ON A DIET FOR FOOD FRIDAY!

“Sin is sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion. It lies hard on the stomach.” – Henry Ward Beecher

I am on a diet. Well not really a diet, I am just a little bit more careful about what I am eating, or rather even more importantly, how much I am eating. Since our return from Vietnam I have lost 2.5 kilos. It’s been simple really, cutting back on some things that are not necessary, reducing the intake of fats, not drinking alcohol (not that I drank all that much before, but between having none and having a glass with a meal is a reduction!). No chocolate, but still having a lolly or two every now and then. Not having ice cream or cream, but enjoying real milk in my coffee. Having chicken, but boiled; not fried, nor roasted. Enjoying lots of fresh salads, home made bread – one slice or two, not buttered. No margarine, rather olive oil and only a little of it. Fruit for lunch, but only one or two pieces and only fresh, seasonal fruit.

It is important to watch the quantity of what we eat first, and then the type of food and how it’s cooked. My grandfather used to say, “Eat whatever you like, but only a little of it. Whenever you have a meal, eat enough to satisfy your hunger, but leave your stomach unloaded. If it were imperative that you eat again immediately after having completed a meal, you should be able to do so without discomfort…” Wise words which he abided by. He lived a healthy, happy life and was fit until he died in his early nineties.

A “diet” can be a good culinary experience and one may still enjoy one’s meals. Once the appropriate weight has been reached, one can start including some of the more “sinful” foods one avoided, but in greatly reduced quantities. This helps to maintain the desired weight and also of course one is not a “spoil-sport” at dinner parties or restaurants. One may then eat anything and everything, but only in small portions. My mother has been doing this all her life and she has always been slim, trim and healthy.

Exercise, of course, is the other side of good nutrition when trying to lose weight. Once again moderate exercise: Walking not running; swimming not jogging; light weight lifting till one is fatigued rather than increasing the weights lifted more and more; sensible warm-ups and stretching rather than launching into a gym workout immediately; dancing and even having sex rather than doing pushups! Exercise like that becomes an enjoyable routine that alters metabolism and is gentle on the body, while having its beneficial effects.

Unfortunately, the older one gets, the harder it is to lose weight if one has put it on and the harder it is to maintain good form. It’s easier to opt for quick meal solutions and to become addicted to nutritiously harmful routine meals. Many older people can also try to do good by taking vitamins, minerals and other nutritious supplements, but these instead of helping can sometimes even do great harm. Nutritional supplements can interact adversely with medications, some older people can overdose on vitamins with dire effects, and such people can be misled into thinking that if they take supplements they needn’t look after their diet properly. Malnutrition can still happen if one is taking lots of vitamins and minerals but not eating right!

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

“For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses!  Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!” - Edward Abbey

The scarlet pimpernel, Anagallis arvensis, is the birthday flower for today.  The generic name is derived from the Greek anagelas, “mirth”. Pliny describes taking this plant internally in order to dispel gloom.  It is often described as the “cheerful pimpernel”, but this may relate also to its use as a weather oracle: The blooms close up when bad weather is nigh. The flower symbolises faithfulness, childhood, change and an assignation.  Astrologically, it is a solar plant. The blue variant of the plant, the blue pimpernel Anagallis arvensis (ssp caerulea) has striking blue flowers and symbolises nostalgia.

Most people are familiar with (if they have not read) the classic novel “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (1905) by the Baroness Emmuska Orczy, who then proceeded to write ten sequels [“I Will Repay” (1906), “Elusive Pimpernel” (1908), “Eldorado” (1913), “Lord Tony’s Wife” (1917), “League of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1919), “Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1922), “Sir Percy Hits Back” (1927), “Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1929), “Way of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1933), “Sir Percy Leads the Band” (1936) and “Mam’zelle Guillotine” (1940)]. A full online text (and summary) of the novel can be found here.

The original novel was based on a play by Orczy, and it was inevitable that the novel then engendered several movies, a Broadway musical and a TV series, as well as several parodies! The Mecca for Pimpernel fans is Blakeney Manor, the fanciful original home of the English noble whose alias the Pimpernel was.

The first movie of the novel was the silent film “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (1917) directed by Richard Stanton and starring Dustin Farnum. Harold Young’s 1934 classic “The Scarlet Pimpernel” is good fun, with a spirited performance by Leslie Howard. The UK 1999 TV series starring Richard E. Grant  was highly praised and was popular with the public.

As far as the plot is concerned, it takes place at the time of the height French Revolution. The name of one man was a curse on the lips of the new regime and a prayer on the lips of the aristocrats who had fallen from grace: The Scarlet Pimpernel, so-called from the flower with which he signed his messages. A master of disguise, unsurpassed swordsman, and superlatively quick-witted strategist, he masterminded the rescuing of countless condemned prisoners before they could lose their heads to the guillotine, ably assisted by the League of the Pimpernel, a band of devoted followers (many of whom were young English noblemen). Though the French, personified by their sadistic agent Chauvelin, sought to unmask and capture the Pimpernel, he continued to evade their best efforts.

The Scarlet Pimpernel was the alias of Sir Percy Blakeney, one of the richest men in England, seen by his peers as a fool, a brainless fop married in a loveless relationship to Marguerite. This was of course just what Percy wanted people to think, as he and his loving wife, herself one of the “most clever women in Europe” continued to run rings round their opponents. The novel is thinly veiled propaganda for monarchy as a political system, however, it is just made entertaining and adventuresome, a perfect vehicle for advancing the cause of royalists.

royalist |ˈroiəlist| noun
A person who supports the principle of monarchy or a particular monarchy.
• A supporter of the king against Parliament in the English Civil War.
• A supporter of the British during the American Revolution; a Tory.
adjective
Giving support to the monarchy : the paper claims to be royalist.
• (in the English Civil War) supporting the king against Parliament : the royalist army.
DERIVATIVES
Royalism |-ˌizəm| noun
ORIGIN late Middle English: From Old French roial, from Latin regalis ‘regal.’

WHEN THE RAINS CAME

“I beg you take courage; the brave soul can mend even disaster.” - Catherine II

I cannot but continue to think of the Pakistani drama still being enacted in the flooded wastes that the once fertile fields have become. I ruminate upon the disaster and the new calamities still ahead for millions of people and cannot but be moved to help in any way I can. Even the writing of a poem can touch a reader and perhaps generate sympathy in a person who is fatigued by the continuous reports of disaster and woe the world over…

When the Rains Came

When the rains came, they blessed the fields;
The thirsty earth drank deeply, gratefully,
And the dormant seeds swelled in their coats
Like content, fat children awaiting puberty
To turn their puppy fat into elegant tallness.

The rains came and stayed.
The dry land was flooded.
Wheat fields turned into rice paddies
And all fat seeds were drowned; rotting in the sodden soil.

The rains fell and the spate was unleashed;
Gentle rivulets became torrents,
Rushing forth uprooting violently all in their path.

The rains came and came and came,
Their blessing converted to a curse.
The water of life in its surfeit carrying death:

Dead bodies of people wrapped in liquid winding sheets;
Uprooted trees now like floating seaweed in the deluge;
Animal carcases bobbing in the swollen rivers;
Countless flotsam, silent testimony to millions of ruined lives.

