Ein Deutscher Wochenende (A German Weekend)

On the way over to France I stopped off to see some friends in Germany. The town of Hildesheim where they live is near Hannover, i.e. in the northern part of central Germany. It's only a 2 1/2 hour drive to Berlin from there, I was surprised to find, or only 2 hours on the train. This is Europe, so that is a dependable two hours on a train that picks you up and drops you off on time. (I once went on a work trip in CA on Amtrak and the train was four hours late. I think there'd been a cow on the tracks... or something...)


A remarkable fact about Hildesheim is that the historic market square, pictured above and below, was completely leveled when the Allied air force ran the eighth and largest bombing mission on Hildesheim, a city of little military significance, on March 22, 1945, a little over six weeks before the Germans surrendered unconditionally to the Allies in Berlin.

According to Wikipedia, during the bombing "250 bombers dropped a total of 438.8 tons of high explosive and 624 tons of incendiary bombs. Almost 74% of the buildings in Hildesheim were destroyed or damaged during the attack, including nearly the entire historical city centre. About 1,500 civilians were killed in the attacks in March, of which about 500 could not be identified." It was a firestorm, is what my German friends have been told. (They didn't grow up in this area and were born after the war.) Like Dresden, only lesser known.

Between 1984-1990 the historic center was reconstructed using the old methods of construction as much as possible. I thought it was interesting that there are modern art and anti-war scenes cached on the undersides of the facade. (See picture above right).

A couple of small sections of the old town still exist and they give you a feel for what was lost. Hildesheim is one of the oldest cities in this part of Germany. It became the seat of the bishopric in 819 and was an important market town on the Hellweg, an ancient east-west trade route between the Rhine river and the mountains.

It's definitely Spring time in Germany. The Spargel, white asparagus, the German's aren't really interested in any other kind, is in the market, along with new potatoes and the first local strawberries. You know we had to try some of each, especially Spargel -- my friends have schooled me in the niceties of those fat white spears.

Spent some time at the Hannover Porsche dealership while K got the winter tires on his work car, a Cayenne (Porsche's version of the SUV), changed for the summer ones. It's a classy place with the expresso bar open and free for customers while they wait. I was liking the lines of the new Panamera Gran Turismo, which comes in high performance diesel, hybrid and regular gas models. But at twice the price of the Cayenne and a longer footprint, even K, a very Germanic flashy car type of guy, thought that would be a bit of a pig to drive. Even if I'd won the lottery for instance and had that kind of money that I would be willing to put on the street in the shape of a car. But a gal can fantasize, non?

Settling down into some concentrated writing time now that I'm in my little French village.

More soon, Küsschen for now.

N2

The Tiger Turns Two

It seems that time runs faster with each generation. It doesn't feel like twenty four months have passed and yet, the Corn Tiger turned two last week. The Dear Daughter started sewing banners a couple of weeks ago in the little time she has at night after the Boy is in bed. Uncle George arrived and got caught up in the fun of crafting the felt party hats. ("Pom poms! We must have pom poms!") My friend LC and I drove down the night before to help with the party prep.

Joon organizes the party hats.

Let's get this party started!

Party animals.

Sid proudly showed off his new room that Mama had painted and furnished as his birthday present.

Papa drew a special birthday message on the new blackboard wall.

Nana baked the two cocoa apple cakes.

Everybody brought presents.

Dumping finger

puppets on Papa.

A favorite gift from Rob.

Party dregs.

Time to get outside.

It was a fun family gathering with Papa's and Mama's families and friends well represented.

So glad I made it back from the Far East in time to be there!

More soon.

Cocoa apple kisses for now.

x0,

N2

Women's Day in Vietnam

What is observed on March 8 every year as Women's Day in Vietnam started as the Socialist political event called International Working Women's Day celebrating the accomplishments of women in politics, finance and community service. Hey, as a long term Working Woman (and I don't think I know any women who don't work, at home or at an office or in a restaurant or in a store... Oh, I see them out there, tottering about in sky high heels on the arm of a man twenty years older, I just don't know any of them as friends) I am wondering why we have not adopted that sense of this holiday in the "west" in our modern age of liberated women who "get" to go to work.

From the snippets I have seen here on the fringe of the Vietnamese culture, Woman's Day seems to have lost its political slant and men merely buy their wives a few flowers and take their mothers and families out to dinner. My brother's Vietnamese girlfriend did mention Women's Day coming up and jokingly told him that he would need to put on an apron and make dinner, though the fact that they are staying in a hotel in the middle of HCMC made that nearly impossible. In the guest house I just left here in Vung Tau, a returning Australian vet was also being chided by his Vietnamese girlfriend that she was expecting, wink wink, flowers and a shopping trip to the market for Women's Day.

As I walked around the center of Vung Tau last night and ate in an upper middle class local restaurant, there were a lot of people out and about for a Thursday night and any number of long tables of twenty or more filled with extended families having dinner together. After dinner as I walked on through the next district, I heard a woman singing traditional Vietnamese folk songs. I walked past on the sidewalk and peeked through an open door into what seemed like the district meeting room or community center where people were sitting at rows of large wooden school desks listening to her concert. Thinking about it later, I realized this might have been more of a communist party meeting with a Woman's Day program.

