The inclusion of informal waste workers in solid waste management planning

Informal waste workers plying the streets of Hanoi, Vietnam

I wrote this in my previous job as Waste Management Project Officer. I'm posting it now.

In developing countries where there is often a lack of services offered by traditional structures, there is often a more important role given to the informal sector. The informal sector is mostly composed of self-employed people who have organized their own business without necessarily having official status (through acquiring a permit, having a proper storefront, etc). One important service many municipalities are falling short on in rapidly developing cities is that of waste management. City governments are having a difficult time cleaning up after more a more affluent lifestyle that leaves huge amounts of waste and packaging in its wake.

Making up this shortage, there are throngs of informal waste workers plying the streets buying re-marketable waste from houses and picking through garbage. They are then able to sell those recyclables to intermediaries – junk shops – and make a small profit in the meantime. It should be clear that the reason for the waste workers to enter the sector is neither to clean up the streets nor to help reduce the amount of resources being sent to landfill. They enter this sector because they may lack the skills or education necessary to be employed in a formal sector, or lack the necessary amount of capital to open a stall or store. The most beneficial aspect of the waste trade is that it only requires some mobility… and well, perhaps a strong voice in order to carry a melodic call for recyclables through the streets. You can hear them everyday calling out to houses… “Booooooooooottles! Plaaaaaaaaaaastic! I will buy your bottles!”

The work is difficult, hauling large bags of paper, cardboard, plastic or glass through the streets or else transporting it with a flimsy bicycle. Despite the laborious nature of the work, there are fringe benefits. Workers are able to work on a flexible schedule, can take extended leaves if they want and are able to make some extra money by working more as they wish. These benefits are particularly important for women. Mothers are able to take on traditional roles in the household while they can also have some extra work when time allows, helping low-income families bridge financial gaps.

Cities like San Fernando La Union, where I was working in the Philippines, are expanding their waste pick-up and recycling services trying to make up for years of not being able to address the increasingly present waste problem. However in expanding this service informal waste workers are being squeezed out of their income. As incomes are increasing in many brackets, the people at the bottom are often stuck in the same situation. More so, many city dwellers look at informal waste workers as undesirable and uncivilized symbols of 3^rd world poverty (I use the term 3^rd world purposefully).

Policies in developing cities often address the lack of municipal waste management services while ignoring the effects on the informal sector. The sector is mostly composed of low-income individuals either trying to make supplementary income for their family or relying entirely on the income of buying and selling waste. Most urban dwellers support these policies because they not only get rid of waste in the street, but have political machinery and policies that prohibit any waste pick up other than municipal, effectively shutting out the informal sector.

It is therefore incredibly important that this group of workers, the informal workers, be able to benefit from the increased development in creating structures that do not limit their ability to collect waste. As well, it is important that policies be put in place that encourage the hiring of women for private companies when under contract by the city.  Programs that help train and organise women working in the informal waste sector could help them be included in the switch to a more formal structure.

It is incredibly fundamental that with this modernization, government policy makers ensure that those at the bottom of the waste management stream be able to also profit from development. Because the institutionalization and professionalization of the waste management sector often excludes women and the poor from participating, efforts must be made to ensure that programs are in place that allow them to make the step up to the formal sector. The accessible work that the informal sector provides has been instrumental in helping people in poverty to make ends meet; this cannot be forgotten by policymakers.    

Acupuncture

My wrist has been hurting me for quite few months now, and in the last week it has gotten pretty bad. So bad, that I could not type or even drive my electric scooter.

My co-worker suggested to me I try her acupuncture doctor. Cheaper than "Western Medecine," I thought, why not? I had never been acupuntured (hehe) before, but definitely would try it.

The acupuncture doctor practises from the bottom floor of his home. It's about 4 metres by 5 metres, and is divided with a small wooden screen. He was really excited to have a foreigner come to him, and he was even more excited to know that I could speak a little Vietnamese!

The treatment lasted about 5 minutes, where he poked my wrist with the same needle a couple times, and massaged my nerves. You could imagine how great that felt. I told him I was dizzy, so he made me lay down. He then proceeded to feed me longans, not allowing me to feed myself. I was lying there on the hard bamboo table while an old bearded Vietnamese man fed me fruit. Next time, he told me I should eat before I come over.

It cost me about 3 dollars for the treatment, but I was kind of hoping for something a little more therapeutic. In the end, I decided to go over to Yakushi Centre on Xuan Dieu to try out their treatment. It was definitely worth it. I paid twice as much, but it lasted a whole hour. They even attached an electrical source and soft shocks pulsed through my arm and hand.