Mother, you suffer, weeping for your lost children!
Father, your livelihood is bleak destruction, ruination!
Brother, your sister is missing: Drowned? Saved? Hungry? Cold?
Sister, your tears another flood; another wretchedness
That adds to the watery devastation of your once beautiful homeland…

PAKISTAN

“He who gives when he is asked has waited too long.” - Sunshine Magazine

The news that keeps coming out of Pakistan is mind-numbing. The extent of the humanitarian and environmental disaster there is of amazingly tragic proportions. Even while away I was keeping up with the news on BBC World on TV and since getting back I have been following the relief effort with concern. Last week the World Bank estimated that the floods destroyed crops worth around $1 billion. Pakistani estimates place this figure to at least double that. About 17 million acres of agricultural land have been submerged, and more than 100,000 animals have perished. This is a severe economic burden for the country, where about a quarter of the economy and nearly a half of its workforce depend on agriculture.

The floods, the worst in Pakistan’s history, have affected at least 14 million people with over 1,600 fatalities. No doubt the death toll is bound to rise in the wake of even more downpours, further flooding and the terrible wave of concomitant infectious disease epidemics. Cholera, dysentery, typhoid, paratyphoid, hepatitis and other diseases will cause much distress and even more tragedy in a country that has already suffered enormous losses. The pictures that accompany the news reports are heart-rending and even the most hardened amongst us, used to daily reports of fatalities, tragedies, terrorism and natural disasters, cannot but be moved.

Anger amongst the survivors is mounting with reports of inadequate aid provision, hunger, lack of clean water and shelter. Unfortunately, the appeals for help from Pakistan although loud and clear are unheeded by many. Various agencies that are usually involved in international appeals and aid are struggling to attract funds for the millions of Pakistani flood victims. The international aid effort has been meagre because the country suffers from an “image deficit”. I find this the most distasteful and inhuman characterisation of a woeful response. To have approximately 20 million people affected directly and indirectly, the great majority of them poor and innocent, with aid being withheld because of fears it will go to the hands of the Taliban is quite monstrous.

The victims are farmers, mothers, children. Poor agricultural workers that struggle to survive in the best of circumstances and often, they themselves are victims of the Taliban. The media so often paints Pakistan in dark colours, that public opinion links it immediately to terrorism and corruption. By extension, through some weird logic the victims are not as innocent as others. The UN is struggling to obtain $A515 million to provide emergency aid to six million victims of the country ravaged by heavy flooding. According to the latest update of funding pledges, the international community has transferred $A166 million (32%) of the total needed by the UN since the appeal was launched last week. Yesterday, the World Bank agreed to provide a $A1.01 billion loan to Pakistan following a request from Islamabad. No doubt a hefty interest will be charged…

What a marvellous civilisation we have evolved into! This is the 21st century informed by centuries of history, enriched by experience, wealthy beyond the dreams of most empires of the past, more informed, more educated, more able to be compassionate and just and charitable and humane… And yet we turn off our noble sentiments and withhold our sympathy, deny our aid to a stricken groups simply because the country they live in has a “bad image”. It’s like denying giving the starving elderly beggar a dollar because he might spend it unwisely, or lose it. We have become so civilised, so refined, so sensitive and so politically correct that we have lost our humanity…

Please donate to the Pakistan appeal in any of these sites here:

http://www.unrefugees.org.au/emergencies/?gclid=CJ_Duu-TwKMCFQXObgodhg2AzQ

http://www.worldvision.com.au/Issues/Emergencies/Current_Emergencies/Pakistan_Floods.aspx

http://www.msf.org.au/

http://www.actionaid.org.au/emergencies-and-conflict/pakistan-floods.html

https://www.oxfam.org.uk/donate/pakistan-swat/index.php

http://www.worldvision.org/

http://www.mercycorps.org/

THE STONE FLOWER

“Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression.” - Isaac Bashevis Singer

For this Movie Monday I will tell you about a film I have not seen… Rather odd I know to review a film that I have not seen, but there you go. I’ll tell you about it and once I watch it I’ll tell you again about what my impressions were.

I was speaking to my parents at the weekend and as we were talking we spoke about some good films that we had seen. They told me about a film that they had seen when young and which they had never forgotten. I had heard about this wonderful film before and they always spoke very highly of it. The conversation ended with the observation: “Well, no use talking about it now, it’s highly unlikely that it can be found to watch now – how will you get hold of a Soviet film of the forties, which everyone has forgotten about?”

Well, that comment got me searching the web and knowing only its title (in translation) I was finally able to not only find which film it was, but all sorts of other interesting history about it. The trip through the cyberalleys ended up with me finding a DVD of it for sale on Amazon. Of course I ordered it, and I shall give the DVD to my parents as a gift (after I watch it of course!).

The film is Alexandr Ptushko’s 1946 fantasy film “The Stone Flower” (Каменный цветок, Kamennyy tsvetok). It was the Soviet Union’s first colour film shot on AgfaColor negative film seized in Germany by Russian troops, and was entered into the 1946 Cannes Film Festival. Apparently the colours of this film were beautifully pastel, the cinematography exceptional and the subject matter based on an old Russian fairy tale.

I looked for the film on IMDB and found it there with several reviews that speak of memories of this film that cannot be forgotten. It seems that whoever saw this film was very impressed by it and was struck by its beauty. All of this of course has made me extremely curious to see it and can hardly wait until the DVD arrives in the post so I can watch it and make up my mind!

The whole story of “The Stone Flower” can be found here as retold by Kathleen Jenks. I wonder if any of my readers has seen this film and what they thought of it?

ART SUNDAY - LAUTREC

“It is with our passions as it is with fire and water; they are good servants, but bad masters.” - Roger L'Estrange

Toulouse Lautrec for Art Sunday today, and in fact one of his most famous works: “At Le Moulin Rouge”, the notorious cabaret in Montmartre where Lautrec was often found associating with the demimonde and its citizens of the night.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was born on November 24th, 1864, in Albi, France. He was  the son and heir of Comte Alphonse-Charles de Toulouse and last in line of an aristocratic family that dated back a thousand years. Henri’s father was rich, handsome, and eccentric. His mother was overly devoted to her only living child, Henri, who was weak and often sick. By the time he was 10 he had begun to draw and paint.

At 12 young Toulouse-Lautrec broke his left leg and at 14 his right leg. The bones failed to heal properly, and his legs stopped growing. He reached young adulthood with a body trunk of normal size but with abnormally short legs. He was only 1.5 meters tall. Deprived of the kind of life that a normal body would have permitted, Toulouse-Lautrec lived wholly for his art. He stayed in the Montmartre section of Paris, the center of the cabaret entertainment and bohemian life that he loved to paint. Circuses, dance halls and nightclubs, racetracks. He observed all of these spectacles and he worked feverishly to set them down on canvas or made into lithographs.

Toulouse-Lautrec was very much a part of all this activity. He would sit at a crowded nightclub table, laughing and drinking, and at the same time he would make swift sketches. The next morning in his studio he would expand the sketches into bright-coloured paintings. In order to become a part of the Montmartre life, as well as to protect himself against the crowd's ridicule of his appearance, Lautrec began to drink heavily. In the 1890s the drinking started to affect his health. He was confined to a sanatorium and to his mother’s care at home, but he could not stay away from alcohol. Lautrec died on September 9th 1901, at the family chateau of Malrome. Since then his paintings and posters, particularly the Moulin Rouge group, have been in great demand and bring high prices at auctions and art sales.

