After our ordeal on Half Dome, we felt free to allow ourselves the luxury of sleeping in until a whopping 8:30 a.m on Saturday. Though I was skeptical of our (well, my) ability to pull off any physical activity that day, we nevertheless packed our bags for a hike in the park’s less-visted Hetch Hetchy section. After a relaxed breakfast at the campsite of cereal, fruit and coffee, we threw our things into Dorothy and set off for Hetch Hetchy, the route to which requires one to exit and reenter the park, passing through private land.
Hetch Hetchy Valley is like a smaller twin to Yosemite Valley, nearly as dramatic if not on the same scale. But the steadfast march toward progress led the city of San Francisco to campaign for a dam in Hetch Hetchy to provide the city with water and power in the early 1900s. Over John Muir’s strenuous objections, the project was green-lighted, and so the first thing we saw as we descended on the winding road into the valley was the huge O’Shaughnessy Dam, which still provides water to San Francisco. The dam has since become a rallying cry for the preservation of national parks, and it’s extremely unlikely that another project like it could ever be approved. Though some people call for the restoration of Hetch Hetchy, it’s far more likely that we’ll just have to imagine what Hetch Hetchy Valley would look like were it not flooded.
We hiked a couple miles along the northern share of the manmade lake to Wapama Falls, where we stopped for lunch, our leftover tortellini. Each time we stopped and started again, my legs cried out in protest.
After we hiked back to Dorothy and bid farewell to Hetch Hetchy, we took a short driving tour up the Tioga Road, which leads to the eastern part of Yosemite. Though we had dinner reservations that prevented us from going all the way to Tuolomne Meadows, we made it as far as Tenaya Lake, stopping at Olmsted Point for a beautiful view. Though we had enjoyed blue skies all morning, storm clouds were rolling in and we got hit by heavy rain and even some violent hail as we retreated west.
We drove back to the valley through the very visible scars of a huge forest fire, beautiful in its own eerie way.
As we headed towards dinner, we took off our outdoor trekking hats and got ready for something more refined.
Of the places we visited, Singapore struck me as having perhaps both the least and the most sense of historical memory. On the one hand, the tiny city-state pays the past no mind, forging ahead as a free agent economically and politically. On the other hand, this drive to succeed is fueled by a keen awareness that all of Singapore’s growth is thanks to the nation’s own deliberate action.
Singapore is a little island with few natural resources and a whole lot of people. As a result, it’s relied on human capital to grow its economy. Since the second world war, the country has built itself into a economic powerhouse. And this hasn’t been an accident. Singaporeans are very aware that they have the careful planning of the People’s Action Party (PAP) to thank. Though it’s hard for me to ever get behind a truly one-party system, Singapore is the best argument for it. If it weren’t for creative ideas strictly applied by the central government to make exactly the society they envisioned, Singapore wouldn’t have come as far as it has. This isn’t a secret, or even particularly insightful. It’s a fact of life in Singapore.
It’s so widely accepted, in fact, especially among the generation that remembers a different, poorer Singapore, that it’s particularly impressive that opposition parties managed to garner 40 percent in this year’s national election. Because of the structure of national representation, the opposition only got 8 out of 89 seats in parliament. But if I were the PAP, I would be quaking in my boots. The older generation won’t be around forever, and it’s the younger generation currently paying the highest tax of all: two years of their life, for mandatory military service.
The pragmatism of the discourse in Singapore reminded me of Sweden, actually, even though their political systems couldn’t be more difficult. Perhaps I give the two countries too much credit, but the two countries seem to take the same approach to national problems: identify the best solution and implement it. Just like Singapore, Sweden was relatively poor until the second half of the 20th century, and its economy today is built entirely on an educated, competitive workforce.
There are differences, of course, in their means. Singapore, for example, bans most public discussion of racial issues, an effective solution to a certain variety of problems but a clear encroachment on free speech. (I hope it doesn’t apply to commentary on the ethnic origin of delicious food, because we might be in trouble.) Meanwhile, Sweden remains effective despite a liberal democracy standing in the way of getting things done. The PAP should take heart: If Singaporean elections stop reelecting them, all hope is not lost for the country’s future. It’s also a distinct possibility that the PAP is quite safe as long as they keep producing results.
Singapore also evoked some of the same feeling of Hong Kong, of course: an oasis of developed Westernness in a third-world desert. But the fact that it is its own nation, and one that has been independent for a relatively long time, changes everything, giving it the added feeling of a nimble, dynamic free spirit that has a clear idea of what it wants. Much more so than any of the other places we visited, I’ll be fascinated to see where Singapore is in ten or fifty years.
