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A truly South American city

Written by Emmy on 29 February 2012

After our time in the countryside, we flew north to the bustling capital metropolis of Santiago.

First order of business was — not shockingly — lunchtime. As previously mentioned, sandwiches are like a religious item in Chile. And so we headed to one of their sanctuaries, Ciudad Vieja, a tiny sidewalk cafe in the artsy part of the city well-renowned for what its able to put between two pieces of bread. The menu was widely varied and we took advantage of its many options.

Chilean Spanish has many vocabulary differences from the Spanish I know, and a large number of those differences can be found on menus. So I ordered a sandwich whose ingredients I could not quite identify, other than chicken and bread. What I got was a spicy Chilean rendition on a chicken salad sandwich filled with onions, peppers, avocado and several other veggies. It tasted a lot better than the pictures would lead one to believe.

The dishes ordered around the table incorporated a bevy of different tastes. Alix had the carnitas, seasoned beef served with corn and guacamole, and my mom had a quinoa burger. Quinoa may be the trendy food du jour in fancy New York restaurants now, but its place of origin is more or less exactly where we were sitting.

The sandwich portions, like every other dish experienced thus far in Chile, were positively enormous.

We spent the rest of our first day exploring the city and getting our bearings. Santiago is not really a museum city and is one better explored by walking. The balmy summer weather didn’t hurt the efforts.

We were staying slightly up the hills in one of the artsier neighborhoods and so we trekked down toward the more thumping city center. The neighborhoods are divided by a flowing river, which looked to contain more mud than water…

Downtown Santiago was filled with an entrancing mix of old colonial buildings, new construction and artistic rebellion. I’ve been to Buenos Aires before and was shocked by how European it felt. I’d conjured up an image of South America but felt like I was in France or Italy. Santiago, on the other hand, matched that once-conjured image. It’s quirky and artsy, with pockets of high-rise development and neighborhoods that look like they haven’t changed in centuries.

We spent the whole afternoon exploring the city’s sights and walking to rebuild an appetite. We had planned to investigate another Chilean epicurean standard for dinnertime: seafood. But what’s somewhat odd about seafood in Chile is that it breaks a cardinal rule I’ve always been taught to observe: seafood and cheese do not go together. But in Chile, it appears they do.

We tried two noted specialties at dinner: clams baked with parmesan cheese (manchas a la parmesana) and a crab cake (pastel de jeriba). Now, a crab cake is a known entity to me. And that’s what the Spanish on the menu directly translated to. But this was not a baked cake; this was a cheesy, gooey casserole — closer to the crab dip that aunt makes in the Chesapeake than to crab cakes in the way we think about them normally. Mmmmm delicious.

The next morning we went on one of my most favorite kinds of adventures: a trip to the local market. This particular one — la Vega Central — is home to all the fruit in the city and there is just so much of it. Avocados and cherries are two of my favorite things, but in the winter are so expensive. The reason why? They’re imported from Chile — where they are literally sold by the wheelbarrow (and for mere pennies).

Not too far from the fragrant fruit, it starts to smell like ocean. Not because you’re near the sea per se, but because the fish market is mere blocks away and is heaping with squirmy little guys.

We also visited a flower market, but flowers are far less intriguing than a pile of octopi.

We left the markets and headed to one of the less central neighborhoods of the city. A 15-minute cab ride made a world of difference in our surroundings. Bustling graffiti-filled streets gave way to wide avenues, fancy cars and extensive greenery.

Though Santiago is not, as-previously mentioned, a museum city, one of the newer and more noteworthy landmarks is the Museo de la Moda. At first, we were all sort of suspect of a museum dedicated to fashion. But it turned out to be far more interesting than that.

Chile does not exactly have the most sunny history. It was as recent as 30 years ago that the country lived under tight political control with few personal liberties afforded to the general population. When Pinochet was overthrown in the 1980s, the entire country changed — just as the music, fashion and culture of the world was changing.

