South-East Asia. The main advice for any visiting western gourmand is; 'Don't eat the lettuce', unless you want to spend the day on a toilet.
There's very little that isn't eaten in this part of South-East Asia. The main advice for any visiting western gourmand is; 'Don't eat the lettuce', unless you want to spend the day on a toilet.
5th February. Chicken Stew.
Poor old Hettie the hypothermic hen came in for a bit of abuse this evening, flattened under the combined weight of four or five of her more rumbustious nephews. These young beaus function at the basest of levels and think nothing of gang raping their mother, grandmother or a retarded sister. A geriatric aunt like Hettie who's basically at the care home stage is as much fair game as anything else.
They all start sweet and fluffy enough, boys and girls playing nicely together, even sharing their mixed corn, then Bingo! The cockerels become violently libidinous, whilst the hens just become overly concerned with the details of the pecking order.
The case for Caponisation has been made, something has to go, either balls or heads.
They all start sweet and fluffy enough, boys and girls playing nicely together, even sharing their mixed corn, then Bingo! The cockerels become violently libidinous, whilst the hens just become overly concerned with the details of the pecking order.
The case for Caponisation has been made, something has to go, either balls or heads.
4th February. Trouble in Faeces Close.
In order to preserve a Medieval Right of Way they had to leave a back passageway between Domino's Pizza and No. 185. This should have been renamed Faeces Close, Vomit Wynd or alternatively Urine Alley, the walls also double as a blank canvas for artists working with more traditional media.
Previous attempts to prevent the ingress of undesirables from Faeces Close into the stairwell of 185 proved a failure, the Constabulary became involved when the tenant of neighbouring Flat C became a casualty of a skirmish with the Alcoholics that take up a daily residence in the bin store/ drinking den.
Our tenant e-mailed to say that she didn't mind giving the stairwell an occasional sweep but drew the line at dealing with human excrement... Inevitably today I formed up a faeces detail then headed out for a general clear up of whatever and to take door security to another level. I'm afraid that due to inherent electro-mechanical fragility we're going to have to let the convenience of intercom controlled door locking go, from now on it's No Key, No entry. I said, just send another e-mail when the door's lying splintered off its hinges.
Previous attempts to prevent the ingress of undesirables from Faeces Close into the stairwell of 185 proved a failure, the Constabulary became involved when the tenant of neighbouring Flat C became a casualty of a skirmish with the Alcoholics that take up a daily residence in the bin store/ drinking den.
Our tenant e-mailed to say that she didn't mind giving the stairwell an occasional sweep but drew the line at dealing with human excrement... Inevitably today I formed up a faeces detail then headed out for a general clear up of whatever and to take door security to another level. I'm afraid that due to inherent electro-mechanical fragility we're going to have to let the convenience of intercom controlled door locking go, from now on it's No Key, No entry. I said, just send another e-mail when the door's lying splintered off its hinges.
3rd February. The Fall of Paris.
Woke up in the middle of the night and found an orange thing, like a balloon sculpture made of very fine material, floating about the bedroom. To be honest it was a bit freaky, but on examination each part of it carried a coded message, obviously from Whitehall.
We had to dismantle the secret radio transmitter and bury anything incriminating in the pre-dug trench under the front door step. The reason for this was that the Armies of the Third Reich were fast approaching Paris where we had been living.
From now on, we would be working behind enemy lines...
We had to dismantle the secret radio transmitter and bury anything incriminating in the pre-dug trench under the front door step. The reason for this was that the Armies of the Third Reich were fast approaching Paris where we had been living.
From now on, we would be working behind enemy lines...
2nd February. High Carbon Holidays.com
I was kind of bothered today by the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey (see earlier) and all the other things on critically endangered lists. It's tiny face looking back through the glass and how it flitted about making it very difficult to catch and eat. A strategy that had served it well enough until quite recently...
Bothered, but not bothered enough to refrain from a long-haul flight to the other side of the world even to somewhere I've already been. And not bothered enough to refrain from buying a couple of sheets of plywood if I was needing some.
Therein lies the rub, what do you do? Make possession of plywood illegal? Ban foreign holidays? Or what, plywood rationing? Or a lottery system for holiday destinations? The Laminated Timber Taxation Bill? Foreign travel only for the incredibly rich? There's no going backwards, not willingly...
An early night with a mug of undiluted Roundup* may be the only realistic answer to many intractable questions concerning Human Nature.
* Trademark of the Monsanto Co.
Bothered, but not bothered enough to refrain from a long-haul flight to the other side of the world even to somewhere I've already been. And not bothered enough to refrain from buying a couple of sheets of plywood if I was needing some.
Therein lies the rub, what do you do? Make possession of plywood illegal? Ban foreign holidays? Or what, plywood rationing? Or a lottery system for holiday destinations? The Laminated Timber Taxation Bill? Foreign travel only for the incredibly rich? There's no going backwards, not willingly...
An early night with a mug of undiluted Roundup* may be the only realistic answer to many intractable questions concerning Human Nature.
* Trademark of the Monsanto Co.
1st February. The Worlds Smallest Monkey.
I found myself staring into the face of the world's smallest monkey, albeit on the other side of plate glass. They have a body about the size of a rat with what looks like a shrunken human head attached. Of course these are on the 'endangered' species list along with just about everything else in the zoo, apart from opportunist grey squirrels, jackdaws and Us.
There's not much the World's Smallest Monkey can say about its habitat being turned into sheets of plywood because of its language abilities. Evolution can't go backwards, having backed itself into an ecological cul-de-sac, it's only choice is to cash in it's chips.
By a remarkable coincidence we met F&D who were wheeling their very own Pink Bush Baby around, who was two today. Unlike the WSM she is showing an amazing ability to soak up vocabulary and in a few short years will be able to fully understand the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey and how plywood is made.
There's not much the World's Smallest Monkey can say about its habitat being turned into sheets of plywood because of its language abilities. Evolution can't go backwards, having backed itself into an ecological cul-de-sac, it's only choice is to cash in it's chips.
By a remarkable coincidence we met F&D who were wheeling their very own Pink Bush Baby around, who was two today. Unlike the WSM she is showing an amazing ability to soak up vocabulary and in a few short years will be able to fully understand the plight of the World's Smallest Monkey and how plywood is made.
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