Much more so than Thailand, Vietnam seemed to wear its past on its sleeve. When you think about it, the country has had a series of particularly unfortunate circumstances, between the French and American interventions. It’s pretty easy to see how those historical circumstances could lead to a strong sense of collective nationalism, resulting in the communism that tore the country’s economy apart in the ’70s. Though the government has taken a China-like tact since then, liberalizing the economy while maintaining tight authoritarianism politically, the nation’s socialist identity was evident from the moment we got our visas, which proudly proclaimed that we were welcome to one visit to the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. (It’s also worth noting that Vietnam was the only country that required us to get a visa.)
On our first morning in Hanoi, during our first walk through the city, we walked by a statue of Lenin on our way to a museum celebrating the great things Ho Chi Minh did for the nation, leaving there for a museum of party-approved Vietnamese art. Though we didn’t appear to have minders watching us, it was still a pretty surreal feeling. The most interesting part to me about all that is that the value system it reflects: above all else, communism — but above that, communist leaders. Sure, the nation Lenin was running didn’t turn out hugely successful, but at least everyone was equal. Well, except for Lenin, who was even more equal. It’s a different sort of truth. Uncle Ho did do great things for the country, in a certain sense. Vietnam was able to become an independent socialist nation, and if that’s your standard of evaluation, then he did an excellent job.
Similarly, at the Hanoi Hilton, the total denial that the Vietnamese soldiers did anything untoward to their American prisoners isn’t exactly doing the country’s reputation any favors. We haven’t forgotten that terrible atrocities were committed in that prison, even if the prisoners did leave alive, and lying about it is repugnant as well. I’m not exactly sure what they should say in their little museum, but perhaps that’s why you shouldn’t torture people. Much of the prison has been demolished to make way for a high-rise; maybe they should have demolished the whole thing.
Unfortunately, the country, which is the world’s 13th most populous at 90 million, appears to have remained totally underdeveloped. As soon as we drove away from the airport when we arrived, we were surrounded by rice patties separated by dense jungle reminiscent of any Vietnam War movie. Hanoi sprung up out of nowhere, starting with a few ramshackle buildings and growing into the dense center of the city, which wasn’t all that much more finished.
Interestingly, this apparently proud and defiant national identity didn’t seem to be reflected in the city’s restaurant scene. We found that the best, most authentic Vietnamese food was to be had on the streets, not in the city’s fine restaurants. Perhaps this is just because the nicest restaurants are funded by outside investors with the purpose of attracting outside tourists, but it didn’t suggest a culture of exalted national cuisine. In fact, I get that impression more from Vietnamese restaurants back home, which very much embrace the idea of bringing out the best from Vietnam.
Our time in Vietnam was fascinating in a very different way than any of our previous stops. Hong Kong and Thailand are changing, even dramatically, but neither had quite the sense of truly being at a crossroads that I got in Hanoi. As I read the latest from each of the countries we visited, I’ll have a very different perspective on all of them after having been there, but I’m particularly intrigued about what lies in Vietnam’s future. In the meantime, I’ll have great memories of some delicious food.
Hanoi’s Old Quarter is a complicated web of 36 winding streets, linked together to form a thriving marketplace. Unlike the wide boulevards in the newer part of the city — near the monuments and large hotels — the Old Quarter is crowded, hazardous to pedestrians, and filled with the sights and scents of local life.
On Thursday we took a walking tour to get a better feeling for the more traditional part of the city. We never found a map as great as our Thai ones, but the one advantage Vietnamese street signs have over their regional counterparts is their use of Roman script. Though we still found ourselves lost a few times, we could at least sound out the names of the streets where we were. The use of the familiar looking letters stems from Vietnam’s longtime colonization by the French, but they managed to throw in some of the strangest looking accent marks I have ever seen.
Our walk wove through tiny side streets, each specializing in the sale of a different product. One street sold tires, another sold toxic-smelling paint. We perused a row of stalls that all sold paper money for burning in religious ceremonies. Some streets were entirely dedicated to fruits, others to crabs and still-flopping fish. Many of the saleswomen were wearing my new favorite outfit, complete with a rice hat. And while making our way through the many shops, we narrowly avoided several encounters with rogue motorcycles.
On one block, we saw three iPhone vendors and a small child being bathed in a basin on the street. It was contrasting moments like this that really reminded us we were in a developing nation. The exhaust streaming out from the motorcycles, the open air meat markets and uncovered fish, and the women carrying baskets of pineapple across their shoulders were also signs of the economy of yesteryear.