The museum was fun and lively — when’s the last time you listened to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” while browsing an historical exhibit? The exhibits gave us a real sense of the oppression of the 1970s and the youthful liberation that followed in the 1980s. There was far more to it than a place called “Museum of Fashion” would have led you to believe.

Later that day we sat down to some more Chilean cuisine. The predominant items in all restaurants we visited were fish and wine. And so we continued to partake. We visited a restaurant called Como Agua Para Chocolate, like the book and movie (which I was exposed to in high school Spanish class).

We sampled a few different fish items (plus one meat one). My seared tuna (bottom right) was served alongside a corn-basil gratin, which was unbelievable.

Part of what was so nice about our trip to Chile — in addition to all of the delicious food – was how much time I got to spend with my family.

The next morning — our last day in Santiago — we decided to explore some of the city’s higher points. The city is dotted with hills, the highest of which are best reached by funiculars. The Chilean funicular is a little more open air than others I’ve ridden before, making both the ride and the destination filled with a beautiful view.

We walked around the Santa Lucia hilltop before seeking shade below. Coming from mid-winter New York weather, it was still hard to adjust to the balmy 90-degree days in Santiago.

Before long, it was lunchtime. We decided to take a break from our sandwiches and go for another set of traditional Chilean dishes. And in line with all the prior lunches we’d had, there was definitely a go-big-or-go-home mentality to the dishes being served.

We sampled a few lunchtime stews traditional to the region. My stew (on the left) contained chickpeas, cinnamon, onion, tomato, coriander and turkey. It was amazing and flavorful. The other stew sampled at the table contained chickpeas, white beans, corn and a series of other spices. The two dishes were incredibly different, despite their similar appearances and ingredients. Both were delicious and extremely filling, but felt a bit more healthy than the colossal sandwiches of the days prior.

The city of Santiago is unbelievably colorful, painted from top to bottom with graffiti. Some of the graffiti is overtly political in nature; others are more benign. One street has houses painted entirely in solid bright colors, each a different shade than the next. We walked the streets and played in the colorful playgrounds.

After carousing around the city for the afternoon and basking in the summer sunlight — we enjoyed a bit of pool time each afternoon — we took an evening stroll on our way to dinner. Two parallel streets near our hotel seemed to be lined each night with table after table of people out drinking. What was amusing was that the first street was filled entirely with underage drinkers out with their friends, while the second was packed with adults out with friends. It seemed that the locals just graduate from one street to the next.

We chose a dinner spot on the adult street. We started with shrimp empanadas (again, breaking the seafood-cheese “rule”).

The house special of the restaurant we chose was fish “a la lata” — fish grilled under a brick with tomato, onions and zucchini. I had pictured almost a sauce made of the vegetables (sauces are very big in Chile), but instead it was fish grilled with the actual vegetables themselves.

Our three days in Santiago were delicious, colorful and cultural. A visit well spent.

Posted in Chile | No Responses »
Tags: Family, Food, Markets, Politics, Sightseeing, Views

Right back where we started from

Written by Emmy on 22 October 2011

Staying in L’Eixample put some of Barcelona’s most beautiful buildings right at our fingertips. Cerda’s streets were lined with trees and filled with spectacular examples of architectural innovation. The majority of the buildings emerged in the late 1800s and early 1900s and follow the modernismo style. (Elsewhere in Europe it’s called Art Nouveau, but Barcelona likes to be different.) The main thoroughfare of the neighborhood, Passeig de Gracia, includes several houses from Barcelona’s patron saint of architecture, Antoni Gaudi. But Gaudi is not the only one to have made a name for Barcelona modernismo, and the buildings of L’Eixample have stood the test of time. Even the sidewalks in the neighborhood are highly stylized!

Clockwise from top left: Gaudi’s Casa Battlo, an apartment building, photographed at night; Gaudi’s other noteworthy apartment building, La Pedrera, also known as Casa Mila; the elaborately designed sidewalk tiles found throughout the neighborhood; a wide tree-lined avenue in L’Eixample with rounded buildings on the corner.