In the end my wrist is doing a lot better... But still having difficulty typing and riding my bike. As for the cause, apparently it is tendinitis.

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)!

Lenin Park

Literally across my new place is Lenin Park.

It's a small little triangular park dedicated to the Russian communist. Cat my new housemate and I have been enjoying the sights. We sit and stare at kids and teens break-dancing, robo-dancing, spinning on rollerblades and spinning soccor balls on their arms, head, and feet.

Oh and, babies driving around in mini cars.

(I apologise for the poor quality of my camera phone)

Cat and I laughed about how all these kids have to perform amazing things to get attention, and all we have todo is walk through the park and people turn their heads and stare.

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.

My House and Neighbourhood in Hanoi

My camera has been stolen, so until then you will have to put up with photos from my mobile phone.

I should mention that I am moving to a new house soon. I figure now would be a good time to post about my current neighbourhood and house.

I live in the middle of a giant block. Between the two streets is a densely packed neighbourhood that one can access only through the alleyways that sprawl through the block like veins. In order to reach my house, you have to take a right from the main street, turn right, then turn left, go through a covered tunnel-like structure, pass the canal, take a right, then the left, then right, then left, then right, then left, then right again until you get to a dead end. This is about 10 minutes walk from the main road upon which my address is based. Taxi's cannot reach my house, let alone the fire truck (if there even is one in this city).

I find it completely amazing how houses organically sprung up from the ground. Pressures as a result of the loosening up of the tightly controlled Vietnamese market, called Đổi Mới, allowed for the dividing up of previously large tracts of land. As a result, you often see small one-level buildings surrounding by narrow 5-floor houses that were built on what I assume was one large housing-lot. The average house is only about 3-4 metres wide, but stretches 5 metres deep and 5 storeys tall, mainly because local taxes are based on the width of a building rather than the actual area.

Walking through the maze of alleyways, it seems like houses were pieced together like a puzzle, one house being built to another, and other just filling up spaces between two randomly places houses on a lot. The alleys came later, as spaces between buildings for moving people, bicycles and motorbikes. Alleyways hold their own businesses and shops. Along the way to my house from the street I pass by a school, a vegetarian-food lady, many hair salons, guesthouses, food sellers, motorbike repair and wash shops, etc. Within the same block, there are many other alleys that are densely lined with these businesses, mimicking a main street. The block also has a huge square surrounded by houses where vegetables, meat and prepared foods are sold. You wouldn't know such a place was there unless you lived in the area and came across it somehow.

Starting in the morning, people on bicycles ride through the maze of alleys singing a jingle for the products they sell. There's people selling phở, bread, fried rice cakes, and people willing to buy your recyclables, or broken appliances, etc. It's a city within a city. And the best part is aside from the singing of the sellers and the kids playing in the alley, there is no street noise.

Vegetarian Hanoi

I've been here for about 9 months now. On the first day I arrived, I headed straight to this vegetarian restaurant I found on the New Hanoian. It is still one of my favourite vegetarian restaurants, and I go there at least once a week, if not several times a week. However, I have discovered quite a few vegetarian places within a 15-20 minute radius of my house. I use places because most of them are not really restaurants. They are usually people who set up some plastic stools and tables on the main floor and cook out of their kitchens once or twice a day (the picture above is of a street vendor who sells vegetarian Bun Cha and spring rolls at lunch).  Just counting on my hand, there are 6 of these places, if I include the lady who sells vegetarian food out of her freezer in my alley.

I imagine there are many more of these places, as about 4 of them were discovered just by chance of walking by and actually paying attention to what a sign says (ie. there was a certain threshold I passed in learning Vietnamese where I realised I can read and understand the world around me). The best places are usually these, the ones that are far into the alleys and are serving food in their living room! They also usually sell food for less than a dollar.

Dairy Is Hot...

Thinking about pocketting that disk of La Vache Qui Rit or that brick of butter? Think again!

Twitter Twit Twittering.... Tweet!

So I've finally given into Twitter. Now anyone can track me down by either checking out the Twitter Gadget on the right side of this blog, or following me on Twitter.com (please add me!).