In Bangkok, we had been offered rides on a tuk-tuk at every turn. In Hanoi, locals were equally eager to get us onto their motorbikes. We declined, but everyone else in the city seemed eager to hop on board. Entire families on one bike, with small children sitting on the handlebars and babies crammed between two seated adults, were pretty typical. Though we saw an impressive number of adults wearing helmets, very few children were outfitted for safety. I read in one of our many online guides that ambulances in Hanoi can take at least 45 minutes to get to roadside emergencies because of the insane alleyways and motorbike traffic. Yikes. But despite the sheer insanity of the motorbike driving and their people-weaving skills, the whole system seemed to move pretty smoothly.
In addition to our streetwalking, we also perused a large market. The first floor was filled with all sorts of interesting foods: entire stalls devoted to different mushroom varieties, barrels and barrels of dried shrimp, more raw meat, and beautiful, bright-colored fruits. The upstairs was packed with wholesale clothing and make-up, reminiscent of many of the other markets we’ve seen on our Asian journey.
After spending the whole morning in Hanoi’s Old Quarter, we paid a visit to the Hanoi Hilton in the afternoon. The Hoa Lo Prison was given its nickname during America’s war with Vietnam, but it was originally built by French colonists to imprison the local political opposition in the late 1800s. The French used the prison through the mid-1900s, keeping large numbers of Vietnamese men and women in — according to the Vietnamese — subhuman conditions.
Much of the prison was recently demolished for new development projects, but the wing that remains has been turned into a museum. The exhibits show the small cells that the Vietnamese were forced into, as well as evidence that they were abused by their French captors. The museum honors the many local political heroes who spent time in Hoa Lo.
During the Vietnam War, the North Vietnamese army repurposed the prison to jail, torture and interrogate American pilots who had been shot down. From the museum exhibits, you would think the Americans — John McCain among them — were in summer camp. They made Christmas cards, wrote poems, played cards, joked with their captors and received excellent medical attention.
From the Vietnamese perspective, it seems that life in the Hanoi Hilton was rather bucolic for the American soldiers. Memoirs written by the American pilots in the decades since would probably disagree.
It was also interesting that the Vietnamese took a prison that had jailed so many of their own people, and repurposed it for their own uses (and abuses). It definitely gives the whole establishment a bit more of an eery feeling.
Chiang Mai was very different from Bangkok, and not just in its northern food. The differences became apparent the moment we landed and our hotel picked us up. The ride from the airport to the hotel did not feature any traffic, and took about five minutes, a nice change from the 45-minute stop-and-go trip we had just had in Bangkok. This proved an apt symbol of the differences between the two cities. Though the drivers were no less aggressive or insane, Chiang Mai was much smaller and more parochial. As a result, it was much easier for us to get around, especially compared to Bangkok.
But oddly, in central Chiang Mai, the ratio of Westerners to natives was much higher than in central Bangkok. Chiang Mai is apparently an expat center, which was surprising and a little unsettling. Here, deep in the hills, 370 miles from Bangkok, how did a thriving expat community develop? The concentration was especially stark at trivia night at U.N. Irish Pub, which was in English and didn’t seem to have a single Thai contestant. There is apparently also a push to make Chiang Mai a conference destination in southeast Asia, which was evident at our rather large, corporate-feeling hotel.
As a result of this community, as well as the strong tourist trade, Chiang Mai had something of a Disney World feeling to it. Nearly every business in the city, including our cooking school, every restaurant we went to, the many bars around town, the night bazaar, and even the wine cart we enjoyed, is predicated on the influx of dollars from Europe and America. The string of go-go bars near our hotel was not fueled by locals needing to blow off some steam.
This made it a little harder for us to explore northern Thai cuisine, since most visitors don’t want it, preferring the Thai food they know from ethnic restaurants back home. Of course, we still managed to find it (and we ended up concurring with the rest of our tourist companions in our preferences), but its presence was much more muted than I would have expected.
Our trips outside Chiang Mai gave me much better insight into life in most of Thailand, outside its large cities. In Chiang Mai’s case, unlike sprawling Bangkok, we barely needed to leave the city limits to find ourselves in an extremely rural, underdeveloped area. As we wound our way through the mountains around Chiang Mai, we passed through areas formerly dominated by the opium trade, which has been all but eradicated by a program run by the central government to sponsor the growing of less socially harmful crops. Eating culture in the hills didn’t seem too disparate from that in the cities — we saw many of the same street-side restaurants made of plastic chairs and a wok.