The painting above epitomizes Lautrec’s life: In the background is La Goulue, the Moulin Rouge’s reigning dance star, who is adjusting her red hair while the dwarfish Toulouse-Lautrec and his tall cousin, Gabriel Tapié de Céléreyan, walk toward the left. The glum assembly of characters seated around the table includes writer Édouard Dujardin, entertainer La Macarona, photographer Paul Sescau, winemaker Maurice Guibert and another redhead, most likely entertainer Jane Avril. The woman with the green face illuminated with artificial light is May Milton, another popular dancer of the day.

SONG SATURDAY - VITAS FROM RUSSIA

“Home is not where you live but where they understand you.” - Christian Morgenstern

A nice restful day today… Then a wonderful evening at home, with dinner for two, candlelight, music, flowers… All the while the wind was howling outside and the cold, wet streets reflected the lights. We laughed and we kissed, oblivious of the winter night outside…

Here is an upbeat song from Russia, sung by Vitas. It is a song about coming home from foreign lands, a song about the welcoming shores of Russia, made all the more wonderful by the spring sunshine and the gorgeous scenery of the video, shot in the Ukraine not far from Kiev.



Illustration is the Swallow’s Nest Castle in Yalta, overlooking the Black Sea.

VARIOUS FEARS

“Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them.” - Brendan Francis Behan

It is “Black Friday” today, a dismal day in many people’s books, but depending on one’s cultural background and superstitious nature, the day could be bad, good or indifferent. In Greek, Romanian, Spanish and Latin American culture it is Tuesday the 13th that is an ominous day, not Friday the 13th. Some people consider the number 13 as very lucky, rather than unlucky. The ancient Egyptians and the Chinese both considered 13 as a lucky number. Cultures with lunar calendars and 13 months don’t associate 13 with anything sinister. However, in the USA, in some buildings the 13th floor is apparently skipped, going from 12 to 14 and some hotels will not have a room 13! In some cities a 13th Avenue does not exist, once again 12th skipping to 14th Avenue. It was rumored in the 18th Century that thirteen people sitting down to a meal together presaged that one of them would die within the year, something which is still maintained by some.

This triskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of the number 13) and paraskevetriskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of Friday the 13th) is long entrenched in the Western, Christian tradition and is long associated with the 13 people attending the Last Supper, with Judas Iscariot being the unlucky 13th person. Another dinner with 13 unlucky guests was in Norse mythology, where Loki, the Norse god of evil, started a riot when he gate-crashed a banquet at Valhalla attended by 12 gods. Witches that clearly oppose themselves to a Christian superstition, have groups of 13 known as covens.

As well as Friday the 13th, today is also International Left Handers’ Day. This reminds me of another irrational fear – sinistrophobia (fear of left side, left handedness). It was established by UNESCO in 1984 at the initiative of the British Left-handers’ Club. Left-handers account between 7% and 10% of the world’s population. Many great people were left-handers, among them Alexander the Great, Aristotle, Cesar, Napoleon, Bismarck, Mozart, Rachmaninoff, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Einstein and Leo Tolstoy (However, some infamous people were also left-handers, e.g. Jack the Ripper!)

For many centuries left-handers have been thwarted, ostracised, constrained and forced to adapt to a right-handed world. Although nowadays most left-handers are not forced to use their right hand, they still have to cope with the inconvenience of using implements, tools, devices and accessories that are designed for right-handers. If a left-handed option is available it is usually more expensive and not readily available.

The third irrational fear I will refer to is xenositiophobia, quite apt for our Food Friday! Xenositiophobia is an irrational fear of foreign food… Fortunately in most Western countries, this is a fear that we see less of as we are exposed to a wide variety of foreign cuisines more and more frequently in the West. We are very fortunate here in Melbourne as we are extremely cosmopolitan and there hundreds if not thousands of restaurants that offer a variety of international cuisines at a standard that often exceeds that of many restaurants in their original countries!

RAMADAN

“There shall be no compulsion in religion.” – Qur’an 2:236; "The Cow”

Our Muslim students are observing Ramadan presently. I chanced upon some of them making their way to the prayer room and they were talking about Ramadan. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic Lunar Calendar, which began yesterday. Every day during this month, Muslims around the world spend the daylight hours in a complete fast. It is a time they see as a chance to purify their soul, refocus attention on God, and practice self-sacrifice. Ramadan is much more than just not eating and drinking, it is seen as a great opportunity to rediscover one’s spirituality and come closer to God.

Muslims are called upon to use this month to re-evaluate their lives according to the laws set down by the Qur’an. One is to make peace with those who have wronged one, strengthen ties with family and friends, do away with bad habits. It is one’s chance to clean up one’s life, one’s thoughts, and feelings. The Arabic word for “fasting” (sawm) literally means “to refrain, and this implies not only refraining from food and drink, but also from evil actions, thoughts, and words.

During Ramadan, every part of the body must be actively restrained. The tongue must be stopped from talking idly, backbiting and gossip. The eyes must refrain from looking at unlawful things. The hand must not touch or take anything that does not belong to it. The ears must stop listening to obscene words or idle chatter. The feet must not go to sinful places. In such a way, every part of the body observes the fast or restraint. Food and drink are consumed during the night, but once again restraint should be practiced and no feasting should be undertaken.

Fasting is not merely physical but rather the total commitment of the person’s body and soul to the spirit of the fast or restraint. Ramadan is a time to practice self-restraint; a time to cleanse the body and soul from impurities and re-focus one’s self on the worship of God. Ramadan is the month God chose in which to reveal the final scripture – The Qur’an. It is believed that one of the greatest ways a Muslim honours the Qur’an is by reading it. Many of the pious Muslims of the past would close all books and focus on reading the Qur’an only this month. A Muslim should strive to read the Qur’an in Arabic at least once during this month. The Qur’an consists of approximately 604 pages. This means a person can read the entire Qur’an by the last day of Ramadan from cover to cover by simply reading 4 pages after every prayer.

At the end of Ramadan, the Muslims celebrate with a great feast, Eid ul Fitr. Eid is an Arabic word meaning “festivity”, while Fiṭr means “to break fast”; and so the holiday symbolises the breaking of the fasting period. Eid ul-Fitr lasts for three days of celebration (or more, depending on the country).

Koran |kəˈrän; kô-; ˈkôrän| (also Qur'an or Quran) noun
The Islamic sacred book, believed to be the word of God as dictated to Muhammad by the archangel Gabriel and written down in Arabic. The Koran consists of 114 units of varying lengths, known as suras; the first sura is said as part of the ritual prayer. These touch upon all aspects of human existence, including matters of doctrine, social organisation, and legislation.
DERIVATIVES
Koranic |-ˈränik| adjective
ORIGIN from Arabic ḳur'ān ‘recitation,’ from ḳara'a ‘read, recite.’

AS THE SEASONS CHANGE I RETURN HOME

“There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” - Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

We came home to a wet, grey and cold Melbourne. Winter is still around and even if we thought that we had escaped it somewhat with this trip to tropical climes. Arriving here this morning was reminder enough that we still have some of the worst ahead. Nevertheless, as we went shopping today for some groceries, we saw big bunches of daffodils out for sale. This was underlined by the changes in our garden: The primulas have started to bloom and the polyanthuses, cinerarias and the bulbs are all starting to show colour. Though it is winter, spring is just around the corner.

For Poetry Wednesday today, a poem for the changing seasons and for our homecoming.

As the Seasons Change I Return Home

A welcoming sight on one’s return home:
The spring flowers planted months ago
Beginning to burgeon forth and bloom.

A welcoming sound on one’s return home:
The windchimes playing a chord of greeting
As winter wind still blows, but with less ferocity.

