Fabulista Decides: A Change is in the Pot.

It’s bright, sunshiny and everything lovely about the weather today. My travel buddies experience some rock climbing. I have decided to sit that activity out. (Seriously, can you imagine the manicure damages and scarring potential? Uh-huh… now multiply that by a hundred times… there – a rough picture). All these translate to a rest day for me. Which in Fabulous talk translates to elegant slumming in the sun. Which meant that I can catch up on my skin colouring process (I mean, ‘tanning’ is such a ‘last millennium’ term) whilst reading. Nothing like a good mix of intellect and esthetics all rolled into one.

However, this is not the first time I’ve been down to the semi-private beach at the resort. Having a semi-private beach meant that pass a pseudo border is where the local hangout for beach activities too. It is at one of these trips down the beach that I notice the veritable sculpture gallery on exhibition. It’s enough to drive Michelangelo on visual overdrive.

Apparently, one does not need to go down to Miami Beach to see the boy beautiful. Just Cat Ba will do. The best part is; they’re not even conscious about it! That is unlike those who walk around the beach and act like they’re the nicest piece of meat on the shelf.

Go down the promenade of Cat Ba any day and you’ll find out that on every male person, a six-pack is de-rigueur. The same of a female body – slim, graceful and delicate, regardless of the social-economic background. There’s nothing to show off and everyone is indifferent to the fact that they are the body beautiful defined. In fact, it seems to be such a uniform that no one is impressed with another’s physique. At all!

Apparently, this corps l’beautè is a direct result of their high-vegetables, low-meat counts in their diet. Maybe, I should consider changing my diet as well. In the meantime, I know you (yes, you) are having an “imagination running wild” episode about the abs and pecs scenario.

And yes, let them run wild – it’s all true and more.

Fabulista Sings: In Praise of Youth(ful Looks).

It’s not everyday that one gets complimented, left, right and centre, about how brilliantly good looking one is. This is one of those days. And the Fabulista loves to be reminded, even though one knows that as a fact each time one stands before the mirror.

I woke up at 6 this morning in preparation of the imminent trip round Lan Ha Bay around Cat Ba Island. At the breakfast café, the chef who commented, “YOU ARE VERY GOOD-LOOKING”, pleasantly surprised me! Is there a better entrée for breakfast? I think not…

Alas, one cannot continue to sashay too much and too long at the café before one starts to feel beautifully conspicuous and ridiculous. Beautiful, yes. Conspicuous, yes. Too.

So one embarks on the day’s pre-planned journey… a boat cruise around Lan Ha Bay.

Floating Villages

Floating Fish Market

Kayaking

Boat journey video montage

Fabulista Sings: In the Rain.

Woke up this morning for breakfast at 8. We thought we were going to miss it since the reception told us they close at 9. We chat over a fulfilling breakfast over coffee till about 10. I guess time limits are quite different in Vietnam.

When we finally got to our room, the sky was also ready to cry. And it did… till 2 in the afternoon. I thought it was a good time to try out the pool in the resort. After all, what’s a holiday in a well-appointed resort without a dip in the pool, right? Well, apparently someone thought that a good joke, because 30 minutes into the dip in the pool, the sky laughed till it cried. Again.

Depressing. Our first day in “the tropical sunshiny island of Cat Ba) and we are greeted with showers of blessing. Well, I guess in true ‘us’ fashion, we finally thought it a good time to start our lunch (well, you can take us out of the country; just no the country out of us). A very late lunch.

When we arrive at the restaurant (the one in the resort, since it was raining and we weren’t too keen on walking all the way out, in the rain, to town. Since we were bored out of our brains (don’t quite understand this phrase, but…), we weren’t too keen on thinking (sort of explains the “bored brains” bit). We ordered the set lunch for two, a watermelon juice and a Vietnamese coffee (what else) for myself.

When the juice arrived, we experienced W-A-T-E-R-M-E-L-O-N juice. A sip of the juice drink was like a whammy of 10 watermelons shot at you at once. The flavour was intense and so was the sweetness. What do they feed their fruits? Steroids? Okay, someone call the international fruit sweetness association; this is not fairplay.

Anyway, it wasn’t too long when the dishes arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. Yup, by the fourth dish, we realized maybe the set lunch for two was a misprint. I am very sure the set could well feed a family of four… giants… or gluttons… or Americans... well, you get the picture.

At the end of the meal, delivered straight out of the magic set-meal pot, the sun finally decided to show up on the island. Talk about being a diva! Well, I‘ve got news for you sun, it’s 15 freaking MINUTES late to be fashionable, not HOURS! Hello!

I sunbathe for the last one hour of sunlight on the island. Diva! Next time you come out early and stay out long! But when the sun went down, I went walking down this track that winds along the coastal rock face of the island. It was a beautiful walk. The path winds down and as you move forward, so the vista changes. Every scene that reveals itself is new and refreshing and seemingly more beautiful than the one before. It really was like looking at a scrolled up Chinese painting, as you unroll the scroll, a new and beautiful scene shows up, telling a breathtaking story of the landscape. Breathtaking.