Northern Thailand was very different than Bangkok in pace and scale, but many of the same elements remained. Delicious food still thrust itself at us, sometimes literally, at every street corner. But, especially in Chiang Mai, I felt the sense of needing to escape the tourist influence whenever possible. I never felt that way in Bangkok, where it was much easier to do without even trying.
One of my mantras lately has been that all life is an expectations game. That is, we’re only really able to judge things in relation to our previously-held expectations. We can be delighted by something about which we had low expectations but disappointed by the same thing if our expectations were too high. So in thinking about Bangkok and about Thailand in general, it seems like I have to start with my expectations.
First, as I wrote before, I really didn’t have too much of a frame of reference for Thailand, so in terms of specific expectations, I didn’t have many. But broadly, I expected a developing country that’s been doing much better than many of its neighbors, aside from recent political instability. I expected a flourishing native culture, impacted by Western influence but never colonized. And, naturally, I expected to find out why people have called Thailand the “Land of Smiles.”
All of my expectations proved reasonable, both in Bangkok and Chiang Mai, and as a result, I had a terrific time in Thailand and really enjoyed the country. But, from the perspective of historical memory, there were plenty of other things we observed in the country that came as a surprise or were otherwise remarkable.
The biggest thing that struck me right away about Bangkok was what a huge city it was, both by population and area. Our hotel was at the western end of one the Skytrain’s two lines, and the city went on for miles after that. As we finally figured out once we got a good map, the city was full of different neighborhoods, all busy and worth exploring. Every day of the week, the train was packed, and as we learned the hard way, the roads are terribly congested to the point that driving is nearly futile. Taking a cab is less luxury and much more torture.
The city’s sprawling development seems to have gotten away from it, and though bandaids like the Skytrain and river ferries have helped significantly, there will still need to be significant investment before Bangkok is easy to get around. As the New York Times wrote, if you can’t reach place on the river or the Skytrain, it’s hardly worth going at all. The problem is compounded by how difficult it is to walk even short distances, because the streets and drivers are so unfriendly to pedestrians. Such improvements will become easier as the country continues to develop, but there will need to be careful attention paid to planning as the city keeps growing.
From a food perspective, as the city has exploded in size, the native cuisine has remained intractable. From the streets to the finest hotels, Thai food is everywhere. This is a very different feeling than a place like the U.S. or even much of Europe, where “native” cuisines are common but are just one of a wide range of choices. Though both Bangkok and Chiang Mai had plenty of world cuisines all over the place, it seemed very clear in both places that globalization hasn’t yet erased or even really watered down the country’s cherished eats.
Even so, I did also get the sense of a proud kingdom that has translated itself poorly into the modern era. At Jim Thompson’s house, we got a picture of the kingdom of Siam, a prosperous, well-run society that held its own against intruding cultures and even inspired newcomers to stay awhile. Today, after a few politically tumultuous years, Thailand will hold a national election on July 3 in which the sister of an exiled leader will run as a proxy candidate amid royalist opposition. We saw literally thousands and thousands of campaign signs all over the country with huge pictures of the candidates, but it’s unclear to what extent the election will be seen as legitimate by the Thai people and world observers. Last year’s protests appeared to call for a serious discussion of the issues, and glamour-shot posters and military crackdowns on demonstrations don’t foster that.
The monarchy’s continued influence also adds an interesting dynamic to Thai politics. Even should the election turn out fairly, it’s hard to take modern democracy 100 percent seriously in a country that posts pictures of its monarchs on every street corner. At the National Museum in Bangkok, the exhibits ended with a gushing gallery about the royal family and the great things they’ve done for the country. In a democracy, royals don’t usually get to take much credit, and propagandistic museum exhibits reflect a naive approach to making the country appear modern and productive. Though perhaps that kind of thing plays well at home, it’s unlikely to inspire confidence especially in the Western world.
Criticisms aside, Thailand absolutely trounced my expectations. There’s construction all over the place, both from private industry and public infrastructure, and it often feels like a very developed country. Some of the roads we drove on were significantly nicer than America’s crumbling highways. Thai culture and food felt both historically rooted and rapidly developing, yielding delicious fusion food like at Eat Me and more traditional fare like at the Mandarin Oriental. Bangkok was a vibrant, lively city, and I’ll be extremely interested to visit again in a few years to see how it’s changed.