A welcoming smell on one’s return home:
The linen cupboard reeking of lavender, plucked last summer
And enclosing within it sunlit, warm memories.

A welcoming taste on one’s return home:
Home cooking with sun-dried garden herbs,
Fresh lettuce, radishes, spring onions from the winter garden.

A welcoming touch on one’s return home:
Your fingers in my hand, your warmth against mine,
Your tender kiss on my naked flesh, making me tremble…

FLYING HOME...

“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.” - Charles Dickens

Travelling home today, from Hanoi to Melbourne, with one transit stop in Ho Chi Minh City. As is the case with such travels, the tiring to-ing and fro-ing from one means of transport to another, the interminable security checks, the long haul flights make one wonder if it has all been worth it. At the time of the highest inconvenience, one is tempted to say “no, it’s not worth it, never again…” However, once the brou-ha-ha is over and only the good memories of the trip remain, one gets the old wanderlust returning once again.

On Thursday I go back to work, so Wednesday will be my buffer day to recover and prepare myself for the onslaught.

THE 'HANOI HILTON'

“You can kill ten of my men for every one I kill of yours, but even at those odds, you will lose and I will win.” – Ho Chi Minh

We visited the Hòa Lò Prison today, referred to as the 'Maison Centrale' by the French. It was called the 'Hanoi Hilton' by US GIs, many of whom did time here during the Vietnam War. Once it was a massive French-built prison accommodating over two thousand prisoners at its peak. The prison built in 1886 was quite small initially, holding around 400 prisoners. It was expanded in 1913 to hold 600 but actually in reality it packed in more normally anywhere between 700 to 895 prisoners in 1916. However, during the 2nd World War it held 2000 prisoners both international and ethnic prisoners, especially South Vietnamese (see more of my photos here).

Prisoners were held either in solitary confinement or in dormitories where they would be shackled together on a raised platform bed, which sloped downwards at the foot. Diseases such as dysentery and malaria were rife among the prisoners along with little medical attention given if at all. An almond tree in the prison courtyard provided remedies in the form of wood, bark, flowers and fruits for these ailments.

The prison became notorious as the temporary home of large numbers of captured enemy soldiers and airmen, mostly American. The American prisoners of war were held in a separate wing apart from the other prisoners. The first American prisoner of war was an airman called Everett Alvarez. Many prisoners died through torture or illnesses before the Vietnamese were able to execute them. The Vietnamese denied any torture took place citing the American prisoners themselves have nicknamed the prison the Hanoi Hilton as the accommodation was as comfortable as a hotel. Prisoners were not granted any civil rights as required by the Geneva convention, but as Vietnam had never signed up to it they claimed it didn’t apply to them.

The ways they tortured the prisoners were numerous. Sleep deprivation, beatings water torture, whipping and slapping, bones broken and teeth knocked out. The Vietnamese were trying to get the prisoners to make statements saying they were being well-treated and that the American invasion was wrong. Food was in short supply and what food they were given was often contaminated with faeces both animal and human. Methods of execution included the guillotine, which was used in the prison and is still there preserved to this day. Both men and women were held in the prison but were segregated.

During the 1990s, virtually all the area was demolished to make way for a modern tower block of apartments and high rise offices called the Hanoi Towers. On the south-east corner of the site, the entrance lobby and a few of the cells have been retained as a small museum. Looking at the remnants of the prison from the opposite side of the road, the building is dwarfed to insignificance by its huge neighbour, making it difficult to imagine its gruesome history. It is well-maintained and has been elevated to a shrine for political prisoners kept here during Vietnam’s struggle for independence. The prison contains several interesting exhibits, including the heavily-used guillotine that was the centrepiece of the French judicial system in Vietnam, and is well worth a visit. The signs describing each of the exhibits are couched in a language that is rather heavy-handedly propagandist, but nevertheless, one becomes acutely aware of the hardship and inhuman conditions of incarceration here.

A 1987 film written and directed by Lionel Chetwynd, “The Hanoi Hilton” tells the story of the suffering, torture, and brutal treatment the American P.O.W.s had to deal with daily while in the Hoa Lo Prison. The film focusses on the resistance the prisoners gave to their captors and the strong bonds formed by the Americans during their captivity.

On the way to the prison we visited the “Ambassador’s Pagoda” (Chùa Quán Sứ). This temple has its origins in the 15th century when a hall was built to welcome ambassadors who came to visit the king. A pagoda was built in the 17th century next to the hall, which has since been called the Ambassador’s Pagoda. The hall was destroyed in a blaze, but the pagoda survived. Nowadays this is one of the most active pagodas in Hanoi, and since 1958 it is the headquarters for the Vietnam Unified Buddhist Association, a major Buddhist learning and research centre, with the largest Buddhist library in any temple in Vietnam. Dozens of young monks reside in the complex and study in its classrooms. Inside of the temple are many finely carved statues, some dating back to the 15th century.

When we visited we saw many young monks and nuns praying in the temple and many faithful were making offerings of incense, fruit and paper money to both the images of the gods, as well as to their ancestors. The air was heavy with the smell of burning paper and even the incense was a heavy, cloying, unpleasant smell. Many little old ladies in the courtyard were selling matches, candles, prayer books and offerings. The temple was quite a large one and more full of life than most of the other temples we visited.

Tomorrow we fly back home. The trip was short, but we packed much in and enjoyed it quite a lot. However, it is great to be going back home as the heat, dirt, noise, overcrowding and congestion has been quite an experience.

ART SUNDAY IN HANOI

“A sincere artist is not one who makes a faithful attempt to put on to canvas what is in front of him, but one who tries to create something which is, in itself, a living thing.” - William Dobell

Today we visited the Chùa Trấn Quốc (Tran Quoc Pagoda), the Chùa Quan Thánh temple, the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, the Army Museum, the Hanoi Flagpost and the Hang Be market. It was a tiring day owing to the heat and the queuing up for an hour and a half, to get into the mausoleum, which was by the far the most exhausting. Nevertheless, once again, we really enjoyed what we saw and the history, culture and local colour we absorbed was immense.

Firstly, Chùa Trấn Quốc sits on an islet linked by a bridge to the causeway between two lakes Hồ Tây and Trúc Bạch. It was founded in 545 AD during the Lý Dynasty. It was moved from the Hồng Hà's left bank (Red River) to its current location in the early 17th century. In the gardens stands a Bồ Đề (Bodhi) tree that is easily recognizable from its heart-shaped leaves, taken from a cutting of the original tree, under which Buddha sat and achieved enlightenment in India. The island and pagoda provide a beautiful backdrop, particularly when viewed at sunset. The characteristic pagoda associated with the temple is a Hanoi landmark and corresponds with most Westerners’ ideas about what a pagoda should look like…

We then visited a second temple, the Chùa Quan Thánh beyond the two lakes, just across the causeway. According to legend, this temple existed in the south of the To Lich River in the period of Cao Bien, a proconsul of the Chinese Tang Dynasty who built the citadel of Dai La (around 866). After King Ly Thai To established the capital (1010), the Temple was moved to the north-west of the capital. It is one of the “Thang Long tu tran” – four famous sacred temples honouring the Gods who guard at four main directions (East - West - South - North) of the ancient Thang Long Citadel. The Temple is dedicated to Saint Huyen Thien Tran Vu who guarded and administered the north of the country. That is why it is also known as the Tran Vu Temple. The Temple has a majestic three-door entrance, which was built on large stones with a bell tower on its top. Inside it is very ornate and decorated with gilded carved wood, statuary, has many altars and incense burners. In the courtyard of the temple there was a martial arts lesson going on, so we stopped and admired the young men and women who were practicing the ritualistic moves.