The communist party is still in control here, of course. Army uniforms are quite common, though sometimes I have a hard time deciding who is a security guard watching over parked motor scooters in front of a restaurant and who might be the party member watching over the local people. From my short time observing life here, I think the party members have often times just melded into the day to day activities of the community--making sure the kids and old ladies can wend their way through the chaotic scooter/car/bicycle traffic, giving tickets for scooter violations, watching over tourist areas to prevent thieves discouraging all that western money from pouring in to "develop" the country... I see the Vietnamese communist flag here and there, a small one flapping from the antenna on top of a taxi or catching the afternoon light at the center of the rainbow arch that runs over the street in front of the Palace Hotel, but haven't really seen the red flag with the yellow star being flown prominently from buildings in HCMC or Vung Tau, at least so far in my ramblings.

Meanwhile, back at Woman's Day... Something that struck me when I visited the Fine Arts Museum in Ho Chi Minh City a few days after I arrived, was how ever-present women were in the art there and how active and strong they are in every depiction. They aren't lounging naked on a chaise strategically draped with a small piece of sheer cloth or dancing prettily or sitting, staring thoughtfully at the painter a rich husband hired to record his wife's decorative, intelligent, sexy presence for posterity or even sitting with baby jesus on one knee, they are actively doing something, in many cases something central to the life of the community. Here are some examples of the art in the museum.

This last is one of my favorites, a carved lacquer.

The sculpture below was titled something like "The Gift of the Soil". For me it transmitted such a strong message. "Remember the land!" the old woman seems to be telling him. "Remember the fruits of your loins and your village!" the little girl reaches up with her own gift of a mango for her father.

That would be my message to the women, young and old, of Vietnam as their life is inevitably changed by the further incursion of western money and mores--Remember the land, your traditions, your love of family.

Hugs from the Palace Hotel on the edge of the South China Sea in Vung Tau.

x0,

N2

The Rex Hotel, Saigon

You might have heard a little something about the Rex Hotel in Saigon during the Vietnam war without knowing it, as it was in this hotel that the American military command, the MACV, would hold the daily press briefings which came to be known as "The Five O'clock Follies" because of the wide gap between the information being released about the war in the briefings and the day to day reality as lived by the reporters and soldiers. The terrace bar on the fifth floor of the Rex was a favorite stop after the meetings for drinks and a view of the sunset, often punctuated by the fireworks of war in the near distance.

The picture below, excepting the old taxis which were almost nonexistent then, is pretty close to what the Rex Hotel looked like when I arrived in Vietnam in 1989 along with a group of American veterans who came here with the permission of the US and Vietnamese governments to build a health clinic in Vung Tau side by side with a group of Vietnamese as an act of reparation and friendship.

And this is what the Rex looks like today, with traffic streaming by, though it was considerably quieter in that part of District 1 than it is where I am staying near Le Lai and Ngyuen Thi Nghia streets. I went over with my brother to have a cocktail in the rooftop bar Sunday evening around 6 pm.

View of the roundabout at Nguyen Hue and Le Loi Streets in front of the Rex

In '89, the Rex and the nearby Caravelle Hotel were about the only western style places to stay here in Saigon. The Rex was full up, so my video project partner and I stayed at the Caravelle and crossed over to the Rex for drinks and dinner of decent French or Chinese food accompanied by classical music played by a live quartet in the corner of the restaurant. I think the filet mignon and fries, steak frites, favored by my travel partner cost the equivalent of $1.50.

The Chinese restaurant at the Rex today

This Sunday, my brother had two margaritas, I had a Campari and soda and the bill came to $28 including tip -- a big increase in pricing since my last trip, but quite a bit cheaper than the equivalent experience at a five star hotel roof bar in San Francisco, and the weather is much more conducive to sitting outside in the evening.

There was a long table of western men of a certain age that could have been a group of American or Australian Vietnam War vets having a reunion and, in general, the dominate type of people having a drink at the Rex rooftop bar were westerners. You can tell that Vietnam is open for business and the capitalists are beginning to come around.

Kisses from Ho Chi Minh.

x0,

N2

That Side and This

The Corn Tiger and the Dear Daughter helped me with the packing at home, which went on until midnight in spite of my 5:30 am wake up call the next morning.

Ah, well, it included treasured moments such as CT "packing" himself into my suitcase and practicing jumping out, as he intended to do when he surprised me in Saigon. Sooo hard to resist! But his Mama insisted on keeping him home.

My dear friend C valiantly volunteered to pick me up and deposit me at the SoCo airport so I could catch the 6:45 am, an hour which is normally very late at night for me, shuttle to San Francisco Airport. The light was beautifully stark as we crossed the Golden Gate.

Getting to the plane and into the air went very smoothly. (SF International is one of my favorite terminals for just that reason.) The flight was lo-ong, of course, but it took 10 instead of the 14 hours on a very dry Northwest Airlines flight that I remember being pretty excruciating in 1989. We stopped over at Narita Airport in Japan, the same path I took with my video partner on that first trip. I am sure Narita has improved in the ensuing 23 years, at any rate, it, too, was easy to navigate, even in my jet-lagged state, and I whiled away the layover time getting a preview of the current Japanese culture -- interesting, even funny, snacks, respectful snack bar servers!, young Tokyo hipsters getting ready for their flight to Los Angeles ...