Bangkok wears its history on the surface, with wats and prangs as plentiful as its shopping malls and pad thai carts. The Thai people demonstrate enormous respect for their past, a fact which became even more evident on our day trip to Ayutthaya on Monday.
Ayutthaya, situated about 70 kilometers north of Bangkok, was the historic seat of Thai power. Beginning in the mid-1300s, kings from five successive dynasties governed the Siamese people from the palaces and temples of Ayutthaya. Sacked by Burma, Siam’s constant enemy, in 1767, Ayutthaya was later abandoned as the capital in favor of a more geographically secure city: Bangkok. Though much of Ayutthaya was destroyed in several battles with the enemy, what remains has been preserved for tourists — Thai and foreigners alike — to come explore.
We began our trip at Bangkok’s major train station, where we were offered the opportunity to pay 20 baht (less than $1) for a third-class ticket to Ayutthaya. We opted to pay a slightly steeper fee in order to enjoy much-needed air conditioning. After a 90-minute trip through the Thai countryside, we arrived in Ayutthaya and made our way to a small pier. The old city is separated from the train station by a narrow river, which must be crossed by boat. We paid a total of 8 baht in order to board what was generously dubbed a ferry.
Once on the other side, we purchased an all-access pass to the many ruins. Fragments of the once glorious temples remain, and though the stone towers and walls are punctuated by overgrown grassy fields, what still stands serves to demonstrate the impeccable craftsmanship that went into building Ayutthaya so many centuries ago.
After all of our touring around, we’ve learned a couple helpful hints to better decipher the temples and ruins of Thailand. For example, a Buddha with the left hand extended means “Stop fighting.”
In Ayutthaya, many of the ancient Buddha statues are still intact, but the majority had their heads cut off by the Burmese invaders, leaving rows and rows of headless bodies. In contrast, one of the most famous Ayutthaya sites is the bodiless head of Buddha, encased in tree roots.
We trooped around the old city, pausing in our historical journey only for a brief lunch of pad see ew and chicken with cashews.
Appreciation for the wonders of Ayutthaya is still very fresh in Thai minds. Only recently, excavators discovered a crypt inside on the more majestic temples. I got a little creeped out by the steep, deep staircase, but Chaz went down to check it out for himself. The piles of golden Buddhas and other relics found in the depths of the temple are now on display in Bangkok’s National Museum, which we were able to visit on Wednesday before heading out of the capital.
We walked the entirety of Ayutthaya’s ruins, but caught a glimpse of Thai transportation history: elephants paraded around near the ruins, carrying tourists on their backs.
Toward the end of our day, all the walking began to take its toll. Though we did not board an elephant, we did partake in another feature of Thai life: a tuk-tuk. All week in Bangkok, we kept encountering these strange vehicles. An alternative to taxis, tuk-tuks look almost like golf carts from the front. Some have only a small bench for passengers, while others look like they could seat eight people. In Bangkok, tuk-tuks stopped every time we tried to hail a cab, but we waved them all away, opting for safety and air conditioning. In Ayutthaya, conventional taxis were nowhere to be found and we were a very solid walk from the water. So we hopped into the backseat of a persistent tuk-tuk driver and held on for the bumpy ride. There’s no meter, so we had negotiated a price beforehand. We most definitely paid more than a local would, but for less than $2, not an awful way to travel. Still, we disembarked in agreement that once was enough. (But I have since learned that apparently in Chiang Mai, taxis can be hard to come by and tuk-tuks are the way to go. We’re hopeful the city’s small size will make it easily walkable.)
On our way to the boat, we walked through an open food market: the first signs that Ayutthaya was still a flourishing town of any kind. But just as we were getting into the trenches of the fish display, the sky opened up. Big, dark clouds had begun to emerge in the later part of the afternoon and the moment of monsoon had definitely come. Only problem: we had to cross the river. Putting everything we had with us into my bag and then under my raincoat, we ran for the ferry and made the adventurous crossing.
Despite the insane weather, our little train managed to get us back to Bangkok on a relatively timely schedule, wet, but a bit more cultured.
On Sunday, after visiting Wat Arun and having our street picnic, we set out on the Skytrain to downtown Bangkok to visit the house of Jim Thompson. Thompson had been stationed in Thailand in 1945 by the Office of Strategic Services, predecessor to the CIA, and while there, built a business around exporting Thai silk. Thompson vanished mysteriously without a trace in 1967 while visiting friends in Malaysia. His house, which was carefully designed by Thompson himself and made up of traditional Thai houses brought from around the country, is maintained today as a gallery of the beautiful art and crafts that Thompson amassed during his time here.
