Monthly Archives: August 2009

This ain’t no wedding!

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Spot the odd one out

Spot the odd one out

My first morning after arriving in Vietnam was to be spent at the wedding of a friend of Thao, my kind guide. Only I discovered the night before that it wasn’t a wedding at all but an engagement ceremony / party. It seems here that more emphasis is put on the engagement than on the wedding which follows. In a way, this does make sense. After all, the engagement is where the initial promises are made – getting married is only a confirmation of those promises.

Either way, it was wonderful to have the invitation and I dressed as well as I could for the occasion. Which was not very well, I admit. My only long trousers (which needed to go in the laundry but seeing as I ripped the crotch out of my only other pair the night before, this hadn’t been possible) and my ProDive Bali polo shirt, as it’s the only thing I have with a collar on. Not exactly classy, but thankfully nobody seemed to mind.

We come bearing gifts...

We come bearing gifts...

Thao looked far better in a traditional white ao dai. I don’t think I quite have the figure for one, but it would still have looked better on me than the clothes I picked.

It took us an hour to get there with me driving and Thao guiding. Or trying to. We managed to get completely befuddled by a one-way system, something that Thao says has never happened to her before. Fortunately, one of her friends met us at a petrol station and was very easy to follow in the crowded traffic, being that she was wearing a striking pink outfit.

I was made to feel very welcome by everyone when we got there, and was the only obvious westerner. I did talk to one chap from the US and a young boy from Canada both of whom were obviously of Vietnamese heritage. I was pleasantly surprised by how many people spoke English of varying levels and was more than happy to sit and chat with as many as possible.

Thao in ao dai

Thao in ao dai

Soon enough, though, the “bride” arrived and the ceremony began. It was very simple and I couldn’t follow a lot but what I did see and picked up from Thao follows.

A selection of large round boxes are handed to the bride’s side of the family by the groom’s – men pass them to women, one of whom was Thao. These are filled with small gifts such as fruits and placed in a table.

In front of this table, the fathers of the bride and groom introduce their families to each other – it all seemed very informal and there was a lot of laughing. Half of the contents of the boxes are taken by the bride’s family and half left alone.

And the ring goes on

And the ring goes on

The bride and groom then take centre stage and the engagement ring is slipped onto the bride’s finger – formalising the engagement. Much applause and smiles all around! The bride then takes some tea and offers it cup by cup to all the members of the families.

After this, they all disappeared upstairs. Virtually all Vietnamese households have a shrine to their ancestors and this house was no different. I didn’t see this part, but a ceremony took place whereby the engagement is “shown” to these ancestors so that they can approve of their descendents’ actions.

Then we ate.

Lots.

And I thank the families for their generosity! The food was excellent and the conversation both enlightening and enjoyable. I only had about a pint of beer, but Thao decided I was “drunk” so she drove me back to the hotel.

Before this, though, one more part if the ceremony had to be observed. The half-empty boxes brought in at the start were officially handed back by the bride’s side to the groom’s. The bride and groom also very kindly let me have a snap with them.

Again, thank you so much, people. Hopefully everything here is correct – by all means if I’ve cocked up any details, do let me know and I’ll update it.

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Good evening, Vietnam! Again…

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Visit number five to Vietnam and number three to Ho Chi Minh City. This time was to be my first with a “local” guide in the form of Thao who I’ve been chatting to online for almost two years now, I think. She originally spotted my blog post about climbing Fansipan, which she was planning on doing, and we’ve been in touch ever since.

The flight was on time and otherwise uneventful. What was different was Tan Son Nhat airport. There has been a lot of work done on it since the last time I used it (only a year ago) to the point that I thought I was in a new airport. Some things don’t change, though, and you still have the thieving taxi drivers trying to charge you double what they should for the short ride into the city centre.

Cheapest option is still the public bus at 3000d per ticket, but Thao had given me prices to ask for if I could find a xe om. Unfortunately you simply won’t get a motorcycle around the international terminal. I found a taxi firm that charged me a dollar (well, 20000d which is more than a dollar but they wouldn’t take the $1 bill I had as it was too dirty) to call Thao who very kindly said she’d come and pick me up.

I walked to the domestic terminal to wait for her. While I was there, about three men asked me if I wanted a motorcycle. They did this very subtly, like the morons on the street in Mumbai trying to sell you drugs. The reason for this is that they have no license to pick people up from the airport and are just parked in the public car park. However, I reckon they’ll be a cheap way to get into the town if you don’t want to handle the buses. Thao quoted me around 20000d as a fair fare for one of these chaps. Note that she’s Vietnamese so doubtless gets it cheaper than a foreigner!

However, Thao wasn’t too long and it was lovely to finally meet her. It took me half an hour to find out what she looked like as she wore a typical Vietnamese face-covering while she motorbiked. We got to the hotel quickly enough and she helped me check in as we were in a very non-foreigner part of town.

After a shower (oh, I so needed that) and a change of clothes (I ripped the groin out of the pair I was wearing getting onto her bike – whoops) Thao took me to a restaurant a couple of doors along for a very nice dinner. The chap serving us spoke a very small amount of English and took delight in striking up a conversation with me to practise. Always glad to help!

By now we were both running on empty so I retired to my room with plans for Thao to collect me in the morning to head up to a wedding party where she was one of the bridesmaids. Exciting!

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Bye Bye Bangkok – Again!

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I’m just about to shut down the netbook and go catch the Airport Express to Suvarnabhumi Airport once more. Another great visit to Bangkok, a city I really love. Quick waves out to all the lovely people I met here, especially Laura, Barbera and the lovely people at the TRSC centre and the HQ Hostel. Cheers, guys!