Then on to the next All Nippon Airways flight for the 6 hours to Vietnam. I sat next to a Vietnamese/American who immigrated to the US when he was six years-old. He lives with his family in Houston, Texas, and works for his father in the family-owned machine shop. He was traveling back to Vietnam to visit his grandmother here. One of the kinder and more helpful seat mates that I've had for awhile.

During landing on this flight, they displayed the feed from an "airplane nose cam", so we saw pictures of the touch down and the taxi to the terminal from that angle, a first for me and I do travel a bit, as you know. The new international terminal at Tan Son Nhat is right up to modern standards -- more windows open to check passports than at CDG in Paris or Kennedy in NY, the baggage came in more quickly and painlessly than it does at many airports in the world, much better than London Heathrow, that's for sure, where it is not unusual for your bag to just not show up. My brother and his lady friend were waiting for me at the exit and whisked me into the busy, warm and humid night life of Saigon.

So, I've made it to the other side of this pond.

More dispatches as the journey continues.

Hugs from Ho Chi Minh City for now.

x0,

N2

PS-Check the N2 & LC Dailies link in the upper right corner of this blog page for more pictures.

Return to Tan Son Nhat

This is about what the Tan Son Nhat airport looked like when I landed in Vietnam in 1989.

And this is what it looks like today, according to the search I did today for images.

I'll be there next Wednesday, so I will be able to report first hand. Yes, there will be pictures.

I'm going to do research for my first novel, which is nearing completion, i.e. second full draft done and editing in process. The novel is set in the San Francisco Bay Area, Bangkok and Vietnam in 1989 and is based on a trip I took there in '89 with a group of American vets who went back to Vietnam to build a clinic with the Vietnamese in Vung Tau, a town on the south coast.

I already know that Vietnam has undergone and is undergoing a sea change from the research I did while writing the novel these last two years. (Google street view can be a very useful scene research tool!) It's the smells, sounds, tastes and first hand sights that I'm after on this trip. And a sense of completion. I don't think I'll feel ready to put this book out into the world until I have been back.

I know that they are doing much better economically, but I suspect that I will be missing the old Vietnam and the simpler life that I found there when I first saw it. I have been inhabiting that world for a good part of the last two years and it has become so real for me again.

Back to revising these last twenty pages.

Bisous for now.

N2

Blessings

Just before the end of December, P, a writer friend, gathered a few people for a day of meditation and writing to say goodbye to the old year and kick off the new. We each brought a couple of writing prompts and something to share for lunch.

P lives in a little house next to the Russian River that has become more and more comfortable and welcoming over the 15+ years that she as lived there.

We started off with a walk along the river, each of us in a different direction, meditating on our own thoughts, focusing on the rocks, the light on the water, the muted colors of winter. Then we went back to the house for lunch, tea and writing.

P brought the exercise that has stuck with me as this first month of 2012 has worn on. She read the Irish poet John O'Donohue's poem "Beannacht" to us. (The title is Gaelic for Blessing -- see the poem here at my friend Elizabeth's blog, where she serendipitously posted it a week ago.) Then we each read it to another person who was sitting in for someone we wanted/needed to forgive -- an exercise which might sound esoteric, but was strangely affecting and has already reverberated into this month, and I suspect may continue to have echoes in the rest of the year.

We did a timed writing after the forgiveness exercise. This poem is what came out for me.

§§§

Blessings

After “Beannacht” (Blessing)

by John O’Donohue

May you know that you are loved for just who you are.

May a witness of your strong heart come into your life.

May the paths that you walk be soft on your feet.

May the people that you meet take joy in your laughter.

May the fruits of your labor support you all the days of your life.

May your family honor their sharing of your blood.

May your journey be filled with wonder and take you to places

where you find knowledge and wisdom.

May the rain quench your thirst and warm winds dry the sweat from your neck.

May the stars spill diamonds into your dreams.

May the moon shine you a path across dark water.

May the gardens you plant give back to you tenfold

for the labor you spend in their tending.

May you die in the arms of someone who loves you or after a night

in the company of good friends.

May your next life take you to the time and place of your fondest reveries.

May you be remembered for being a truthful and giving soul.

§§§

May a blessing of kisses rain down on you this year.

x0

N2

Le Film Noir

Spent Saturday and Sunday evenings at the Castro Theater in San Francisco at the

Film Noir Festival. It gets better every year.

Made even better by the fact that I'm usually there with my son and daughter-in-law, J & K. I don't even care that much about which particular movie we go to see. The gorgeous Castro Theater is packed with SF film fans, some of them dressed in vintage finery.


Festival host Eddie Muller interviewed Angie Dickinson between the films on Saturday night. His knowledge of her films and questions were spot on and she was feisty, funny and still beautiful at 81 years.


Noir City Film Festival runs through this weekend. If you are in the Bay Area you should check it out.

More soon.

Noir kisses for now.

N2