Barcelona was a fantastic place for Jessica and I to visit together because while I caught up with old friends, she explored areas I had seen before. After gawking sufficiently at the buildings on Passeig de Gracia and Rambla de Catalunya, which turns into Las Ramblas further south, she headed to La Pedrera to take a tour of the building and I made my personal homecoming to the CASB building.

The program I studied abroad on has the obnoxious full name of the Consortium for Advanced Studies in Barcelona, but we only ever called it CASB (or “the consortium,” said in a pompous accent when we were feeling cheeky). CASB is a partnership between seven American schools, of which Brown is one, and three universities in Barcelona. American students enroll directly in Spanish classes, braving Catalan-speaking students and highly disorganized university systems. The program is masterminded by the on-site director, Juanjo, who also teaches one course each semester. I absolutely loved the program: it was the perfect balance of no-holds-barred immersion and support. I could go on and on in my ode to CASB, but that’s a subject for another post.

I visited Juanjo in the very familiar office where I once sat panicking about registration and details lost in translation. It was a strange sensation to be on the other side of the desk as several current students came in to do exactly that.

After catching up (and admiring the photos of my CASB class hung on the wall of Juanjo’s office in a beautiful collage), we headed to lunch. Lunch is the meal in Spain. The way we take salads to go and eat sandwiches in the car is effectively sacrilege to people on this side of the ocean. Children go home from school and adults pause their workday in order to eat a substantial and relaxed midday meal. However, that can obviously cause some disruption to the workplace. The solution? Menu del dia. Most restaurants in the city offer this price fixe option that generally includes a first course, second course, dessert, wine and bread. Usually at an affordable price, menu del dia ensures that lunch will not be compromised, even for the working adult.

Juanjo and I walked around the corner to Moon, a small restaurant I had been to before for CASB-sponsored events. One of the new CASB co-directors joined us, as did Teresa, who was Juanjo’s second-in-command when I did the program, but who now runs Boston College’s Barcelona program. Teresa and I both started with the ensalada de queso fresco, a salad with fresh cheese and nuts, while the men went for arroz cubano, a dish I have never quite understood — rice covered in tomato sauce and served with a fried egg. The popular main dish was a Catalan stew of meat and vegetables. In danger of entering a midday food coma, we all opted for coffee rather than dessert.

It was a real treat to see Juanjo and Teresa. My CASB class remained particularly close after our semester abroad and my friends were quite jealous of my mini reunion. However, next year is CASB’s five-year anniversary and a celebration is in the works. I suggest Juanjo fly us all to Barcelona, but it’s a bit more likely that he’ll come stateside for the event. As long as the vino is flowing…

After lunch I headed to Estació Sants, the city’s major train station, to pick up our train tickets to Valencia for Friday. You can purchase them online, but in my experience, if you can conduct a Spanish business transaction live, you should.

I caught back up with Jessica and we returned to El Raval, this time during business hours. Raval was historically a bit of a seedy neighborhood and not the kind of place two girls would want to be walking around alone. However, it has cleaned up tremendously in recent years and, as is often the case, is now occupied largely by young hipsters. There is also a substantial population of immigrant families and many residents fight to demonstrate that El Raval is no longer a de facto red light district. Signs hung from apartment balconies translate to read, “We are a dignified neighborhood.”

Situated at the top of the neighborhood is the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona, or as it is more commonly known, MACBA. The modern art museum is closed on Tuesdays, but that actually makes it the most interesting day to visit. The museum houses a pretty bizarre collection of art, but its mirrored exterior and large courtyard make for a great people watching location. The entrance ramps and open plaza are filled with skateboarders daily, but they multiply in number when there are no museum guards around to bother them.

From the museum we continued into the heart of the Raval, which is filled with vegetarian restaurants, vintage stores and tons of graffiti, much of it political. Barcelona has always had a precarious political situation and it seems to have only intensified since I was last there.