We then proceeded to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where a few nasty surprises awaited us. First, was the huge expanse of lawn criss-crossed by intersecting stone paths to the east of the Mausoleum. We attempted to walk across the path and were interrupted by loud cries of some soldiers who stood guard around the square. They motioned us off with gestures and more cries and when we approached them we could not make ourselves understood as they spoken not a single word of English. They motioned us to the south and after a couple of kilometers we finally came to the entrance of the Mausoleum, past a huge queue of people waiting to get in. At the entrance came second surprise number two: The entrance was closed firmly and the guards around (who once again spoke no English) motioned us away. Some of the locals were able to get in, but others who also tried were rudely dismissed. No English signs were around. We were rather hot and bothered and very disappointed.

Fortunately, I spied a couple – he Vietnamese, she a westerner, who were conversing with one of the locals. I enquired gently as to why the doors were closed and whether we would be able to get in. It was explained to us that because it was so crowded the gates had closed early and that we would not be able to get in. I thanked them and rather disappointed we lingered around looking sourly at the interior. I was surprised when our acquaintances came back to us and asked us to follow them. We did and going through a shop right next to the fenced off area, we were able to walk through the back door into the enclosure and the car parking area where the tourist buses were stopped. Thus entering by hook and crook we were able to join the queue of the hundreds and hundreds of people waiting their turn to enter the mausoleum.

It was hot, crowded and we were only amongst the very few westerners amongst the locals. We went through three security checks, relinquished our camera and finally we were waiting on the final stretch to enter the monolithic and highly unattractive, but nevertheless imposing, Russian-designed Mausoleum. Guards everywhere goose-stepped and showed off their guns, in order to intimidate and further build up the sense of awe of the pullulating masses. We managed to end up inside and after climbing a couple of flights of stairs we made our way through the murky and dimly lit cool chambers to the inner sanctum where the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh lay in repose as though asleep. It was brightly lit and as we were shuffled along by guards, we saw the wax-like remains of the man whose last request before his death was “cremate me” – unheeded, of course…

We went out and walking through the manicured gardens came to the “One-Pillar Pagoda” (Chua Mot Cot). The characteristic thick central pillar on which this small pagoda is built, is said to represent the stem of a lotus flower, symbolising purity. The metaphor is made stronger by the square pond in which the pillar stands. Around the pagoda there is another small temple in which is a nice Buddha image, some gardens and a small monastery. It is well worth visiting this site as it is verdant with large shady trees and provides a cool refuge for the people who queued to see the Mausoleum.

The Ho Chi Minh Museum is a large modern building immediately next to the Mausoleum and is dedicated to the great revolutionary and statesman who went on to become first the Prime Minister and then the President of North Vietnam. The common people of Vietnam are indebted to him for what he has done for their country and as a mark of their gratitude the museum was dedicated to him. The Museum in preserves everything memorable related to the great revolutionary. It consists of five extensive floors and was inaugurated on 2nd September, 1990, celebrating the 100th birthday anniversary of Vietnam’s great President.

The museum has an extensive collection of military orders, mementos, photographs of the Communist Party’s achievements, the great August and October revolutions, the country’s fight against Fascism and the imperialist power and the world movement led by Ho Chi Minh. The Top floor has a beautiful centerpiece which is a gargantuan gold lotus flower, which also shelters smaller exhibits related to Ho Chi Minh’s political activities. One can make one’s way from the “Past” section to the “Future” section by following the symbols made in the shape of labyrinthine murals. The National Liberation Movements are symbolised by a "volcano", bright red in color and surrounded by national totems. The Museum is another example of Soviet architecture and so the visitor has the opportunity to take in both the exhibits and structure.

We then walked to the Museum of Military History, (as the full name of the Army museum is), located in the south-west corner of the Hanoi Citadel. A large assortment of military paraphernalia clutters up the front gardens, overlooked by a large statue of Lenin, glaring from the other side of the road. The main exhibition covers events during the war against the French colonists from the 1930 uprising to the victory at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The American War is described in a separate exhibition stall. There is a strong pro-Vietnam propaganda element of course, but there are rare photographs and video images of Ho Chi Minh, the legendary General Giap, the battle of Dien Bien Phu and the Ho Chi Minh Trail that makes a visit an unmissable experience for military history buffs as well as those simply interested in seeing the Vietnamese side of the conflict. A guide is essential to assist with language and contextual interpretation.

Right next door is the bonus of visiting the Cot Co Watch Tower. Apart from being of considerable interest as one of the few remains of Emperor Gia Long’s mighty edifice, the view from the top includes the whole Citadel area and its surroundings (unfortunately it was closed when we visited).

We then proceeded to the heart of the Old Quarter again and did some shopping around the Hang Be market area. A few souvenirs and gew-gaws for people back home. Nothing major and certainly nothing that we really saw and greatly admired or wished to buy for ourselves.

Now to conclude Art Sunday, a reference to the Fine Arts Gallery that we visited a couple of days ago. The enormous, fine colonial mansion that houses the museum was given an oriental-style roof when it ceased to be a residence. Nevertheless, the effect is pleasing and well-suited to what is after all, a gallery of Vietnamese art. The various collections are quite eclectic – inevitably, the Soviet inspired social realism school is well represented but is by no means dominant. Among the many reproductions, there are some fine originals. Particularly noteworthy are a delightful collection of folk art, and a good range of modern art including some excellent water colours and innovative contemporary work.

Unfortunately, the artworks that have been executed in lacquer have not stood the test of time and have discoloured very badly. The museum does not appear to be well curated, nor are the art works well looked after. We were horrified to see some of the guards sitting down and knitting, or dressing their hair or plucking their eyebrows or generally being very uninterested in their job or the visitors. There were several pieces that we liked and above is one of them, Nguyễn văn Cuông’s (born 1962) “A Fleeting Memory”, a quite large (103x157 cm) and colourful woodcut made in 1997. The artist was born in Hanoi in 1962 and graduated from Hanoi Fine Art College in 1989. Since 1990, his work has been exhibited many times in Vietman as well as in the United States, the United Kingdom, Taiwan, Japan and Norway.

Most famous are his woodcuts with succinct, symbolic motifs, strangely brilliant colours and a loose but haphazard plot. Cuông’s works of art appear modern but still display traditional roots. Cuông achieves his moods through a careful choice of colours, lines and textures, describing each scene carefully with strong reds and yellows, greys, browns and blues. Cuông invites us into a world where the rhythms of the everyday are the bonds which bind each of us together.

HA LONG BAY VIETNAM

“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Today we went on a day-long tour to Ha Long Bay in the northeastern part of Vietnam which is 165 Km from Hanoi (see more of my photos here). Ha Long Bay is often touted by proud Vietnamese as the world’s Eighth Wonder. One of the main attractions of Ha long is the bay’s calm water and the thousands of limestone formations dotting the seascape. The Bay’s water is clear during the spring and early summer. Some of the islands are quite large and there are small alcoves with sandy beaches where swimming is possible. Ha Long literally means “descending dragon(s)” and according to local myth, the story goes as follows:

Long ago when their forefathers were fighting foreign invaders from the north, the gods from heaven sent a family of dragons to help defend their land. This family of dragons descended upon what is now Ha Long bay and began spitting out jewels and jade. Upon hitting the sea, these jewels turned into the various islands and islets dotting the seascape and formed a formidable fortress against the invaders. The locals were able to keep their land safe and formed what is now the country of Vietnam. The Dragon family fell so much in love with this area for its calm water and for the reverence of the people of Vietnam that they decided to remain on earth. Mother dragon lies on what is now Ha Long and where her children lie is Bai Tu Long. The dragon tails formed the area of Bach Long Vi known for the miles of white sandy beaches of Tra Co peninsula.