Now I can let the world know when I am stuck in a squatter toilet with no toilet paper:

delucajon OMG, that Vietnamese sandwich I ate at lunch wanted to get out fast, squatter- and no tp hehe LMAO-literally. sent from mobile 22 minutes ago

In reality, it's because of my new job. As communications officer, I was given the responsibility of "figuring out" social media (probably because I am the youngest at work). How can I resist? I can spend hours reading about how Twitter and Facebook can help raise awareness. And my boss can't tell when I'm on the organisation's Facebook account or my own!

All this reading on social media convinced me my life would be much better if only I could summarise it in a 140 character message that's beamed across the internet.

So......   follow me!

Cockroach Encounters

Photo: Definitely not the largest I've encountered. This was in a bathroom in Halong City. 

 

The other day while cooking some pasta, a cockroach popped it's head out from my house mates cupboard just above the stovetop. I panicked. I grabbed a can of Raid (or more like Rade, considering the knock-offs they have here) and trembled as I tried to extinguish it's life. 

I thought above writing a post about this in story-form. But then figured it might be boring. So I thought, why not write it from the Cockroaches perspective?

'Exquisite!' I say aloud. A little bit too loud, so I glance over at my little larvae hanging out near the bottle of olive oil to make sure they are still asleep. I've come across a bag of Swiss muesli, a welcome change from the usual cupboard full of dried noodles and bottles of soy sauce in the next house over. Though I usually avoid lighted areas, I slowly make my way to the other side of the door. I am kindly rewarded. Underneath me is some sort of giant shiny cylindrical object that is rattling faintly and spewing steam from its sides while a comfortably hot airy mass hugs it's way up the cupboard. I rub my antennae together, soaking up as much heat as i can before i retreat back into the frigid 35 degree cupboard and it's strange foodstuff.

But wait- Sensing something i quickly freeze my antennae. Just beyond the silvery cylinder, a shadow slowly comes into focus. It looks strangely assembled. I long vertical body, with a silly and round top, and only two visible limbs. It moves closer, and then notice it is awkwardly moving on another set of two limbs. What a strange and sad creature. Surely, it too has come to bathe in the steam and warmth of this cylindrical god i have come to worship.

This sluggish creature moves so slow, i think to myself. It's surely taken it a whole 2 minutes just to saddle up to this silver steam god. Quickly, i notice this creature is also in possession of some strange metal cylindrical god. In one of its limbs it holds it up above the steaming god, closer to me. I then notice that attached to this large limb, there are four more limbs – no- five. Four are wrapped around this new cylindrical deity while another is firmly sitting on top.

SHIT – It dawns on me.... This is the monster from the tales grandma told me about. The ladybug coloured metal cannister filled with a water so potent it will send my exoskeleton into shock. I quickly dart to the other side of the cabinet. I wait to see if this sluggish creature can catch me in time, I can hardly contain my breath. I dash back over to where I emerged and the loudest most shrill screech escapes from the metallic devil. Deafened not only by this deathly noise, but also from my pin-head sized heart pumping, I finally seek refuge inside the cupboard. Shaking, I wait between a package of oatmeal and a bottle of fish sauce.....

How The Incompetence of Hong Kong Immigration Officials Ruined My Trip

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my trip to China did not go exactly as planned. I was supposed to go to Guangzhou with Diep, where he would buy clothes (and of course, so would I), and then head to Hong Kong with Diep for 3 or 4 days, meeting a friend who I had previously met while travelling in Malaysia. It was a very simple trip, one that required me to get a visa for China, and one that required Diep get one for Hong Kong.

The trouble started when we picked up our visas (for HK visas, the Chinese Embassy handles the processing). Instead of the double-entry visa I was supposed to get (once entering China by land at the Vietnam border, and again when coming back into China from Hong Kong), I only got a single entry. Fixing it would mean 90$ USD and 5 more days, both of which I could not afford. The plan then was to get another Chinese visa while I was in Hong Kong. They would be less expensive and can process them in a couple days.

Second trouble: The travel agent advises us Diep cannot travel to Hong Kong by land. He must arrive at the international airport. I thought this was ridiculous, as all the research I had done about HK visas did not make any mention of this condition.

I took it into my own hands. I called the HK Immigration department. I also e-mailed them. And my Hong Kong friend also called them, to confirm in Cantonese. All the same answers were given: Vietnamese citizens do need a visa, but that there are no different types of visas. If you have a visa for Hong Kong you can enter however you like. You could teleport if you wanted. We hadn't gotten the visa back by then, and so we decided to just wait.

