Videoke

The Videoke Station

Two weeks before I left for the Philippines, I was at Le Drugstore, a lesbian bar in Montreal. It was Karaoke Night, an otherwise quiet Tuesday. About 5 people in our  group, the slightly drunk blond host of the night turned to the Asian guy at our table (a Belgian, nonetheless) and said in French You guys, Asians, in your country karaoke is a front for prostitution! Seemingly unaffected by this ignorant comment, our friend ignored her and she continued to sing one of the songs she picked. Sadly, she will probably never be the diva she always wanted to be. However, in the foggy haze of this lesbian bar, everyone in different stages of drunkenness, she can feel like the stage is hers.

In only my first few days of life in the Philippines, I experienced the videoke. Videoke is the Filipino version of karaoke. Even before starting my job here, I was attending a birthday party where the family had rented a videoke terminal. In the middle of rice paddies, outside the tin-roofed concrete house stood the golden podium: a television screen affixed to a tall base on wheels complete with large red buttons and speakers from which our sung ballads will project against the neighbour’s tin-roofs and rice fields.

This is where I first sung Ironic, by Alanis. Little did I know that this was the easiest song anyone can sing, and would soon become my signature song. There has been many (and I mean about several times a week at the peak) times where I sing at videoke, and not one time goes by where I do not sing Ironic. I am told, others have begun to sing it while I am not in attendance. And I’m told it’s sung in my honour.

The previous intern and I are singing to The Sign

Now, karaoke is popular all over East and Southeast Asia, this is a fact. However something about it here makes it more common than anywhere else. In Vietnam, I may have sung karaoke about 5 or so times in the two years I was there. So far, in the two months I have been here I have sung karaoke upwards of 20 times. Most of the bars have a terminal. All you have to do is pay 5 pesos (about 10 cents Canadian) and tell the bar person what number song you would like and it’s done. The microphone will circulate from table to table as patrons sing their favourite love ballads. Even the toughest-looking guys will shoot down glasses of rum or gin while singing Hero by Mariah Carey.

Well, I surely can’t sing Hero (though that didn’t stop me from trying) but as time goes by I am searching for my new signature song. The song needs to be identifiable, easy to sing along to, and ready for its trendy re-emergence.  Some how none of the Ace of Base songs actually work (I’ve ruined Lucky Love and Don’t Turn Around). Celine Dion is way too difficult despite the fact in allows me to insert the fact that I once lived behind her (damn, I did it again). 

As the search continues, I will no doubt make a fool of myself singing way out of my range (my range is beyond what human ears can hear, by the way). Meanwhile, if that drunk rock-bottom diva at Le Drugstore was right, where do I pick up my cheque?

On Turning 25

I am writing this on a plane between Saigon and Hanoi. This weekend marked my 25th birthday. I am now a quarter of a century old. Despite the weeks leading up to my birthday being some of the busiest of my life, I've been able to think and realise a bit about what it means to be 25.

First off, it means birthdays are really not that important anymore. More exciting and more urgent things come first. Like your job. Hence having to work this weekend. I can no longer have my mom write me a sick note .

It also means I am an adult now. I can stop pretending to be mature, composed and proffesional in everyday situations, especially at work. I've realised the majority of other people are also pretending. Although other people around my age and older seem to know what they are doing, this is a lie. They are just as lost and confused as me. I bet even my dad doesn't know what he's doin sometimes. 

I have no more excuses for not doing things in my life. I can especially no longer say I'll save it for when I'm older. For instance, playing sports. I have never been into playing sports, and it is very unlikely I'll ever start. My parents must have put me in every kind of sport as a kid:  tennis, soccer, swimming, even figure skating. I need to except that I'll never be that into sports. Same thing for playing an instrument. I'll probably never play an instrument in my life.

People can no longer say I am too young to know what love is. I think by this time in my life I can say I have experienced what love is.... And what it isn't. I just am not sure If it's turned out to be as easy as I thought.