This myth is in line with the Vietnamese myth of their origin Con Rong Chau Tien. This myth describes the union between a king (representing the dragon) and his bride (representing a goddess) giving birth to 100 children which are the ancestors of the Vietnamese people. The Ha Long myth illustrate the Vietnamese belief of their origin and the fact that throughout their history, they are aided by their ancestors, the dragon and the gods, in the defense of their land.

The bay has some surrealistic scenery and the limestone formations are both bizarre and awesome. Over thousands of years the base of many of the formation have corroded to a point where many seem to be balancing on thin air. The shapes and the positioning of these formations often resemble people, animals etc., hence, most are given a name by the locals. Some of the more famous are: Hang Dau Go (Wooden Stakes cave), Hang Bo Nau (Pelican cave), Hang Trinh Nu (the Virgin), Hang Sung Sot (Cave of Awe), Dong Hang Hanh, Dao Tuan Chau (Sentinel Chau Island), Qua Chuong (the bell), Con Voi (the elephant) etc. Now, about one thousand formations have names.

We finished our tour by visiting Thiên Cung cave, which is situated on the south-west side the bay, 4 km from the wharf outside of Ha Long City. The way to Thiên Cung is a steep one, covered on both sides by thick forest. After entering a narrow gate, the grotto’s 130-meter-long chamber opens up. Thousands of stalactites and stalagmites make this a veritable fairy palace. This grotto discovered about 17 years ago, is one of the most beautiful caves in Ha Long Bay. Legend has it, that beautiful young lady named Mây (cloud), caught the eye of the Dragon Prince and he fell in love with her. They were betrothed, and their wedding lasted seven days and seven nights in the very centre of the grotto.

In honour of the wedding, small dragons flew about through the stalactites and stalagmites, elephants danced together happily, snakes twined themselves around trees and two stone lions danced with their manes flowing in the wind. A large elephant, smartly dressed, waited for the bride and the groom. The genies of the south and north stars also came to attend the banquet, and the atmosphere was definitely animated and lively. All these scenes have been seemingly fossilized in the grotto. 
Arriving at the last part of the grotto, a natural gushing stream of water babbles down throughout the year. Here are three small ponds of clear water. Legend has it, that this was where Mây bathed her 100 children, bringing them up wisely and happily into adolescence.

For Music Saturday today, a traditional Vietnamese tune played on the Dan Tranh by Truy.

FOOD FRIDAY IN VIETNAM

“Rice is a beautiful food. It is beautiful when it grows, precision rows of sparkling green stalks shooting up to reach the hot summer sun. It is beautiful when harvested, autumn gold sheaves piled on diked, patchwork paddies. It is beautiful when, once threshed, it enters granary bins like a (flood) of tiny seed-pearls. It is beautiful when cooked by a practiced hand, pure white and sweetly fragrant.” -
 Shizuo Tsuji

Another full and exhausting day in Hanoi, visiting several important landmarks, but also once again weaving our way in and out of the labyrinthine streets of the Old Quarter. Two important sights we visited, were the temple of Literature and the National Fine Arts Gallery. More about these on Sunday!

The traffic, congestion, smells, thronging crowds and the exotic atmosphere are constant assailants on one’s senses. The offensive odour of an open drain mingles with the fragrance of incense burning at a small shrine in a shop; the cacophonous and never-ending beeping of car and motorcycle horns is interrupted momentarily by the jingling of bells and wind-chimes when passing a temple whose curved roof and characteristic gate invites one into the peaceful courtyard. The milling crowds and never-ending stream of motorcycles drives one crazy, and yet one may pop into the gardens of a pagoda and momentarily escape, seeping oneself in history.

One of the most amazing things we have seen is the hundreds of vendors of street food. On every sidewalk, under each awning, on every street corner, one finds impromptu kitchens often consisting simply of a charcoal burner and a pot in which cooks every sort of imaginable comestible. Noodles, rice, bits of meat, poultry, vegetables of all sorts, soups, fish, spices, herbs. Unidentifiable bits and pieces are chopped, minced, cut, dressed, wrapped, or otherwise prepared for cooking and then boiled, steamed or fried right there on the street by women who seem to have cooking under such difficult circumstances down to a fine art. Around them are small plastic stools where the customers sit and enjoy the food, which is ladled out in plastic bowls. Once they finish the washing up is done in a large plastic tub filled with suds.

Beside such impromptu ‘restaurants’ may be open drains, shops selling all sorts of goods that may not be so appetizing. Right next to one of these street food stalls yesterday, we saw two men slaughtering chickens, the blood collected carefully in little bowls once the neck was cut. No doubt, even the blood will be used to prepare some tasty recipe. Every now and then some horrible smell wafts from a sewer, or the omnipresent pollution and car exhaust fumes will intrude into the cooking smells. For a westerner to eat from these street stalls is inadvisable, however, there are more up-market eateries and restaurants to choose from. The prices are extremely cheap by our standards and the quality of the food is good.

In Vietnam, “com” (boiled rice) is eaten at the main meals of the day (lunch and dinner). Rice is eaten together with a variety of different dishes and the rice can be of different types. Typically fragrant rice is used, such as Tam Thom and Nang Huong. An ordinary meal may consist of boiled rice and the following: “Mon an kho” (meal without soup) consisting of dishes of pork, fish, shrimp, and vegetable cooked in oil, as well as vegetables, pickles, etc. “Mon canh” (meal with soup) consisting of a soup made with pork or spare-ribs, crab meat, and fish.

In the past several years, people in urban centers have begun to go out for lunch at the food stalls on the street. Consequently, there has been a proliferation of temporary food stalls along many sidewalks and public spaces in the cities. Some stalls are open until early in the morning to cater to regular customers. Around noon, owners can be seen arranging tables and benches along the pavement to form makeshift shop floors. After two or three hours, when there are no more customers, they begin to remove all of their wooden furniture, so that the place resumes its former appearance. A well-served lunch for one is very inexpensive, but once again I stress that westerners will eat in the street at their peril.

“Pho” (noodles) is the most popular food among the Vietnamese population. Pho is commonly eaten for breakfast, although many people will have it for their lunch or dinner. Anyone feeling hungry in the small hours of the morning can also enjoy a bowl of hot and spicy pho to fill their empty stomachs. Like hot green tea which has its particular fragrance, pho also has its special taste and smell. Preparations may vary, but when the dish is served, its smell and taste is very characteristic. The grated rice noodles are made of the best variety of fragrant rice called Gao Te. The broth for Pho Bo (Pho with beef) is made by stewing the bones of beef and pork in a large pot for a long time. Pieces of fillet beef together with several slices of ginger are reserved for Pho Bo Tai (rare fillet). Slices of well-done meat are offered to those less keen on eating rare fillets. The soup for Pho Ga (pho with chicken meat) is made by stewing chicken and pig bones together. The white chicken meat that is usually served with Pho Ga is boneless and cut into thin slices. You could consider Pho Bo and Pho Ga Vietnam's special soups. Pho also has the added advantage of being convenient to prepare and healthy to eat.