Touring his house felt like traveling back in time, to an era when this country was called Siam. Though Thailand was never colonized, that didn’t prevent Westerners like Thompson, enthralled with Thai culture, from coming in and getting rich. Thompson’s house brought the feeling of that era to life, especially thanks to the tour, which was extensive, thorough and delivered by an incredibly chipper woman.
We stopped by the cafe that’s been set up on his land for a papaya salad, one of our favorite Thai dishes, and the unexpected extreme spiciness of its dressing nearly blew our heads off. It was still incredibly delicious and fresh, but I was kicking myself that I had to have wine instead of beer with our snack.
We headed further into town to check out the Suan Lum night bazaar, but found that it had been demolished a few months earlier. After a frustratingly long walk back to the Skytrain, we went back to our hotel to get ready for our dinner plans.
Coming off a string of two excellent dinners — one at Blue Elephant and one at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel — we had planned to indulge ourselves one more time at Bangkok’s Peninsula Hotel, which is also reputed to have an excellent Thai restaurant, Thiptara. Unfortunately, it turned out that we had pressed our luck just a bit too much. Though the setting of the dinner, again on the bank of the Chao Phraya River, couldn’t have been nicer, the food did not measure up to the two wonderful meals we had just had.
We started the meal with two phenomenal appetizers: spicy mango salad with crispy sea bass and chicken satay with peanut sauce. The mango salad was state of the art. The fruit was delicious, the dressing perfect and the fish crunchy but still extremely flavorful.
But the entrees let us down. We might have ordered wrong, but the menu wasn’t that compelling either. We had deep-fried soft shell crab with chili and basil, served with sweet and sour sauce, and a curry with eggplant, chicken and chili that was prepared without coconut milk. The crab was fine but not remarkable. As with a lot of deep-fried food (in my opinion), the taste of the crab meat itself was nothing like it could have been if prepared differently. The curry was almost like a soup — it was much thinner than an average curry, and perhaps as a result, it didn’t taste that much and was actually rather bland.
All in all, the Peninsula was a disappointing experience, especially for the money. Though our appetizers were great, the restaurant wasn’t able to keep it up for our main course. The cards were absolutely stacked against them, though, since our meal there came after two such phenomenal dinners.
As we explored Hong Kong, several things kept striking me about the contrasts we observed throughout the city. Hong Kong felt very much like it could have been any major Western city: it was cosmopolitan, busy, modern and vibrant.
Of course, this is in large part because there are still so many holdovers from Hong Kong’s former life as a British colony. Some of these are obvious on the surface. Unlike the rest of China, one drives on the left side of the road in Hong Kong. Just like on the streets of London, flashing yellow globes atop lampposts warn drivers of a crosswalk. And many, even most, of the white people on the city’s streets that I thought might be American turned out to have British accents on closer inspection.
But there was also a more intriguing sense that the former dynamic of an external colonial master, so to speak, has not completely gone away since Hong Kong’s transfer back to China in 1997. The hordes of domestic helpers assembled all over the city on Sunday right away suggested a city in which there are plenty of people who have the means to take advantage of the ready availability of relatively inexpensive labor in their homes. And many of the street markets — in particular, the jade market, where dozens of stalls were selling the same wares at what cannot have been great margins — suggested that there is a large underclass of people barely scraping by. The low cost of taxis also suggested that, in spite of the city’s incredibly development, there still exists a big labor surplus.
This stood in stark contrast to much of what we saw as we walked around in the city’s trendy central district, which contained outlets of nearly every upscale brand I’ve ever heard of. It was Gucci, Armani and Prada at every turn. Though we saw many, many Western brands, we did also visit one upscale Chinese store, Shanghai Tang. Western food brands like Starbucks and Subway are also all over the place. I imagine these stores cater to a mixture of wealthy expats and rich Chinese who come over from the mainland to shop. The contradiction between these beautiful, over-the-top shopping centers and parts of the rest of the city could not have been more stark. Even my aunt and uncle’s role in Hong Kong — working at an international school — illustrates the two worlds that collide in the city.
In spite of all this, I also got a sense during our time in Hong Kong of the ancient majesty of its Chinese heritage. Both in the tranquil gardens we visited and in the chaotic dim sum restaurants, it was clear that Chinese culture permeates every part of the city, in spite of the overtones of colonialism that were evident in other ways. Food from every region of China can be found everywhere, from street carts to the finest restaurants, alongside the food of every other world cuisine, not least from the West. Interestingly, though Mandarin is so widely taught in the United States — and, in fact, it is the dialect of Chinese taught at my uncle’s school — Cantonese is the most popular language in Hong Kong, spoken by 91 percent of the population.
