OK, I admit I did glance out the windows a couple of times to check the engines weren't on fire.
The Barber's Shop
Yes, this is a Barber's Shop... Vietnam style, where so many business are literally run on the street. Happily watching TV, powered by a portable generator, this guy's business consists of a mirror, a chair, and an old tin full of shaving and hair cutting gear. No overheads, no wages. Just a little bit of streetscape and the desire to earn money.
Incense
Well I'm back from my whirlwind trip of Vietnam... overwhelmed by the sights and sounds. We took over 6,600 photos between us. The D3s with the 28-300mm lens proved to be a winning combination for travel. We were constantly wrestling the camera out of each other's hands. With the D700 being treated like a poor cousin.
We arrived home this morning at 7am having spent Monday night on the plane from Singapore and Sunday night on a train from Sapa in Northen Vietnam, so I haven't really slept in a proper bed since Saturday night. My hair still smells of incense and woodfire smoke from the mountains of Vietnam and I can still hear the constant honking of motorbike horns ringing in my ears. It will take a day or two to settle back into the relative order of Sydney life and to the affluence of a western lifestyle.
Two days ago I ate lunch in a village hut. The floor of the main room was concrete and the meal was cooked on a wok over a fire pit dug into the dirt floor of the kitchen. The Hmong girl Ping who cooked for us is 28 years old. She has four children under the age of 10 and is six months pregnant with her 5th child. Her husband doesn't work, and she sells handicrafts in the local town to support her family. Her life extends from the village of Lao Chai to the nearby town of Sapa 7km further up the mountain. The only furniture in her house is a small wooden bed, a table and a couple of tiny wooden stools.
Since leaving the hospitality of her humble home, I have driven in the streets of Hanoi in a 1939 Vintage Citroen Light 15, flown in a Boeing 777 to Singapore and an A380 to Sydney and I have watched 3 in-flight movies. I bought Duty Free alcohol and have taken photos with a camera and lens worth $9,000. I have driven to my comfortable suburban home in my shiny red Civic Sports. Tonight I will luxuriate in a steaming hot shower and climb into a king-size bed and sleep soundly under a goose down quilt.
Sometimes I have trouble making sense of the world. I guess that is why I travel in the first place.
SAIGON CACOPHANY
Arriving in Saigon on Christmas Eve, we don’t know what to expect. The three most prominent religions in Vietnam are Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism, known collectively as Tam Giao, Three Teachings or Triple religion. (kinda like hedging your bets if you ask me). Added to this are spirit worship, ancestor veneration and worship of national heros. Vietnam also has a large population of Christians a legacy from the 16th century missionaries who brought Catholicism to South East Asia. Still, we don’t really think they are going to be celebrating Christmas.
We are collected from the airport by limousine and are swept into the city in a tidal wave of motorbikes and traffic. The bikes kept surging around us, an endless parade of colour and noise, all jostling for position. I keep wondering where they were all coming from and going to.
Christmas IS big in Saigon. Coloured street lights everywhere. Christmas trees in all the stores and every second motorbike is carrying a family of three or four people. They are on their way to the city centre to see the Christmas lights and Department store Christmas displays.
Vietnam has only recently (2007) introduced the mandatory wearing of helmets on motorcycles. And I believe helmets are provided free to school children as an incentive. Almost all the adults we see are wearing helmets, but only a few of the children. Most of the children and babies are dressed in Santa Hats or Christmas outfits. Babies held in their mothers’ arms and small children standing between their fathers and the handlebars of the bikes, all with a carefree nonchalance that defies the chaos, cacophony and potential danger all around them. We roll down the window to take photos from the car. The cold air rushes out as the steamy heat, bike fumes and street noise rushes in. The constant honking of horns will be a sound that we will get used to, but tonight, after a long day of travelling, it accosts our eardrums. We wind the window back up, and sink into the darkness, while the bikes continue to swirl around us.