I will get around to putting up the missing blog posts at some point. I’ve either been too busy or too lazy over the last week or so to write them…

Next posts will be from (or at least about) Ho Chi Minh City, a wedding I’ve been invited to and a 6-day motorcycle trip around south Vietnam. Stay tuned!

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Thai ATMs – the saga continues

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After the fun of finding out that the Thai banks seem to have formed some sort of “let’s screw the farang” cartel, I have more infornation on getting free money out of their ATMs.

First up, as far as I can ascertain the Government Savings Bank is free for all, but only accepts Visa cards.

HSBC took my card fine and didn’t charge, but I think it only accepts Visa cards.

UOB seems to work a treat as well with no charges for my Visa or Barbera’s Dutch Maestro card.

However, Bank of Ayudhya is hit and miss. I withdrew cash from the Khao San Road branch with my Nationwide Visa ATM card for no fee. I met a Dutch couple the day after who had used the exact same branch and paid the 150 Baht “you’re a foreigner, give us your cash because we hate tourists” tax.

As such, I would say the simple rule is to try as many machines as you can especially if you’re non-UK and/or using a non-Visa card. I will do my best to keep information on this blog up to date but realistically I can only test with my UK Nationwide Visa.

Now does anyone have an address I can write to to voice my complaints about the fees? For a country trying to rebuild its tourism, they’re really doing their best to alienate foreigners. 150 Baht works out to be the largest (by far) “foriegner tax” I’ve yet seen at an ATM.

If you have any concrete hints/experience which I can add to the list then please leave a comment. Let’s try and work around this mess.

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The Thai massage: pain or pleasure?

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The gentle waft of Tiger Balm. The soft plucking of strings played back on a dodgy old stereo. A comfortable pillow behind your head. And a small woman with amazingly strong hands seemingly trying to poke holes right through your body with each extended finger. Then the sound of an electric drill as the person next door hangs a picture. Or builds a wall. Or a new house.

Welcome to getting a Thai massage near the pier in Thewet, north west of Bangkok city centre. At 150 Baht it ranks as the cheapest massage I’ve had in Thailand. After an hour I can also tell you it was one of the best.

The little shop I chose sits just round the corner from a 7-Eleven (where doesn’t in Bangkok?) and fronts onto a market. Just outside, vegetables are being sold. A few yards away it’s all fish and just over the river is the flower market.

However, all this matters not a jot as I let my mind float while my body is abused and scrunched by a young Thai girl with the strength of three US Marines on steroids. And, boy, does it feel good.

Judging by the welcome I receive, this isn’t a shop that normally sees many farang. Especially not those carrying two rucksacks (I was on my way to switch hostels at the time). One chap who’s working on an older lady’s legs is the only English-speaker in the shop but this in no way prevents an overwhelming sense of politeness emanating from the other two staff.

Gently my bags are laid down in the corner and I’m gestured towards one of the beds. A fresh sheet is placed down and cover wrapped around the comfy pillow. I remove my shoes and rather guiltily allow the young masseuse to wash my feet, I say guiltily as due to a combination of street dust, humidity and those bloody Crocs I bought in Darwin my toes and ankles are coated in a foamy grey scum. I know I wouldn’t want to go near them if they were attached to another person.

However, this brave woman doesn’t wrinkle one nostril as she wipes all the gunk away with a damp cloth before directing me to lie back. My legs and torso are covered in another clean sheet and the pressure begins to be applied.

Deceptively gently at first, more a rubbing than a squeezing, my left leg gets a minute or two of nice sensations before the thumbs, fingers, elbows and knees are employed. For some reason this is still pleasurable. I think it’s the fact that the skilled practitioners with their steely grips know just how long to apply any pressure before the recipient will break down.

After my leg has been pummelled, twisted, pulled and the toe knuckles popped, she moves over to the other and repeats everything. Well, after I remove my camera from one of my pockets as it was nestled just where she needs to grip me to paralyse one of my thighs.

Legs complete, my left then right arm are subjected to similar (mis)treatment and then I’m gestured at to roll over.

Once more the feet get the first attention as my young torturess works her way up to my back and shoulders. At one point she is kneeling on me, knees embedded in my lower back as she kneads the knotted muscles of my neck. I swear they weren’t knotted when I came in. They bunched up in terror as her hands approached.

The big impressive move is to maintain that kneeling position as she grabs my wrists. I lift my shoulders off the bed and she arches my spine in a way it rarely gets arched these days. I feel like the runners on a rocking horse, only more relaxed.

Finally, she motions for me to sit up. Positioning herself cross-legged I’m invited to lie back with my shoulders resting on the pillow in her lap. My head and neck are massaged and it’s very tingly. She doesn’t manage to crack my neck and I swear she’s disappointed by this.

She finishes with a deep wai and a “kawp khun kaaaa” which never seems right as it’s me who should be thanking her. The older lady who runs the shop gives me a cup of tea and the young man – while continuing his rub-down on the customer he was with when I entered – engages me in some brief conversation.

I hand over my 150 Baht, and 50 Baht for the girl herself as a tip. Even with that, it’s barely half what you expect to pay on the streets near Silom where I am now heading. For an hour in the skilled hands of someone who likely breaks three Charles Atlas Grip Strengtheners before breakfast this is an absolute bargain.

I step out with a spring in my step and my mind in a better place, walking through the fish market, past the flowers and on to the orange-flagged ferry heading south down the Chom Prayah.

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