I am not going to grow out of anything anymore. Like my big italian nose. I don't think my face is suddenly going to grow proportionately to my nose between the age of 25 and 30. I also will always have that soft layer of flesh under my skin. Yes, the one that has elicited comments such as " you look so skinny but your skin is very fatty" ( got to love the honesty of the Vietnamese people). I need to accept that my looks are only going to go down from here.

However I am not accepting that it's downhill from here. Just because i havent done something ive wanted to do by now, doesnt mean i still cant try. Its just trying is a lot more difficult. 

I have been the happiest I have ever been lately. I am experiencing things about the world, and in turn about myself, that are invaluable. Life is becoming less about freedom and ignoring the consequences, but developping friendships that will outlast any particular stage in my life. It's become about learning how to live to make sure I am still happy when I'm 30, because my needs and values will have changed by then...

Let's just not talk about my 30s for another 5 years, ok?

Gratuitous Video Scene #8: Bus in Java, Indonesia

During our trip in Java, Smorg and I took a diverse array of transportation: motorbike, train, bus, bemo, minibus, ferry.

In what seems typical of public transportation, at every stop along the way a parade of people selling things come onboard. They then proceed to constantly try and sell you something while you are both trapped on this moving vehicle. They will actually throw the product in your lap, where you can examine it for a while. They will then come back and either take the item back or you give them the money. Snake fruit, pens, Muslim prayer sheets, doughnuts, fried tofu, magazines, you name it, they sell it. Every now and then I would wake up in a drowsy state as 10 people would storm through the bus throwing things into my lap, while my head spun between reality and sleep.

Most interesting are the musicians that also hop on between stops. Guitar, percussion and singing fill the bus. For bus-singers, their voices were quite good, and it was a welcome change from the hard selling.

Java, Indonesia!

If you were wondering why I hadn't updated my blog, it's because I went to Singapore and Indonesia for the Lunar New Year. The original plan was to head to Philippines, but prices quickly skyrocketed heading that way, and the cheaper option was Indonesia via Singapore. I had been to Bali before, but regretted not heading to Java during the 10+ days I was there. This was my second chance.

After booking the tickets, Smorg and I figured out it was actually the rainy season in Indonesia. Realising the original Philippine plan may have been worth it, we just made sure to pack extra socks and our heavy duty rain ponchos.

The "rainy" turned out to be alright. We only got caught once in a torrential rainfall, but it soured our shoes for the rest of the trip. Literally, we transported our rank-smelling shoes with us all across Java never having the opportunity to stay in one place long enough to let them dry.

Some photos from Indonesia.

We did a jungle trek in Pangandaran, West Java. Monkeys and barking deer.

The Green Canyon in Pangandaran. In the rainy season, its brown. We then jumped into the fast water. I have only a few bruises from hitting rocks. 

Random bamboo bridge. Near Pangandaran.

Borobudur, in Central Java. This Buddhist temple was discovered under a dense jungle a couple hundred years ago. A relict of Indonesia's Buddhist past.

Stupas of Borobudur. Smorg and I had about 3 hours of sleep before coming here.

Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park, at sunrise. To the right is an active volcano.

Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park, at sunrise.

Steaming Mount Bromo. In the background is Mount Batok. Mount Bromo last erupted in 2007.

Smorg and I walked all around the rim of the volcano. It wasn't so difficult, but we had to turn around and backtrack about an hour, because we reached a spot that my grip-less fake Louis Vuitton shoes wouldn't handle. My real shoes were tied up in a bag smelling awfully like mouldy sea water and cat pee.

Back to Vietnam by way of China... Part II

Here is my bit about my food experience in Beijing.

My first day started off with a rice congee, similar in name to the one here in Vietnam (called chao). It turns out the similarity stops there. The rice soup here, was yellow in colour, and was doused in a sesame sauce. It was a lot thicker and was a bit salty. I scarfed it down with a vegetable spring roll and some fried bread. I didn't eat for about 8 hours after this, so I guess it did the trick. I don't think I'd eat it again though.