Hong Kong was a great way to start our visit to Asia, not least because staying with my aunt and uncle was a much easier way to get accustomed to the time change and culture shock than if we had gone directly to a hotel. But it was also a fascinating introduction to the region’s rich cultural history. Seeing the vigil in the square and realizing we were technically in an area ruled by the oppressive Chinese government and then seeing the opulent malls, replete with dozens and dozens of escalators, that could have fit in on Fifth Avenue was an interesting lens for beginning to unravel this part of the world, and I couldn’t be more excited about the rest of our trip.
Macau, Hong Kong’s nearby neighbor, is a land of strange juxtapositions. In one tiny place, there are elements of a European colony, provincial China and artificial Las Vegas.
The first European conquest in the far east, Macau was settled by the Portuguese in the days of Marco Polo. China later formally gifted the area to Portugal in the hopes that the rich European empire would protect against pirates. For over 400 years, Macau was populated by the Chinese, but governed by the Portuguese. In the late 1990s, in a symbolic ceremony much like that between China and England over Hong Kong, Portugal returned its colony to China. In the future, Macau will be fully incorporated into Mainland China, but for now, it occupies the same status as Hong Kong: Special Administrative Region. We had to go through customs and exchange currencies in order to visit — we picked up some MOPs, or Macanese patacas, upon our entry. China, Macau and Hong Kong are all quite close — we took an hour-long ferry and we could see the mainland once we exited the boat — but the areas remain starkly different.
Macau’s biggest tourist appeal is evident as you approach the shoreline: gambling is legal here, and the coast looks just like Vegas, complete with the towering Wynn, MGM and Venetian casinos. After clearing customs, we were mobbed by representatives from all the casinos, all vying for our attention and wallets. In lieu of taking a cab from the harbor to the center of the Macau peninsula, we hopped on board one of the casino shuttle buses, as did nearly every single tourist, because we had read that one of the casinos was walking distance to the central historic square of the city.
We made a beeline out of the casino to a recommended restaurant in the more authentic part of the peninsula. Macanese food is a truly unique experience, combining Portuguese and Cantonese influences and taking advantage of the abundant and fresh seafood. We started with stuffed crab, which looked upon first glance like the rendition I’ve had before on the shores of the Atlantic, but the spices were quite different than those used at the Oyster Bay clam bar. One of the hallmark dishes is African chicken, which has been cooked on the bone and left to simmer in a sauce of chilies, garlic and coconut. We also enjoyed a baked dish of curried crab and shrimp. Before ordering, we had been offered a photo book of the food served in the restaurant and had been puzzled as to what we might receive. The unusual pairings of seasonings from around the globe proved to be quite delicious.
After our lunch, we embarked on a walking tour of the more legitimate, less Vegas portion of Macau. When I was studying abroad in Spain, I took a brief trip to Lisbon. While in Portugal’s capital city, I remember being struck by how provincial it seemed in comparison to Spain. Despite the mere miles that separated the Iberian metropolises, Lisbon seemed to have held more closely onto the traditions of its founding, while the Spanish cities had forged ahead. Similarly, Hong Kong has taken on the future with gusto (more on this later), whereas Macau, underneath its flashy casinos and bright lights, bears much more of its past on the surface.
The historic squares and churches look like direct replicas of their Lisbon inspiration. But in the alleyways between the preserved Unesco heritage sites are Chinese families, attending school, minding little shops and barreling down the narrow passageways on motor bikes. Despite being a tourist paradise, Macau is genuinely Chinese; dilapidated apartment buildings with drying laundry flapping in the wind populate the same skyline as the world’s fanciest casinos. On one street filled with bakeries, we visited one of the more famous outlets. With a very Chinese-sounding name and countless varieties of mystery meat jerky, the store also featured the eggy custard tarts and almond cookies ubiquitous on the streets of Portugal.
There is a sense of colonial imperialism to all of Macau, with its Portuguese street names and Chinese translations as an afterthought. The Chinese may have taken back their land in 1999, but they opened it up to international gambling enterprises in 2001. Since the exit of the Portuguese, the wealthy chains of Las Vegas lore have set up shop. Even if governing power has begun to return to native hands, the driving force of the economy is very clearly Western. The local people are employed by the casinos, but just as in the Portuguese bakeries, they are promoting a culture seemingly different from their own.