A STROLL IN OLD HANOI

“If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday.” - Pearl Buck

Hanoi (or more properly Hà Nội in Vietnamese) is the capital city of Vietnam and has an estimated population of about 6.5 million making it the second-largest city of Vietnam, after the most populous, Ho chi Minh City in the South. From 1010 until 1802, Hanoi was the most important political centre of Vietnam. The city is located on the right bank of the Red River. October 2010 marks the 1000 year anniversary of the establishment of the city (see more of my photos here).

Hanoi has been inhabited since at least 3000 BC. One of the first known permanent settlements is the Cổ Loa Citadel founded around 200 BC. Hanoi was occupied by the French in 1873 and passed to them ten years later. It became the capital of French Indochina after 1887. The city was occupied by the Japanese in 1940, and liberated in 1945, when it briefly became the seat of the Viet Minh government after Ho Chi Minh proclaimed the independence of Vietnam. But the French came back and reoccupied the city in 1946. After nine years of fighting between the French and Viet Minh forces, Hanoi became the capital of an independent North Vietnam in 1954.

During the Vietnam War, Hanoi’s transportation facilities were disrupted by the bombing of bridges and railways. They were promptly repaired and the Old Quarter was to damaged. Following the end of the war, Hanoi became the capital of Vietnam when North and South Vietnam were reunited on July 2, 1976. By 2020 the Hanoi Capital region will have an area of 13,436 square kilometres with a population of 15 million.

We spent the whole day walking today and fortunately, the weather was great - around 30˚C and fine. We started off early in the morning form our hotel, on the shore of the large lake and walked to the Old Quarter. The traffic was horrendous and small scooters and Vespas were everywhere. We were amazed not to see any accidents as even on the street intersections controlled by traffic lights, the interweaving of cars, pedestrians, scooters, bicycles, buses, was a sight not to be forgotten. Crossing streets became a near death experience, as one didn’t know who had right of way or whether one should go or stay when the walk signal came on. Oh, and by the way there are these strange black and white regions on the road every now and then… Nobody seems to know that these are pedestrian crossings and pedestrians should have priority.

The Old Quarter, near Hoan Kiem lake, has the original street layout and architecture of old Hanoi. At the beginning of the 20th century the city consisted of only about 36 streets, most of which are now part of the old quarter. Each street then had merchants and households that specialised in a particular trade, such as silk traders, jewellery, food merchants, etc. The street names nowadays still reflect these specialisations, although few of them remain exclusively in their original commerce. The area is famous for its small artisans and merchants, including many silk shops. Local cuisine specialties as well as several clubs and bars can be found here also. A night market in the heart of the district opens for business every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening with a variety of clothing, souvenirs and food.

We saw the Old Quarter and the small lake, temples, churches, public buildings and shops. Markets and historic sites, hotels and guest houses. However, largely today was a familiarisation exercise with the “flavour” of the city. One of the highlights was the visit to the Ngoc Son Temple, located on a small island on the small lake. This Temple was constructed in the early 19th century on the foundations of the old Khanh Thuy Palace, which had been built in 1739. The temple is dedicated to Van Xuong, the God of Literature, although the 13th-century hero Tran Hung Dao, the martial arts genius Quan Vu and the physician La To are also worshipped here. The island is linked to the shore by a red, arched wooden bridge, The Huc (Sunbeam) Bridge, constructed in 1875 (seen in the photograph here).

Vietnam |vēˌetˈnäm; ˌvyet-; ˌvēət-; -ˈnam| - noun
A country in Southeast Asia, on the South China Sea; pop. 82,689,000; capital, Hanoi; language, Vietnamese (official).
Traditionally dominated by China, Vietnam came under French influence between 1862 and 1954. After World War II, the Vietminh defeated the French, who then withdrew. Vietnam was partitioned along the 17th parallel between communist North Vietnam (capital, Hanoi) and noncommunist South Vietnam (capital, Saigon). The Vietnam War between the North and the U.S.-backed South ended in victory for the North in 1975 and the reunification of the country under a communist regime the following year.
ORIGIN from Vietnamese Viet, the name of the inhabitants, + nam ‘south.’

A TRAVELLING POEM

“I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad.” - George Bernard Shaw

It is 11:11 p.m. local time here in Hanoi ( and 2:11 a.m. Melbourne time!) and we just arrived at our hotel after many adventures, delayed flights and last minute visa woes, we managed to get here, after spending about 19 hours in taxis, planes, buses, etc. The last straw was the taxi trip from the Hanoi airport to the city centre and to our hotel. The roads were crowded with traffic – cars, trucks, motor scooters, pedestrians and the city was amazingly dark. Even the houses standing like gaunt sentinels (they are so narrow, even though three or four stories high!) did not show many lighted windows. We finally worked out that everyone had their window blinds and shutters firmly closed. The few open shutters disclosed bare bulbs of low wattage that created a rather dismal mood.

The insistent beeps of the car horns and crowded roads, however, underlined the fact that this was not a sleeping city. The closer we got to the centre (and the airport is about 30 km form the centre) the more lights appeared on the side of the roads and a few neon signs advertised nocturnal haunts – “Karaoke”, “Restaurant”, “Sauna and Massage”…

For Poetry Wednesday today, something I found on the web at the airport lounge and which is fittingly Vietnamese. A 19th century woman poet, Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng (1772–1822). She was a strong-minded woman living in perilous times and while her poetry is deceptively tranquil and placid, describing ostensibly nature scenes, there are hidden meanings and a wild eroticism. She lived most of her life in Hanoi and therefore is an apt guest for Poetry Wednesday! And I quote from an excellent article by John Balaban:

“In the poetry of Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng, who wrote around 1800, near the end of the high tradition of nôm, we find poems behind poems behind poems. Almost all of her lü-shih or chüeh-chu poems, while apparently about natural landscapes or everyday activities, have hidden within them a complete, parallel second poem: a double entendre whose topic is sex. Sometimes, as in the poem below, the translator can succeed by finding words that are both true to the physical landscape she describes and suggestive of other things to the English ear: for example, "cleft," "bearded," "plunges," and "mount." Here, the translator's task is to also set up a double meaning with a single set of images.

DÈO BA DÔI

Môt -dèo, môt dèo, lai môt dèo.
Khen ai khéo tac canh cheo leo.
Cua son do loét tùm hum nóc,
Hòn dá xanh rì lún phún rêu.
Lát leo cành thông con gió thôc
Dâm dìa lá liêu giot suong gieo.
Hiên nhân, quân tu ai mà chang...
Moi gôi, chôn chân vân muôn trèo.

Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng

THREE MOUNTAIN PASS

A cliff face. Another. And still a third.
Who was so skilled to carve this craggy scene

The cavern's red door, the ridge's narrow cleft,
The black knoll bearded with little mosses?

A twisting pine bough plunges in the wind,
Showering a willow's leaves with glistening drops.

Gentlemen, lords, who could refuse, though weary
And shaky in his knees, to mount once more?

As scholars have noted, the title "Dèo Ba Dôi" (Three Mountain Pass) would probably suggest to a Vietnamese reader the range in central North Viêt Nam called Dèo Tam-Diêp. But the poem's peculiar grotto would invite suspicion, and of course a literate Vietnamese reader would recognize immediately the pine and willow as male and female symbols, respectively. "Gentlemen" and "lords" ("Hiên nhân, quân tu") are traditional terms for the elite, mandarin class. Yet Hô Xuân Huong is anything but traditional. A woman writing in a male, Confucian tradition at the end of the decadent Lê dynasty, she only makes honorific references to men when she is being derisive.