The Catalan people settled in Barcelona centuries ago and built a city with a vibrant economy, language and culture. In the earlier days of its development, the Iberian peninsula was filled with several independently ruled communities who coexisted peacefully for the most part. But with the strategic union of Ferdinand and Isabella and their aggressive reign in the late 1400s (think Columbus and the Spanish Inquisition), a Spanish unification movement began to grow. Catalunya maintained its separation and independence, but in the early 1700s, fell prey to a siege and was placed under the Spanish crown. The Catalan people celebrate September 11 as the day they lost their independence, a holiday with a bit of an ironic tinge.

For the next few hundred years, the Catalan people were permitted to maintain their cultural independence under the rule of Madrid. The strong economy of the region bought its people their linguistic and cultural liberties. But as political tensions swirled in the early part of the twentieth century, the Catalan people began to suffer. The region was the last hold-out against Franco during the Spanish Civil War and so when his dictatorship began in 1939, Catalunya was punished. Because it hindered national unity, the Catalan language was banned from public use. Street signs were changed to Spanish all over the region, some of which still hang alongside their Catalan counterparts today.

When the dictatorship fell in the 1970s, the Spanish people were charged with rewriting their constitution and redesigning their government. As penance to the slighted regions, the new federalist system granted a great deal of self-rule to those parts of the country that wanted it. Seventeen autonomous communities were drawn, Catalunya being one of them. (The region is actually spelled Cataluña in Spanish, but no self-respecting Catalan would ever spell it that way.) While some of the autonomous regions came to rely heavily on Madrid, others took on as much independence as was allowed.

The Spanish federalist system is fraught with problems and resentment. In the Basque Country, this has translated into an extremist terrorist movement fighting for independence. In Catalunya, there was always a cultural movement and a drive to maintain the Catalan way of life, but it was never quite so political. However, that has changed dramatically in the past few years. It’s no secret that the Spanish economy is a total mess. Unemployment for kids my age is nearing 50 percent. But in Catalunya, the economy has remained relatively strong. The region pays taxes to Madrid though, and does not see its money returned to the Catalan people. Instead, many Catalan people feel that their hard-earned dollars are going to support regions with no economic engine that are entirely dependent on the central government, like Andalusia and Extremadura.

The once small independence movement has grown in size, particularly among youth. I watched fights break out in my classes as students called for their peers to rise up. It is not uncommon to see “Catalunya is not Spain” written across public buildings. Demonstrations and protests are constant with locals calling for self-rule for the Catalan people.

It seems that the movement has gotten stronger and more vocal even in the two years since I was here. As Spain continues its economic free fall, it will be fascinating to see what happens in Catalunya.

After our lesson in politics — many thanks to Jessica for enduring my musings on catalanismo throughout the trip — it was time for a snack. We visited Juicy Jones, a colorful juice bar at the southern end of the Raval. The small cafe is perhaps more noted for its decorative walls than its beverages, but my drink was pretty good too. I sampled a homemade lemonade with mint (advertised as having no sugar, it was quite tart) and Jessica tried the apple banana strawberry juice.

Juice in hand, we walked through the Barri Gotic, stopping to peer into art galleries and take samples at an artisanal wine and cheese fair. Once we had sufficiently circled the whole area, we headed back to L’Eixample for dinner, selecting one of the many tapas bars with outdoor seating.

We had a spinach salad with goat cheese and chickpeas (so good that we ordered a second one for dessert), a chicken brochette, grilled vegetables, a shrimp and mushroom brochette and cod baked with white beans.

Another great — and delicious — day.

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Tags: Architecture, Economics, Food, Nostalgia, Politics, Reunions

Reflections on historical memory: Singapore

Written by Chaz on 6 July 2011

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.

Posted in Singapore | 2 Responses »
Tags: Cultural commentary, Historical memory, Politics

Seafood by the seashore

Written by Emmy on 5 July 2011

Food plays a very large role in Singaporean culture. (What, have you not been able to tell thus far?) When locals want to do quality eating, they head to hawker centers. A hawker center (pronounced “hawka centah” in Singlish) is an open-air complex, filled with stalls and stalls, each peddling a different food product. The hawker center we visited on Tuesday night is called Lagoon and is right on the water. As a result, Lagoon is best known for its seafood dishes, which I was extremely excited to try.