Despite this, the visa Diep got had some random stamp at the bottom, only written in Chinese characters. A translation by my roommate who can read the script: The holder of this visa must enter Hong Kong by international airport. Crap.

Finally it dawned on us, and this was later confirmed by the travel agent: The reason why the visas issued by the Chinese embassy say this is because you can't travel through China to get to Hong Kong; you would need a Chinese visa for that! Good news: Both Diep and I already had Chinese visas, and the agent confirmed this with us. When we crossed the border into China, Diep confirmed with the immigration official that this was the case: She said if he has visas for both, then he can enter HK. We were relieved to have this burden lifted off our chests.

After spending a couple days in Guangzhou we headed off to Hong Kong. Only a couple hours by bus, and my friend organised everything for us. She was waiting for us at the hotel she had arranged for us to stay at. We get to the border and... refused. I spent an all of 20 minutes in Hong Kong waiting for Diep to come out of the same kiosque as I had. Finally, after some hassling, I managed to convince an officer to take me to Diep's interrogation room.

It turns out, despite all the confirmations by Hong Kong and Chinese immigration officials, Diep has no choice but to enter by international airport. We were told that instead of paying $400 USD to fly from Guangzhou to HK, we could take the ferry to the airport, and then pass through customs from there. Only, we had to go back to China... except.... my visa is only a single entry, and I had already left China! No problem. Nothing a 2-hour wait in a stale waiting room can't solve!

We took the bus to Shenzen, and we were told that we can take a taxi to Shekou Port, and from there take the ferry to HK airport. This was confirmed not only by HK officials but the Chinese officials who escorted us back into China with the other criminals who had been refused entry.

We took a 45 minute taxi ride to the port and finally reached the medium by which we would enter the country: by water.

We get to the ticket counter, and the lady informs us it is impossible to enter Hong Kong by the airport in this way. It is only for departures.

I should mention that I was extremely sick at this time, displaying what some may describe as swine-flu symptoms. I felt like shit, but I kept my determination up until the ferry. I was ready to cough in the lady's face and then jump the boat to hijack it and make my way to their dumb Special Administrative Unit of Hong Kong.

Instead we turned around and went back to Guangzhou. I then spent all of my Hong Kong money on new clothes in Guangzhou, and decided to head back to Hanoi.

I can't understand how a government can be so incompetent and unaware of it's own laws and regulations. Diep has a 90$ Hong Kong visa in his passport that he'll never be able to use (and 90$ is a lot of money in Vietnam).

Clouds over Hanoi

It hasn't been raining too much over here, not as much as a expected. When it does rain, though, it rains like hell.

The other day I decided to leave work early. I'm glad that I had, because as soon as I climbed my up to the 4th floor it startd pouring like crazy.

I waited a couple hours before heading out to the western food market to buy black beans and hamburger buns (8 months is way too long to go without eating a homemade veggie burger!).

As Lélé and I putted away on my electric scooter we spotted a giant rainbow hugging the horizon. In the food store we noticed the strange glow coming from outside. The outside was bathed in a subdued golden colour. When we got out of the store, this was what we saw:


I don't remember the name of these clouds (skimming the Wikipedia article on clouds and googling 'Nipple Clouds' didn't work), but I know I've read about these clouds before.

I remember a couple summers ago in Montreal there was an amazing rain storm and I remember standing on Roz's balcony on Clark Street with Butskies and Roz staring in amazement at the texture of the clouds. That was the first time I had seen these clouds.

Here in Hanoi I was equally amazed. Driving back to the house, Lélé and I noticed how everybody had stopped their motorbikes to take photos of the sky with their mobile phones.

Oh Rainy Days!

The glistening surface of my flooded alley. Maybe about 30 cm.

Ok so, I never knew what monsoon weather meant. Even after learning about it in climatology class, I never really understood what made that different from our May Showers in Canada.

Well. Now I know that monsoon means a shitload of rain, wind, lightning and thunder in a short period of time. And this is usually followed by about 20 minutes of cooler weather, until the hot blazing sun comes back as well as the hazy humidity.

The night before last, there was a crazy storm that kept waking me up all night. Flashes of non-stop paparazzi lightning and jack-hammer rain pattering kept me tossing and turning from about 2am until maybe 6am. I kept waking up to open up my balcony door, expecting to see a witch on a motorbike cackle at me à la Wizard of Oz.

No witch. But my alleyway was flooded. My house is more elevated than the neighbours, and I could see they had sandbagged their living room and were using buckets to drain the knee-high water out of their house.