The main aspect of the poem behind the poem (behind the poem) for Hô Xuân Huong is that she is almost always working against tradition. Behind her traditional landscapes lies sexual dalliance. Behind her pagoda walls, irreverent fools. In the widow's funeral lament, she hears infidelity. Yet all her poetic subversions are launched in exquisitely made, regulated lü-shih and chüeh-chu: verse with traditional requirements for line length, rhyme and tone placement, and syntactic parallelism. But here too she is unique and surprising, often using the word-stock of ca dao and the aphorisms of the common people where her male contemporaries are content with flowery rhetoric and stock ideas.”
John Balaban

Now time for bed!

OFF TO VIETNAM!

“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” - Aldous Huxley

Well, tomorrow morning we are leaving for a holiday. It will only be a very short one, but it turned out very well considering how quickly it was arranged. That’s one of the wonderful thing about the internet, one may browse through airline sites, hotel sites, arrange tickets, stays, look for package deals, take advantage of specials, and all that in one afternoon, in time for departure the next day! So, it was all arranged, we are going to Vietnam, to visit Hanoi! We are leaving tomorrow morning and coming back early next week.

It worked out cheaper than going North and staying in Cairns or Townsville or Broome. It’s quite sad when one can arrange an overseas holiday and spend much less than one would locally. I suppose there are many factors involving the exchange rate and cost of living, but there it is. We’ve never been to Vietnam before, but we have both heard good reviews from intrepid travellers who have been and came back with the best impressions.

Most people think of the war if one mentions Vietnam, especially people in our age group. And sure enough, there are many conflicts in its long history. However, the country has moved forward with the times and progress soon overcomes obstacles put in its way by painful history.

Vietnam was part of French Indochina and only gained its independence in 1954. Decades of internal discord, civil war mixed with external interference and tragic armed conflicts have hampered its development. The country has an area of 330,000 square km and a population of about 83 million people. It stretches along the South China Sea down a mountainous backbone and encompasses two river deltas: The Song Hong in the North and the Mekong to the South. Rice, coffee and rubber are the main crops with reserves of coal, anthracite, lignite, tin, iron ore and extensive rainforests beginning to be developed. The climate is monsoonal with moderate rainfall. The capital city is Hanoi with other major cities including Ho Chi Minh City, Da Nang, Hué, Rach Gia, Nha Trang and Haiphong.

Stay tuned for more on the trip…

UNDER THE SAND - MOVIE MONDAY

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” - Thomas Campbell

Being Movie Monday today, I shall once again review a film that we watched recently. This was a curious film that came highly recommended by a friend of ours and which starred that darling of French cinemagoers, Charlotte Rampling. She was born in Sturmer, England, in 1946. The daughter of a British Colonel who became a NATO commander and a painter, she was educated at Jeanne d’Arc Académie pour Jeunes Filles in Versailles, France and at the exclusive St. Hilda’s school in Bushley, England. She was a model before entering films in 1965. Since then she has had numerous film roles in British and American films, but especially so in Continental ones. In 1995 she was chosen by Empire magazine as one of the 100 Sexiest Stars in film history.

The film was François Ozon’s 2000 “Sous Le Sable” (Under the Sand). It is an intense, but slowly moving film, building up to a crescendo little by little like a Rossini overture. Rampling plays Marie, an English literature lecturer in a Paris university, who is seemingly happily married to Jean (Bruno Cremer) for 25 years. They have no children. They begin their usual summer vacations in the southwest of France and soon after they arrive there they decide to go to the beach. Jean leaves Marie sunbathing on the beach and goes to swim in the sea. When Marie suddenly looks at the time and realizes how long her husband is gone she looks for him, but she cannot find Jean. Has he committed suicide? Drowned? Left her? With no clue and no body to mourn over, Marie reports the disappearance to the police but continues her life, acting as though her husband were still alive. As the weeks pass, her friends try to get her to snap out of her idée fixe and even introduce Vincent (Jacques Nolot) to her who is an eligible bachelor.

This film is not for those who desire action and car chases, cops and robbers or superhero stunts. It is a quiet meditative study on a woman’s fragile psychological state following a crisis in her life. Rampling gives a magnificent performance mostly acting with her facial expressions, her gestures, her body language. What remains unsaid in the fim, or what is hinted at is important for us as we are then able to decide what actually has happened on the beach. Rampling is ably supported by the rest of the small cast. She manages to convey Marie’s initial bafflement and subsequent denial believably and with conviction. As she begins to see Vincent her awakening erotic fantasies and guilt begin to intrude into her coping mechanisms and she comes close to becoming mentally unstable.

The confrontation with Suzanne, Jean’s elderly mother (played wonderfully by veteran actress Andrée Tainsy) helps Marie to sort out her life and accept Jean’s disappearance – or does she? The mysterious last scene of the movie back at the beach where Jean disappeared is one that leaves the viewer of the film puzzled, but also free to choose the ending that he/she desires. The strange man on the beach could be there or he could not. He could be anyone: Jean, Vincent, the Lifeguard or even a stranger. Marie’s frenetic but erratic run towards the man is puzzling as she seems to run past him in the end, or does she?

This is a film that will appeal to those who wish to watch an intellectually stimulating film and who enjoy good performances. It is one that contains some nudity and sex scenes (in true French cinema style…), however, these were not offensive, but rather tastefully shown and certainly part of the story, highlighting Marie’s shifting frames of reference. The movie is available on DVD and I fortuitously found it in the sale bin of our video store for a paltry price.

RON MUECK'S SCULPTURES

“The trouble about man is twofold.  He cannot learn truths which are too complicated; he forgets truths which are too simple.” - Rebecca West

Last time I was in Brisbane I caught the exhibition of Ron Mueck’s sculptures. Mueck (born 1958) is an Australian who works in the UK and creates hyperrealistic sculpture using modern materials. He started as a puppeteer and model maker for television and films, his work for the film “Labyrinth” being the most notable. He has had no formal art training and his sculptures grew out of his work in film.

Mueck’s sculptures are hard to ignore. The scale ranges from the gigantic to the pygmy size, but life-sized figures are notably absent. The sculptor says: “I never made life-size figures because it never seemed to be interesting. We meet life-size people every day.” The technique he uses relies on chicken wire armatures covered in plaster and clay, over which are painted layers of coloured polyester resin. He also uses silicone, real and artificial hair and fur. Hairs, nails and other details are then added to give an amazingly realistic appearance to the figures.

Looking at a Mueck sculpture one is firstly awed by the sheer scale of the enormous figures, or intrigued by the amazing detail of the small figures. Secondly, there is an element of confrontation – you have to make your mind up about them very quickly. Most people like them or hate them immediately. Many people find the sculptures threatening or creepy. I did not dislike them, but would not go out of my way to acquire one, if I had the money to do so.

There is a message inherent in sculpture such as Mueck’s. The greatly realistic appearance of the sculptures forces the observer to develop a “relationship” with the figures, although their disparity in scale creates a tension and a belligerence that demands attention. The nakedness of many of his sculptures is also something that shocks many viewers and the ordinary appearance of real people that mirrors most of us has an effect that invites the viewer’s self examination and introspection.

Mueck’s art is approachable, confronting, hard to ignore. It shocks many and invites comparisons. It is the art of controversy and popularity, easily absorbed into mass culture and marketability. However, it does ask some probing questions, the most important one that it generated for me being: “What does it mean to be human?”