The Banyan Tree and a Man With One Hundred Names

It so happens that every once and a while one comes across a really great human being. Well, to be truthful, I am partial to most human beings and so this great event happens nearly daily. But even so, I can still recognize an exceptional teacher when I cross paths with one. Dr. Ngoc, a 96 year old Vietnamese historian, is one such person. After two impressive lectures on early Vietnamese history and anti-colonial sentiment in Vietnam, I was rightfully in awe. After his 10k walks in the morning, Dr. Ngoc jumps from lecture to event with the youthfulness of a twenty year old. He never once used notes in his two hour lectures and, though his right eye would leak occasionally, a result of a stroke a few years back, he was the most stoic and articulate speaker we had during our stay in Hanoi. His lecture on the nationalism inspired by Uncle Ho, the man with one hundred names, and his use of the banyan tree as an analogy for the "hearty stock of the Vietnamese people" wove like poetic threads throughout his eloquent talks. 

Beyond the walls of our stifling classrooms and during the time after long lectures, we spent our afternoons and evenings wandering about the northern city. Sometimes recovering from eating too many pineapple drumsticks or a long night at Beer Corner with a walk around one of Hanoi's lakes or squeezing through the narrow passages of the old, colonial quarter. Vietnam left a lasting impression. Despite its long, bloody military history, the Vietnamese people I spent time with were some of the kindest and least nationalistic of all of the places we've been. Even more surprisingly, almost no sign of anti-American sentiment remains anywhere. After spending Christmas and New Year's with my parents in Sa Pa and Halong Bay, I got a pretty good glance at Northern Vietnam. What a place it is.

To view my father's photos from Vietnam and Siem Reap, Cambodia:

http://web.me.com/jsan06/Home_Pages/Vietnam_%26_Cambodia.html#grid

photos: Nat smiling in front of a pile of scrap metal and pieces of old US bomber planes at Hanoi's Revolutionary Museum, Dr. Ngoc working at his desk.

A Birthday to Remember

A lot has happened over the last few weeks. We've all grown a bit tired of one another's company, been worked hard by Prof. Fields in his course on Chinese and Vietnamese nationalism, rubbed shoulders with President Thomas and his wife at the swanky Shangri-La Hotel, and I've matured to the ripe old age of twenty-three. That's right, I've officially reached the sixth position in the Pacrim hierarchy and am now reaping the sweet, sweet benefits.

After celebrating Thanksgiving with five imported turkeys, which our Chinese hosts politely ate, despite their dislike for the taste of this foreign bird, we all participated in a small tour about the bridges of Fuzhou, one of China's major port cities. The mixing of old, imperial establishments and new sky scrappers and apartment complexes creates a colorful, architectural juxtaposition that leaves one's head spinning. Contrary to many of my peers sentiments about the place, I really enjoyed our time in Fuzhou. It is one of the places in Asia that my brother and I have come to classify as "honestly imperfect" and I think this is an outcome of the bitter sweetness we feel after having lived in places such as China. The bitterness is a product of the usual discomforts of developing countries: poverty, pollution, rapid urban development and a pervasive, often hugely disheartening consumer culture.

As for the sweetness, this was due in large part to our kind hosts from Hwa Nan Women's College. We were introduced to our Hwa Nan "buddies" our first full day in Fuzhou and were subsequently invited out on hikes to nearby mountains, treated to many meals, given tours of the city, and asked a multitude of questions by these fine young ladies. Any shyness we felt upon meeting one another was soon overcome by the burning desire to brush up on our rusty foreign language skills and by the possibility of learning something substantial about the city and it's history. There is nothing like having access to the local community during travel; it opens up many new doors and alters one's perspective of a place in a way that is otherwise unattainable. To be able to scratch beneath the surface is quite unique in our unusual situation.

My birthday was one of many during our three weeks stay but was one I will never forget. I woke up at the crack of dawn for a hike up Gushan, a nearby mountain, with my buddy, Eva, her friend Vera, and Karin. After an hour long bus ride and a steady two-hour climb to the top, we looked out over the haze at the Fuzhou landscape and caught our breath before heading down into the crowded streets once more. Afterwards we ate some traditional, greasy McDonald's, cake, and then there was nothing to do but dance, dance, dance. And dance we did. I capped off the evening with a short and harmless conversation with the CCP police, which brought the festivities to a firm close. 

While my own views on China are not shared by the whole of our group, I am grateful for the opinions of even the most unhappy of our members. I've learned a lot about these people and have come to know their best and worst sides, as they have learned of mine. It is an interesting kind of experiment we are a part of and I think we are all learning to adapt in ways we never thought possible, even if it means enduring a bit of discomfort at times. With the trials of China living and personal travel in Japan behind us, we are ready for the next curve ball to be thrown. But first there is the arrival of family, Christmas, and lounging on the beaches of Vietnam to enjoy.

photos: Olivia, Eva, and Vera on Gushan, me blowing out candles in our classroom.

A Holiday on Honshu

At the end of our stay in Japan, Rachel J and I gave our JR rail passes a workout. We traveled up and down Honshu, stopping everywhere from Hiroshima to Nagano in a matter of hours, hurrying from platform to platform, stopping to ask for timetables and directions inbetween. The highlights of our maelstrom of a trip were: a trip to the Peace museum in Hiroshima where we hung the thousand paper cranes we folded between final exams in Kyoto, returning to Kyoto Station for only a couple of hours to ensure that our stored luggage was not "impounded" by the locker attendants, hiking along the cold coast of the Sea of Japan among small flocks of Japanese businessmen, and skating at the M-Wave in Nagano (sacred ice that was once the stage for such childhood heroes as Kristi Yamaguchi and many, many more).

Between tottering around the speed-skating rink and climbing the sand dunes of Tottori, Rachel and I enjoyed our last bites of mochi, udon, and a few swigs of quality Suntory liquor. We acquired some o-mamori at an old Buddhist temple in Nagano and soothed our traveling muscles in our evening bath at an onsen. In all it was an pleasant but exhausting five days apart from the chaos of group travel that made us further appreciate all the work our directors put into making lodging and travel arrangements for the lot of us. We were happy to see the familiar faces of our group mates and to exchange stories before heading back to China.

I will miss my host mother's home cooking and the quiet, lengthy bus rides around beautiful Kyoto but I am happy, having moved on to something new. So long Japan.

photos: The sand dunes of Tottori, the A-bomb dome and Peace Park in Hiroshima.