There was one particular spot that overlooks another granite formation. Along that spot on the path, was a huge boulder. As I sat there in the quiet, I could hear the birds above me, the waves lapping from the right, caressing the formation to the left. The atmosphere was gentle, gentle, uplifting, spiritual. I could have stayed there till the sunset. It was a transcendental spot for the soul.

As we were making our way back, we met an Irish couple. Like us, they had just arrived from Hanoi. They came here for a breather after finalizing their adoption of a local baby. I applaud them for their perseverance (they waited 5 years for the procedure to be finalized) and they loving-kindness. In fact, I think that all adoptive parents should be applauded. It is one thing to love your own children, but quite another to have that love spill over to love another that is a complete stranger, someone apart from you. So on a side note, if you are thinking of adopting, I salute you, but I also want to ask, “ what are you waiting for?!”. It is one of the most beautiful thing one human being can do for another – to offer shelter in the form of selfless love.

Being who we are, we also talked about how dining on the island’s restaurants is an experience in hit-and-miss (see previous post). In any case, in their generosity, they offered the name of a restaurant “Green Mango”. A couple of European tourists had recommended it. Judging from the name, I had thought it to be some local restaurant of high standards. But I should have known better, knowing the recommendation came from a couple of Europeans (won’t name their nationality, but they are well known for their butter cookies).

When we got there, a look at the menu wrenched two reactions out of me. First a stunner – they were all European food (schnitzel, pizza, pasta, surf and turf, etc) and a assurance of conclusion (you can stop them from colonizing, but you can’t stop them from being colonists).

Please, you visit another country and you go only for food from home? What’s the point in traveling then? Might as well just stay home and serve home cooked dinner while watching the travel channel. That way it’s cheaper!

In any case, I always think that going to another and still insisting on eating your own food is akin to visiting your friend for dinner and criticizing their food. It’s just downright rude and disrespectful.

If one is adventurous to leave one’s country to visit another country, one should experience the foreign culture. And there is no easier way to experience it through food!

Be a traveler; not a tourist. Or worse – a colonist.

Fabulista Moves: On to Cat Ba (Island)

11:30 a.m. It’s amazing what the bourgeoisies can do. I also believe that a picture paints a thousand words (see left) – or at least in my case, enough to describe what I am trying to communicate and thus rest my case.

4:00 p.m. Arrived at Cat Ba (finally) after a 5-hour journey via road and land (“Planes, Train and Automobile”?).

5:00 p.m. Moved out of the hotel for a very late lunch (or a VERY early dinner, by local standards – hell, by any standards actually. Unfortunately, 5 is not exactly a common time for locals to eat. So my strategy of “see where the locals dine” can’t be put in use here.

We settled at a “hai sahn bienh” (literally - seafood restaurant) “for the ambience”. I suppose if you come from the city, a restaurant with everything constructed of bamboo can be considered “ambience”. However, I guess in local terms, that would be known as economizing.

We ordered a few items; only the vegetables were passable as restaurant-style dishes. The grilled prawns which we were excited about were dry – I guess in Vietnam, they don’t grill with baste – and had obtained the texture of chicken. In my opinion that’s a great feat, surf that tastes like turf. Not easy.

Next we ordered, fried chicken, which was a misnomer. It should really have been called rubber chicken. The meat from the thigh, which is known in the culinary world as the tenderest part of the fowl meat was served on a plate and resembled something akin to dried clay. It was dry as the desert and with one bite, it threatened to crack even my molars. Although I do have a taste for certain types of rubber, in my humble opinion, they should be reserved in a different room – just not the one for dining purposes, please.

At the end of the dinner, we decided on a walk around Cat Ba town. The little jaunt took us to the remnants of what was a busy wet market, say two to three hours ago. And trust me, unless you are familiar with a wet market, the lingering scent of it is not what you want to partake of. However, watching the facial expression (read: grimace) on some of the less-experienced was well worth the trip down the alley way.

When we decided to return to our hotel, it was 7:30 p.m., aka LDT – Local Dinner Time. That’s when things became clearer – the locals were eating at places that were nearer the resort. I made a mental note of the restaurants where the locals were. Those are the place that we’d try the next few nights.

The restaurant where we ate was completely empty.

Fabulista Considers: The Markets in Hanoi.

The Wet Market.

Crossing several streets and moving through several wet markets was an assault to the senses – olfactory and culturally. The traffic in Hanoi flashes the red man, not the green. For a while I was disoriented and wondered what it meant (more of that later).

Next was the wet market. They sell produce so fresh it was amazing. There were prawns that are still swimming, crabs and all other manner of seafood still alive and, well kicking. I heard the chickens crowing and clucking on the street ahead – I caught myself thinking, your alarm clock in the morning might well become your lunch by midday. Morbid, I know, but you have to admit there’s a certain dramatic twist to it.