We were joined again by Ivan, as well as his girlfriend Cindy, and George, another friend of Vernie’s from secondary school. Vernie had a couple food items that were non-negotiable for us to try, and so we ran around collecting them from different stalls. Her friends got really into our whole food quest and started to pick out items as well. Suddenly we had a very full table, filled with a whole array of delicious items.

Since our primary mission was to eat seafood, we ordered a whole slew of items from the seafood stall Vernie’s dad had recommended. The first item, which turned out to be one of our favorites, was sambal stingray. The stingray, which tasted like a flaky white fish, was coated in a red curry and complimented by a light citrus sauce. It was spicy, but tangy, and almost a little reminiscent of some of the flavors of Thailand.

Next up was oyster eggs. This was probably my least favorite item on the table, but there was more than enough to eat on our heaping picnic table.

The main event — and my favorite dish we ate while in Singapore — was chili crab, one of Singapore’s best-known entrees. Two crabs were served in a large bowl of chili sauce and we went at it. Though I have experience taking apart crustaceans, there is nothing like opening up a crab with chopsticks. Thankfully we also had crackers for opening the shell. The crab was served with soft rolls, which were meant to be dipped in the chili sauce once all the crab meat was gone.

Other items included beef and chicken satay, served with a peanut sauce not entirely dissimilar from that in Thailand. (The Singaporean version was a bit thicker.) We also had a noodle dish called hokkien mee, thin noodles with egg and vegetables.

We tried a few other items, but it quickly became too dark for a food photoshoot. One of them, popiah, was described to us as an uncooked spring roll. The outside tasted like a whole wheat wrap and the inside contained crab and several vegetables. There was also porridge, which I did not try.

Dinner at Lagoon had been pretty hyped beforehand, and it did not disappoint. The crab was just so good.

The locals also suggested we try two pretty typical drinks: sugar cane juice and coconut juice. Neither was quite my style, but I can see how they would provide a good contrast to spicy food.

Once we had finished stuffing our faces, we all got to know each other a little better. It was interesting to compare our educational systems and experiences and the different political systems we grew up under. What was most fascinating to me was the boys’ military experience. Singapore has a mandatory military service for all males, and so after junior college, Ivan and George both trained, were sorted into particular units and served for two years. They are both now in university, and as a result of their service, the boys are all two years older than the girls. (Vernie told us that this male-female age gap is meant to encourage marriage and breeding, a topic for another conversation.)

In a picture-perfect moment, as we were beginning to discuss the merits of mandatory military service, the Singaporean infantry marched past Lagoon along the water, chanting a tune that all the men present recognized.

The conversation began as one of whether or not the Singaporeans (and particularly those at our dinner table) think there should still be mandatory service. The short answer? Yes. While the boys may not personally love the experience — and many do not — it is still needed from a policy perspective.

Singapore is tiny. (The entire country can be circled in two hours, provided there’s not too much traffic.) And the countries that are just a stone throw’s distance away? Not the greatest of friends. Singapore, a small Chinese state, is surrounded by Indonesia and Malaysia, two large Muslim nations, and the political relationship between them has not always been friendly. Singapore has allies in high places, including the U.S., Australia, and England. Singaporean generals train in Israel. But Singapore is a tiny island, surrounded by potentially volatile enemies, and they need to be prepared.

It was an eye-opening conversation and the perfect end to a stomach-filling meal.

From left, Cindy, Ivan, Chaz, me, Vernie and George

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Tags: Chilling with the locals, Food, Markets, Politics, Traditions

Reflections on historical memory: Hanoi

Written by Chaz on 4 July 2011

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.