One of the most interesting meals was at a Szechuan restaurant. I have had Szechuan in Canada, obviously, but nothing prepared me for this. On the first bite, the flavour was great, if not a little strange. Then, this odd feeling took over my mouth. A numbing sensation paired with an uncontrollable stream of saliva pouring out of my glands had me in a bit of a panic. It wasn't necessarily spicy (though my mom would definitely think so), as the numbing took care of that issue. It turns out there were about a million little Szechuan peppercorns decorating this dish, a peppercorn that contains a natural numbing chemical. I continued eating while proclaiming in disbelief how anyone could actually want to have this feeling. It took over almost my entire face, reminding me of how when you go to the dentist it often takes hours before you can feel your lower jaw.

No trip to anywhere in Asia would be complete without trying the staple street food. Sticks with fruits dipped in a hardened sugar syrup are everywhere in winter. The traditional fruit to have in this style is the Chinese Hawberry. It's a bit sour like a crabapple.  You can also get strawberries, and any other kind of common fruit.

I visited a small street that had a hundred different street food vendors. I skipped quickly past the seahorse-on-a-stick vendors and tried some Beijing yogourt. Not unlike any other type of yogourt, except you drink it in a ceramic pot with a straw. 

Right before catching my plane back to Hanoi I went for Chinese dumplings. Apparently Beijing-style dumplings are boiled rather than streamed or pan-fried. My companions and I got egg and veggie as well as mushroom-filled dumplings. Hao chu (or however you would spell delicious in Mandarin)!

Back to Montreal - Skating

For 3 years I lived within a 10 minute walk to Parc Lafontaine, one of Montreal's largest urban parks. I was with someone for quite a while who lived on the other side of the park, and wouldn't miss the opportunity to pass through it on the way to his house. There are trees wide enough to make me believe they were in that very spot in 1642 when Montreal was founded.

Despite walking through the park about 300 times in my lifetime and having about 3 picnics (one particular second date comes to mind), I have never been skating on the pond-cum-skating rink in winter. Something about -20 degree days and "I'll do it next week" mentality.

And so I finally did it.

Me, holding Robbie up. He hadn't skated since 1993.

Didn't notice how cold it was until someone said 'can you believe it's -27 today?' Then I started to feel cold.

Back to Montreal - Harvey's

Veggie burgers in Hanoi lack a lot. I have yet to come across a veggie burger there that isn't some sort of sloppy mishmash of vegetables, batter and usually cheese (yuck!). Oh. And fried.

Even outside Vietnam, no veggie burger comes close to what you can get at Harvey's. Canada's answer to fast-food giants Burger King and McDonald's, Harvey's grills your burger on an open flame right in front of your eyes. And they have stations set up where you can dictate to a worker exactly what you want going into your burger.

My veggie burger was constructed with tomatoes, onions, pickles, hot peppers, lettuce, mustard, and barbecue sauce all stacked between a whole wheat bun. I skipped the fries so I could stuff down two of these. Here's some photos to help you salivate.

Motorbike trip Hanoi - Chinese Border

A couple weeks ago I got a text from a new Vietnamese friend. He asked 'tomorow you want motorbike to china 2 nights. pls tell me soon'. And so unaware of Rebel's horrible return to Hanoi, I packed my bag and hopped on the back of the motorbike with no idea what I was getting into.

It turns out we joined a group of 22 other people - all Vietnamese. A group of young people who use an internet forum to organise motorbike trips around Northern Vietnam. The kind of organising that the communist government wants to stop.

After about a total of 12 hours sitting on a motorbike my ass hurt more than I could ever have imagined. It was a bit of a long journey just to frolic around a waterfall. We made several stops along the way, though. And the actual route was a loop, so we didn't have to backtrack.

Here are some photos of the butt-busting trip.

Eleven motorbikes were in the flot.

It was terrifying going around the mountains. Up up up then over and then down down down into another valley.

Halfway through our trip we stopped at a spring where national hero Ho Chi Minh had hid during the American War. This mountain is called Karl Marx (Cac Mac) and the spring is named after Lenin (Le-Nin). I got to see and touch Uncle Ho's actual bed inside the cave where he camped, although at first I thought it was a dinner table.