I have also forgotten how a wet market could smell – memories from twenty over years ago came flooding back through my nose via my amygdala. The condition of the place is the urban environment agency’s nightmare coming true (or its sadistic inspector’s wet dream manifested).

The Tourists’ Market.

Went to Ngoc Son Temple (Jade Mountain Temple). You can’t miss it – it’s the one with the giant Chinese brush set in quasi-obelisk. Talk about compensation. Anyway, I pass that erection and went straight to the temple.

“As the heavens peers into the hearts of Man; should the words of Man benefit another.” – couplet by the entrance to the temple.

The temple is located in the Hoan Kiem district ON the lake Hoan Kiem itself (literally Returned Sword) and the whole area has a famous legend with an almost Arthurian feel to it.

Later in the evening, we went back to the area to catch the water puppet show at the famous National Theater of Water Puppets. It was an altogether wonderful show. But of course, it had to be spoilt by the presence of the bourgeoisies and the cranially in capacitated.

A fat boy of a nationality famous for their ‘domestic help” exports decided to go trigger with his PSP in video-capture mode. Idiot. As my grandma would describe of such people in her native tongue – he whose body fats has obstructed the flow in his brain and cannot think. Idiot (but I already said that). Being ever the information vulture, I bought myself two books and a DVD on the subject – of water puppets, NOT FAT IDIOTS.

The Property Market.

But back to the day’s trip. After the sojourn at the temple and lake, I went for my Hanoi cooking class. Needless to say, I was the fish in water when it comes to such stuff, it’s just widening my already fabulous knowledge on world recipes.

Learning how to cook locally has been a habit of mine since my trip to Bali, where I learnt 27 recipes and preparation of common Balinese and Javanese dishes. In this lesson package at Hidden Hanoi, I learnt how to make fresh spring rolls, green papaya salad, tangy fish soup and sweet and sour prawns. It’s enlightening to learn how the Tao philosophy and its focus on universal balance is infused into their daily lives, even to their cooking and diet styles. For every heavy element, there must be a light; for every heat, there must be a cold – balance is paramount when preparing every meal.

I also learnt that the flashing red man is equivalent to the flashing green man back home. But what was really interesting however, is the interesting local information about the bizarre property market trend in Hanoi.

Apparently, it is WAY expensive to own property in Hanoi, especially in the city area. In fact, one needs three life times just to earn enough to own a piece of land that is currently rented. However, the property can be pass down through the generations. Unfortunately, in a country where most have more than one kid, how are you going to divide a land among your children? Dilemma.

What I can’t figure out is, if the cost of living in Hanoi isn’t high and the demand for land isn’t high either, why is the property market skyrocketing like so? Another case for the financial twilight zone mystery series? Well, since even the economists can’t seem to solve the mystery despite their protracted efforts, I ain’t gonna hold my breath for nobody now.

Fabulista Flashes : Instead of Horn-y.

Finally arrived in Hanoi – after a three-hour delay. Was picked up by the hotel liaison, which turned into another adventure in itself. Apparently, Hanoi has a unspoken, unwritten policy of “no horning” at least in the evening hours (I think, if what conspired this evening is anything to go by).

However, what they do as the alternative to that is to flash their headlights, flickering them at a crazy intense pulse. This technique, it seems is what our designated driver appears to have a knack.

Now translate that to actual horning, he would have been quite a terror on the road, which translate to anxious passengers – namely my company and me, which equals “not funny”.

It was such a relief when we arrived at the front desk of the hotel – with warm lemonade as welcome drinks. Sigh…

P.S. I was right. The “no horn” curfew is only an evening thing. Was woken up by the incessant blare of horns from the traffic outside my room’s window.

Fabulista Travels: Budget.

“Feline Airways always gives problems! If it’s not delayed, it’s canceled… it’s scary!” I warned my other friends. “Besides, it’s the only airline that uses the cheap flight terminal… it’s too unglamorous, even for you Jen.” (Jen is my fabulously frumpy friend). Unfortunately, it was the only airline with a time schedule that suited our itinerary. So (sigh) Feline it was (but I am not feeling it).

That was 3 weeks ago. Today is the day of the journey. Resignedly, I arrived at the terminal and let reality… and my designer luggage carriers fall to the ground. The terminal is EXACTLY as I remembered it – a glorified warehouse, complete with howling air vents.

Ironically, what should I see as I sat for my cup of passable latte? Hullo? What have we here? My in-law’s (Louis) monogram luggage? Following the mister was the missus hand carrier from my in-law’s neighbour, Aigner? It was as if I’d step out of the taxi and entered Twilight Zone. Curbing my urge to give directions to the couple, somewhere along the line of “excuse me, the first class flights are at the other airport terminal…” I continued to sip my cup of latte-served-in-a-wrong-receptacle.

By the way, you do realize that my altruistic thought to give directions was an unfulfilled, well-restrained sarcasm.

P.S. True enough, the flight was delayed… for 3 hours.