Desperately in need of an air-conditioned respite, and genuinely curious about what we might find, we visited the massive Wynn casino. We walked in a circle for close to 20 minutes, passing table after table of poker, baccarat and black jack. The floor had just opened, and so it was largely empty. Every table was staffed by a dealer in a Wynn uniform, but few players were out yet. We were unable to find an answer, but left very curious as to who visits Macau’s many luxury resorts. We saw very few Western-looking people walking around Macau, and the few we spotted seemed to have British accents. The majority of tourists looked like they came from Mainland China, making this tropical peninsula seem even more like Las Vegas or Atlantic City. We were definitely not alone in our touring of the historic sites, but you have to wonder if the other people scoping out the old churches with us would be retiring to the gaming tables and slot machines after their trip down historical memory lane.
Before leaving for Macau, we had stopped by the international school where Bruce and Wendy work. While waiting for Bruce, we had made conversation with his secretary, who is a native of Hong Kong. She commended the travel choices we had made us far. She was especially impressed by our authentic dim sum choice (although she scoffed that the restaurant had been for locals only, until it was featured in Lonely Planet, which we didn’t even realize). She said it was good we were going to see Macau; in its rush to economic glory, Hong Kong had destroyed some of its more historic treasures, whereas Macau had managed to hold onto its history — at least for now. Our Asian adventures never included a trip to Mainland China, but the back streets of Macau did provide some perspective on what we perhaps could have witnessed.
We boarded a ferry back to Hong Kong as the sun was setting. Our TurboJet looked more like an airplane than any ferry I’ve ever seen (although to be fair, my experiences on the Cross Sound Ferry feel more like a crossing to Ellis Island than a 21st century boat ride). After a long wait to clear customs, we were ushered into an air conditioned mall and welcomed back to Hong Kong.
Reflections on historical memory: Singapore
Written by Chaz on 6 July 2011Of the places we visited, Singapore struck me as having perhaps both the least and the most sense of historical memory. On the one hand, the tiny city-state pays the past no mind, forging ahead as a free agent economically and politically. On the other hand, this drive to succeed is fueled by a keen awareness that all of Singapore’s growth is thanks to the nation’s own deliberate action.
Singapore is a little island with few natural resources and a whole lot of people. As a result, it’s relied on human capital to grow its economy. Since the second world war, the country has built itself into a economic powerhouse. And this hasn’t been an accident. Singaporeans are very aware that they have the careful planning of the People’s Action Party (PAP) to thank. Though it’s hard for me to ever get behind a truly one-party system, Singapore is the best argument for it. If it weren’t for creative ideas strictly applied by the central government to make exactly the society they envisioned, Singapore wouldn’t have come as far as it has. This isn’t a secret, or even particularly insightful. It’s a fact of life in Singapore.
It’s so widely accepted, in fact, especially among the generation that remembers a different, poorer Singapore, that it’s particularly impressive that opposition parties managed to garner 40 percent in this year’s national election. Because of the structure of national representation, the opposition only got 8 out of 89 seats in parliament. But if I were the PAP, I would be quaking in my boots. The older generation won’t be around forever, and it’s the younger generation currently paying the highest tax of all: two years of their life, for mandatory military service.
The pragmatism of the discourse in Singapore reminded me of Sweden, actually, even though their political systems couldn’t be more difficult. Perhaps I give the two countries too much credit, but the two countries seem to take the same approach to national problems: identify the best solution and implement it. Just like Singapore, Sweden was relatively poor until the second half of the 20th century, and its economy today is built entirely on an educated, competitive workforce.
There are differences, of course, in their means. Singapore, for example, bans most public discussion of racial issues, an effective solution to a certain variety of problems but a clear encroachment on free speech. (I hope it doesn’t apply to commentary on the ethnic origin of delicious food, because we might be in trouble.) Meanwhile, Sweden remains effective despite a liberal democracy standing in the way of getting things done. The PAP should take heart: If Singaporean elections stop reelecting them, all hope is not lost for the country’s future. It’s also a distinct possibility that the PAP is quite safe as long as they keep producing results.
Singapore also evoked some of the same feeling of Hong Kong, of course: an oasis of developed Westernness in a third-world desert. But the fact that it is its own nation, and one that has been independent for a relatively long time, changes everything, giving it the added feeling of a nimble, dynamic free spirit that has a clear idea of what it wants. Much more so than any of the other places we visited, I’ll be fascinated to see where Singapore is in ten or fifty years.
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Tags: Cultural commentary, Historical memory, Politics