I decided that rather than risk getting an electric shock by driving my electric scooter to work (I ask: Can that happen?), Diep would drive me to work on his real motorbike. Bad choice. The larger boulevard, Kim Ma, was completely jam packed because it is about the only street in the area that doesn't flood (not something I call good engineering, but slightly better engineering). I sat there on the motorbike for about 10 minutes. Enough time to breathe in about 100 different toxic compounds and snap a few photos.

Kim Ma street grid lock. This is about the only street that doesn't periodically flood

We turned around to go back through my alley and out the other street, Doi Can. It seemed to have less traffic. We quickly realised it was seemingly traffic-free because two giant lakes at each side of my alleyway prevented any vehicles from passing. It was a real riot, people just idling and watching other motorbikes try and make the devilish feat across the lake, one-eye closed hoping water won't enter the exhaust pipe. We were not about to try that.

Doi Can street. Looks like some people decided to make the leap.

So. I went back home. Flood day!

Here's a video of when we decided to go back through the main alleyway. You'll notice a little bit of flooding.... but you soon realise that flood water came from the overloaded open-sewage canal! Just put your feet up.

(Once you hit the 35 second mark, you pass the alleyway to head to my house)

Cheap Eats: Breakfast in Vietnam

This morning I popped out of bed and decided I wanted to go and try bun bo Hue for breakfast. I had seen it on the breakfast menu of my favourite vegetarian restaurant, and and though it was twice as expensive as the usual breakfast item, pho, at only about 1.15 USD a bowl it was still a steal.

The vegetarian version of this soup from Hue has vegetarian beef and rice noodles and is flavoured with chilies and lemongrass. The main difference between pho noodles and bun noodles is that bun noodles are thin and round, and made fresh as I don't think they can be found dry. The soup also came with wedges of lime, more chilies (as if at the start of a 35+ degree day you really want to load up on the chilies), and a plate of fresh herbs and leafy greens.

It was different than what I am used to eating for breakfast: toast or cereal. No real Vietnamese would ever toast up some bread and spread it with peanut butter. It's still pretty rare to find a toaster or even an oven in the typical Vietnamese household.

The other day I introduced Diep to cereal. He didn't know what it was, but when I described it to him, he instantly knew what I was talking about. He had seen it on TV and in movies. Eager to try this new food, he followed me in the kitchen where I filled up a bowl with granola. He wasn't sure what to do next, so I instructed him to pour milk in the bowl. I had to do it for him, as he wasn't sure how much to put in.

In the end, he didn't really like it. It was cold and sweet. Something he just wasn't used to eating in the morning. I thought maybe we could alternate breakfasts between eating sticky rice and tofu (which is what he's been making) and cereal.

Oh well. I guess I'll just have to get used to eating more Vietnamese breakfasts, or risk him leaving so early in the morning.... trying to escape my dry toast and cold wet cereal!

Maybe tomorrow I'll get the 60-cent pho bo chay.

Hot Wheels: Electric Scooter

On my motorbike in front of my house

So I splurged. With the financial help of my parents, I bought a brand new electric scooter!

The Yamaha Metis was a little bit expensive, but still dirt cheap compared to the price one of these would cost in Canada. I just still have to ride my bicycle to the market, or else the market vendors will overcharge me for sure!

Gone are the days of biking in 38 degree weather, or else having to take a motorbike taxi or wait for my friend to come and pick me up. Gone are the days where I arrive at a dinner in the old quarter, panting in front of my dinner friends with dark patches of sweat slowly expanding in size over my chest and back.

And those days have been more and more often. Except for a couple odd days this past week where the temperature felt a chilly 28 degrees, I don't think ithas dropped below 35 for months.

Now I can zoom around in my exhaust-free scooter, planting trees and flowers in my wake. Seriously. Instead of carbon monoxide and volatile organic compounds spewing from the bike, hearts, stars and little princesses come out to tell you happy stories that smell like raspberry sorbet and vanilla.

You'd think this was true by some of the looks I get riding around! Sometimes I notice in my peripheral vision, a motorbike that seems to be riding at exactly the same speed as me. I only need to turn my head slightly to see a motorbike with three Vietnamese construction workers squeezed onto the tiny seat, all squinting at me with a puzzled look on their face. In those cases just nod and smile.

It's a pretty sweet bike. It goes about 40 km on one charge, takes about 4-6 hours to charge, and can reach up to 30-40 km/h. Traffic is often slow enough that I pass cars, motorbikes and bicycles easily!

