And when the wind blows as she does in southern Vietnam, the crowds come out to fly their kites. The Vietnamese have proved thus far to be ingenious at appropriating things for unintended uses, be it raw materials or land. On the construction site of Sunrise City, a new development on the outskirts of HCMC, a group of several hundred people came out to fly their kites and take in the sunset and spectacle. 

Pimp My Ride

Amazing things happen in life when you're not rushing through it. And noticing that there's something hidden along the roadside can be one of them. While I was pedaling home last night, I saw the white rims of a vintage car poking out from underneath a tarp. 

While I hate to lessen my man quotient, I have to admit that I'm not a car guy and have spent the standard 5 clicks on wikipedia trying to identify this beauty. Alas, I give up. I place her in the 1930s though. The chaps manning the garage let me crank the engine but seemed a little hesitant about letting me whip her around. Would you let a guy with a broken bike take your car for a spin? 

After returning with a dictionary and shifting around one word at a time, I gathered that the car had recently been sold for $27,000 USD. 

Bong Thien Ly

The broccoli rabe of Vietnam. This lovely greenery floating in a bowl of water accompanied chicken, rice, cha ca and cha heo for an trua (lunch). The latter two are fish and pork cakes made by pureeing the flesh, compacting it and allowing it to solidify -- correct me if I'm wrong. The fish one was fried. 

The bong thien ly is actually a flower and was stir fried with garlic and seasoned with salt, pepper and a dash of sugar. It is nutty, yet with a slightly bitter aftertaste. The first thing that came to mind though was the Italian vegetable. 

ps: (I'm looking for a good type tool to get the accents necessary for typing in Vietnamese, in the meantime, bear with me. There are some high hats and accents missing.) 

Tour de Saigon

Talk about vehicle envy. I took an old fashioned bicycle out yesterday and gave her a work out. I made it to places that I would have never ventured to on foot -- or at least not on my 3rd day in the city. I got lost in the backwaters of District 7 trying to make my way to downtown Saigon. It's pretty funny being a semi-western looking guy on a bike trying to read a map. (I wonder if I'll ever fit in?) 

Cruising the streets here is a little hairy. I'd rather eat a hot dog lying down at the intersection of 42nd and Broadway, but what I noticed is that the traffic moves like schools of fish. The thousands upon thousands of vehicles have a natural order to their ebb and flow. I only almost got ran over once. More on traffic, smog and the like later... 

The Jockey stood up to the roads pretty well, but I must be gaining weight. On my way back, one of the pedals broke off. And despite the handiness of the people who offered their help and toolbox, she was a total goner. So, for the next 3 km, I biked with one foot on the remaining peddle and the other on the peddle stem in a seesaw motion, kinda like pumping water from a ground well. 

I miss my western glossies.....

I LOVE THE DONG

$1.00 USD = 15,567 Dong | Breakfast < $4.00 USD

I'm not ready for food shots just yet -- there is one place that I find sacred and that's the dinner table -- but give me time. The food here is amazing! 

And I think I found my breakfast of champions. A ca phe sua da (iced coffee with condensed milk) and com suon op la (broken rice with grilled pork and 2-eggs, sunny-side up). The girls at Coffee Cali will become fast friends I hope. You can ask my friends at Ciao for Now, and they'll tell you I ate the same thing every morning for 3-years straight -- veggie-sausage egg wrap, iced green tea and an Americano. Call me boring but I like to stay consistent in the mornings.  

I'll always love the Ciao but the Dong I can get used to. 

THE PINK ROOM

Amber opted for the green and blue room. So, my room is beautifully decorated in pink -- everything down to the phone. 

THE 'BURBS

Welcome to my new home -- for the time being at least. My father's sister, Co Lang Ha, was kind enough to have her husband, Tran Dinh Hy, introduce me to his cousin, Sylvie Tran. As far as the Vietnamese are concerned, she is my aunt, and I address her as Co Sylvie. But we are not related in American terms, and she nor I knew of the other until several weeks ago. 

Sylvie went out on a limb and offered me a room in her house in District 7. The area is known as Saigon South and has the pace of the suburbs compared to Saigon proper just across the river. The house is 4-stories and designed to maximize sunlight and natural ventilation. Despite the AC units pumping in the various bedrooms and living room, it's pretty eco-efficient, although I doubt the electricity is from a renewable resource. 

   

I have other roommates, namely Sylvie's 9-year-old daughter, Amber, and her friend from Canada, but have yet to meet anyone because everyone is out-of-town. Sylvie included. Talk about trusting. Giving your house keys to a stranger after meeting them for one night sounds like something I would do. (Ahem, my two eurasians from Australia.) 

 

Pictures of the family as soon as they get home. 

FOR THE BIRDS

A friend asked me to send her pictures of birds once I touched down. Not one to disappoint, voila. The ones hailing a bus are a rare species, so I'm told, but the penguin is a regular nuisance in the neighborhood.  

What would you bring?

I have successfully edited my life down to 83 pounds of the absolutely most essential gear, some of which will be consumed with new friends and others will be read alone or offered to the tailor as prototypes. But for the most part, traveling light is the way to go. I'm not sure where my affliction towards rollers and backpacks came from, but all my bags have only a single-shoulder strap with handles: hanging bag, shoulder bag, satchel (the RO that I want to be buried with) and a mini-duffel of sorts. But at least my luggage doesn't actually weigh more than what's inside, which of course was once the way to travel.  

P.S.

Thanks to all those who made the sendoff awesome!

IN THE BEGINNING

The chronicles of a simple Georgia boy transplanted in Saigon begins, as all good tales do, with a vessel over high seas. I'll spare you the details and melancholy of my last night in New York, but needless to say, that town is one hard place to leave. While I claim roots in southern USA, my place of birth is Manhattan, and she was my home for the last 9-years. 

But back to the beginning, not of time, but of this blog. Where to begin? First an issuant of a caveat: please don't hold anything I may say, or my poor grammar, against me. This, of course, is said in the high hopes that more than one person (my mum) reads this blog. For those that do decide to follow the travails of a southerner in south Vietnam, you can expect musings on food, architecture (sustainable), fashion, travel, nightlife, family, friends and just a whole lotta lovin'. Oh, and I almost forgot, The Blues. While hunkering over a jukebox and kicking it to something outta Narleans, the name of this blog morphed from a Billy Joel ballad, Goodnight Saigon, into the fine phrasing that we have before us. 

There's just something about the twangy sound of a nostalgic blues track that gets my motor running. So, if you make it to 'Nam, look me up. I'll be hanging out at the local blues bar....if I can ever find one.