I don`t know who in the group decided on the route, but most of the roads where just blasted. And not yet finished. Though apparently they looked finished on the map. Someone must have accidentally bought the map titled "National Highway Masterplan 2008-2020"

This beauty of a road went on for about 13 kilometres. It took about an hour to go through. Not pictured here is the incredible incline that would probably not even be considered on developed roads anywhere else. I couldn't get a photo of the incline because I was holding on for my life. We passed many construction crews. Some of them asking me to come and smoke from their tabacco pipe with them. I kindly declined as what I needed to get me through the experience would have been much stronger.

This was the place we camped out on the second night. I say 'place' as I think that a cafeteria of a park station with all the chairs taken out and blankets spread out would be considered a place. Where else would you house 23 people who come knocking on your door.

I finally arrived at the waterfall. Except foreigners are not allowed in the border lands between China and Vietnam without a proper permit. The solution was to cover my face up like a criminal as we went through the check point. Who would notice?

Yes. Those are two men fishing on top of the waterfall in their underwear.

This is all of us!

Love Café

So what happens when you live in a society where opposite-sex intimacy is not acceptable in public? And what about if, in the same society, people live with their extended family?

You get Love Cafés!

Little cafés where you can sit in a booth that's hidden from view. Near work there was this cute love café down the hill from the main street. Little bamboo huts with bamboo blinds could be had with coffee or a smoothie. All of them come complete with a table and ONE long bench.

I tried once to get one. My Vietnamese teacher and I were trying to find a private place from the prying ears of Vietnamese youth (who had taken a liking to hearing me speak Vietnamese, going so far as sitting in the next table and silently observing me). The owner of the love café would have nothing of it, and refused to allow us in a booth. No same-sex couples (it's not like that... I pay him for lessons).

It doesn't matter because the Love Café has been destroyed by a storm. One day, while I was heading for a lesson, the main section where non-lovers would sit had complety collapsed. Nothing but a crushed straw roof.

Lao Trip Part 2: Kayaking in Pictures

 

Day One: we had no idea what was in store

We also didn't know we'd be eating delicious vegetarian food off of a banana leaf.

 

The team.

 

Along the way we passed many random Lao sightings. Kids fishing, families bathing, livestock...

 

It started to rain at one point. This is me and Lélé. We bickered about half the time, but quickly smiled for this rainy shot.

 

Day 2: right before we went into a complex of rapids. Not the scariest, I only thought I would die about 2 times.

 

I think I got a urinary tract infection after this swim

At the end of day 2, it also started raining.

Lao Trip

The trip to Lao was incredibly amazing. Not only because everyone living in the house went, but also because it seems we packed so many different things into one trip. For one, our transport was quite varied:

• Walking
• Mountain Biking
• Swimming
• Tuk-Tuk
• Jumbo (like a tuk-tuk, but a retrofitted pick-up truck)
• Rickety wooden boat
• Long ferry boat
• Kayak
• Elephant

Compared to Vietnam, Lao is a peaceful sleepy country. The city of Luang Prabang, where we spent most of the week, is a World Heritage City. I suppose mainly because of this UNESCO designation (of which Quebec City is as well), the city is a tad bit too touristy for my liking. Too many French-style cafés serving baguettes and croissants. I suspect the average Lao or Luang Prabang resident doesn't (or can't afford to) eat in these restaurants.

Here are some photos of my trip

Kids egging on a monk to throw down jackfruits.

After losing 3 house mates because of the treacherous climbing and the unkown reward, we came upon this beautiful set of cascading waterfalls. Amazingly deep and blue. We spend way too long here.
The village we overnighted in during our kayak trip. Complete with chickens, boars, palm trees, a giant hornets nest in the room, friendly Lao people, and the drunk Lao guy who we heard vomit all night long.

We took an hour and a half boat ride to see a whole in a cliff (a cave, they call it) with 2000 buddha's in it.

The scariest ride I have ever had in my life. I kept thinking of how the inability to sue people for responsibility in much of the developping world means that safety provisions haven't been instituted. It was raining and muddy going up these mud cliffs. I kept seeing my housemate's giant elephant slip in the mud, and wondered how my seemingly less-experienced and smaller elephant would be able to climb it.