Posted in Hanoi | No Responses »
Tags: Buildings, Communism, Cultural commentary, Economy, Food, Historical memory, Politics, Traditions

Visiting Hanoi’s past

Written by Emmy on 29 June 2011

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.

Posted in Hanoi | 1 Response »
Tags: Cultural commentary, Economy, Historical memory, Markets, Politics, War

Reflections on historical memory: Bangkok

Written by Chaz on 21 June 2011

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.

Posted in Bangkok | No Responses »
Tags: Americentrism, Cultural commentary, Food, Historical memory, Politics, Transportation

Safe sex: it’s what’s for dinner

Written by Emmy on 12 June 2011

When I think “delicious dinner,” the next word of association is not usually “condom.” However, every single guide — from Let’s Go and Lonely Planet to the New York Times’ 36 Hours in Bangkok feature — and everyone we knew who had been to Bangkok recommended we check out the famous restaurant Cabbages and Condoms. Serving a good cause and unbelievable food, the restaurant is known throughout the world for its mission and its success.

In the early 1970s, former government official Mechai Viravaidya founded a nonprofit organization to address the growing health crises and overpopulation problems in Thailand. The Population and Community Development Association initially focused on family planning throughout Thailand, educating communities and distributing condoms and pills. As Thailand became one of the most AIDS-ravaged nations in the 1980s and 1990s, PDA continued to work with local organizations to stem the spreading of the disease. To help fund and advertise the organization and its mission, PDA founded a chain of restaurants throughout Thailand called Cabbages and Condoms — speaking to Viravaidya’s hope that condoms would become as ubiquitous and commonplace as cabbages in the marketplace.

The restaurant today is widely renowned and a major hotspot for Bangkok tourists. We had made a reservation to sit outside in the restaurant’s beautifully decorated garden on Thursday night — well, the woman at our hotel made the reservation for us, because communication, as previously written, is problematic — but a surprise late afternoon monsoon forced our dinner inside. However, that meant we got to sit at one of the restaurant’s more colorfully decorated tables.

In addition to being extremely informative, our dinner was also incredibly delicious. We started with prawn and banana spring rolls. Most people who know me know that bananas are generally one of the only foods I refuse to eat, but in the context of a tangy roll with fresh shrimp, simmered to sweet perfection, I was actually pretty happy with them. We also had betel leaf wraps with shrimp, peanuts and other fresh ingredients inside. Betel, which we have seen pop up in several other dishes here, is in the pepper family and is widely used in Southeast Asia. The wraps were garnished with spicy little peppers and a delightful tangy sauce.

For the main course, we had chicken panang, which is like a thick red curry. I personally prefer this to straight-up red curry, which I often find too liquidy. I’m slowly trying to convert Chaz. We also had a yellow crab curry, which could have been spicier, but which I loved anyway because you could taste just how fresh the seafood was.

After dinner, we inspected some of the more educational properties of the restaurant. On one of the walls was a map of the world, color-coded based on abortion laws, and a chart, detailing the specific family planning policies of each of the world’s nations.

I never realized just how badly afflicted with AIDS Thailand was. Organizations like PDA are responsible for beginning to change the landscape of the disease in this part of the world. The whole array of posters was fascinating and pretty eye-opening.

We picked up a couple funny postcards (parents: I hope you appreciate the condom art) and headed back into the monsoon. Our check did come with a couple rainbow-colored condoms… different approach than after-dinner mints, I suppose!

Posted in Bangkok | 1 Response »
Tags: Food, Politics, Public health

Reflections on historical memory: Hong Kong

Written by Chaz on 10 June 2011

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.

Posted in Hong Kong | No Responses »
Tags: China, Colonialism, Cultural commentary, Economy, England, Historical memory, Politics

Exploring Portuguese influence in Macau

Written by Emmy on 9 June 2011

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.

Where’s Waldo: Chaz and Emmy edition

Posted in Macau | 3 Responses »
Tags: Arrivals, China, Colonialism, Cultural commentary, Historical memory, Politics, Sightseeing

Absurdity Checkpoint

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