Here's your chance: I haven't named my bike yet, so I need your help. I want to you help think of a name for it! Please leave your suggestions in the comments!

Asian Realisation #2 - I am Cool

As if some sort of force out there is correcting an imbalance, I am now officially cool.

9-year old Jonathan would never believe that 24-year old Jonathan would be walking around the streets with complete strangers waving and saying Hello! Yeah. If kids said Hello to 9-year old Jonathan, it was probably to distract him while another kid would run over to trip him. They would then steal his package of Jolly Ranchers and run off.

No, not even 13-year old Jonathan would believe that people would want to be his friend, let alone talk to him. If someone would have told me 12 years ago, that 15-year olds would see me in the street and yell YO! How are you!, and give me a thumbs up I would have told them they had one too many blue-razz Slurpees.

There is justice in the world.
Welcome to Vietnam.

Asian Realisation #1 - I am Handsome

Dislaimer: This is an old photo, and I am slightly more handsome than portrayed in this candid shot

It didn't take me too long in this country to realise that people find me handsome. The first day in the office sitting around a table full of Vietnamese women (95% of the staff were female) all blushing telling me they didn't realise I would be so handsome kind of tipped me off. Many times when I visit a store, storekeepers tell me how handsome I am or call me dep trai - handsome in Vietnamese. It makes me feel awkward and sometimes I pretend that I don't know what I am supposed to say.

Even more embarrassing is when these shop owners go and grab their daughters from upstairs in an attempt to kindle some sort of multi-cultural romance too strong to be stopped by the limits of language. The other night, in Can Tho, I stopped by a smoothie street stall to grab a custard apple and avocado smoothie (my favourite). A girl in her mid-twenties served me kind of giggling. She immediately called over her mother and they began chatting to each other and trying to decide on words to say to me. The girl told me I was some hand. And they were grilling me trying to find out if I was married.

She ran inside her house and came out with a younger girl - the other girl's sister. She looked rather messy, as if she had been plucked from her bed. Her hair was tied up and she had pink pyjamas on. Her mother pushed her towards my direction and was telling me to talk to her. I just smiled and awkwardy stirred my drink.

Her mother then pointed to her daughter and leaned into me saying I love you me, and giggled. Her daughter just stood there unamused - this was obviously not the first time.

I wouldn't say that I am ugly - but I am definitely not worth the credit I am given here. I don't know what it is they see - the large nose, the big ears, maybe way my eyes widen out in the centre...

I am also popular with the men... I won't go into too much detail in this blog, but I have been in situations where straight men cannot stop mentioning how handsome I am (something that, now that I think of it, is somewhat of a fantasy for many gay men...). I must mention that it is much more acceptable her for both men and women to complement someone in this way.

But let's just say... I don't want to get used to this attention... or else I'm in for a depressing reality when I get back to Canada!

Gratuitous Video Scene #4: Hanoi at Sunset

This is the route between the tailor and my place.
This road separates West Lake from Truc Bach Lake, and connects to the Tay Ho neighbourhood.
You can hear my friend Zed oozing on about how she wants to watch the sunset with her boyfriend.

Romance is a farce
(yes, maybe that is the stage I'm in now)

Food in Vietnam

Food is my life. Anybody who knows me well knows that I love to cook and eat things. Cooking is half the fun. And sometimes it's all the fun, especially when a recipe doesn't work out.

It's hard sometimes to stroll the streets here in Hanoi and find something that I can eat. But when I find something, I can't be happier. It's not uncommon for me to be walking completely full from a meal, and to pass by some food vendor selling some sort of delicious snack food and totally cave in. At the moment I'm in love with chè, a gloppy concoction of sweet beans sprinkled with candied fruit or lotus seeds.

Though I haven't yet mastered the art of making chè, I've been quickly trying to learn how to make Vietnamese food. I took a cooking class in Hoi An (in Central Vietnam) and Bangkok. That's one souvenir I want to bring back home with me: the art of making Southeast Asian food. I learned how to make peanut sauce, green and red chili paste, pad Thai, Penang curry, green papaya salad, Isaan, dau phu sot ca chua (tofu sauteed with tomatoes), dau phu xa ot (tofu with lemongrass and chili), banh xeo (Vietnamese savoury pancakes) among others.

Whenever I go back to Montreal, my friends should brace themselves for delicious Southeast Asian feasts.

Start fasting now.