Close to our hotel we are gridlocked in traffic. Our driver inches across the intersection, amid a constant chorus of honking horns. I look out the side window of the car at a wall of traffic facing me and only inches from the glass. Inch by inch we move forward as does the traffic around us. There seems to be no road rage. The honking is a warning to other vehicles and is not used in anger. The drivers are patient and persistent. Our driver parks against the traffic on the footpath outside the front door, the only available space. The Hotel Majestic is an oasis of light and calm after the mania in the streets. Built in 1925 it is all old world colonial French charm, heavy wood paneling and attentive staff. The foyer is filled with Christmas lights reflecting off the marble floor. A young Vietnamese bride is perched ungainly on a push bike in her Wedding Dress in front of a large Christmas Tree, while her photographer snaps wedding photos. The groom stands nearby looking uncomfortable and bored. We pass the dining room where wedding guests dine to the strains of Latin Music, into the lift and fall into the quiet sanctuary of the hotel room, the air conditioning is deliciously icy and double glazed windows keep the sounds of Saigon far from our ears. We will sleep well, in a city that seems to have no intention of sleeping.
My banana looks like a Persian kitten
My banana looks like a Persian kitten
My banana looks like a Persian kitten I thought to myself and I weighed up the option of saying it out loud. We were sitting at the rooftop restaurant overlooking the river in Saigon and something I ate the day before was sitting like a brick in my stomach. I momentarily wondered if I was hallucinating.
"My banana looks like a Persian kitten" I finally ventured.
He looked at me from across the table with a slightly bemused look, as if he didn't believe me. As if!
I proferred my knife with a slice of banana precariously balanced on it and he laughed. It did look like a the face of a little yellow cat.
He reached for the camera, just as my stomach lurched again and I decided I couldn't bring myself to eat the kitten. Even though I knew it was just a humble slice of banana.
The Remnants of War
The Remnants of War
Remnants plural of rem·nant (Noun)
1. A small remaining quantity of something.
2. Something left over; a remainder.
3. A surviving trace or vestige.
4. A small surviving group of people. Often used in the plural.
The War Remnants Museum is a must-see destination in Saigon. To quote Lonely
Planet “there are few museums in the world that drive home so well the point
that war is horribly brutal and many of its victims are civilians”.
The films, photos and other items on display document atrocities committed by
American, Chinese and French soldiers in grim detail. Events told from the
Vietnamese perspective are both moving and thought provoking. Even those who
supported “The American War”, as it is referred to in Vietnam, would have
difficulty remaining unaffected by the photographs of children suffering
the effects of US bombing and Napalm.
I think this is a good place to start our trip to Vietnam, to set the scene and form a backdrop;
and to provide perspective to all that we will witness in the days ahead.
The museum pulls no punches. There are glass jars with deformed fetuses
preserved in formaldehyde, the ongoing result of agent orange; explicit
photos of horrendous injuries; there is an entire room dedicated to the many
journalists from fifteen nations who were killed while attempting to
document the war around them; one room houses a guillotine used by the
French on the Viet Mihn “troublemakers”. In the background there is
“happy music” playing, inconsistent with the images of war.
Outside the main building the courtyard is dotted with military vehicles,
tanks, helicopters and planes. It is cool inside the main museum building,
despite the intense humidity outside.
There is a somberness to the exhibits. We split up, each of us taking our
own journey through the museum. It is overwhelming and confronting. We feel
discomfort looking at the images, but it is nothing compared to the
atrocities suffered by the victims whose haunting eyes look back at us over
time. I wonder how some of them continued to live.
A separate room displays a photographic essay of babies with hideous
deformities. I am at once fascinated and abhorred by what I see. The images
are grotesque, surreal ...the stuff of horror movies, not real life.
I find Stan across the hallway, he has tears in his eyes. We just look at
each other for a few moments. I am lost for words. Stan mentions the band
and I realize that the incongruous happy music that has been playing is
actually being performed live. In the corner of the room, there is a hapless
band of players. Dressed in orange T-shirts, they are the real life
remnants of the war. Young adults who carry the legacy of chemical warfare
in a war fought before they were born. A couple of them are in wheelchairs,
diminutive and deformed, the amputees sit on the floor making
bracelets out of coloured beads. A young man is collecting money for charity
and is especially insistent that we sign our names in the register. I feel
an uncontrollable sadness.
I ask if it is OK to take a photo, I feel awkward
and ashamed of what “we”, the west, have done, although I was only a little
girl when the war was being fought. I want to record what I am seeing to
share with my friends and family. This is a part of the war that we don’t
see on the sanitized documentaries we watch at home on our giant plasma TVs.
I need to be able to share this moment without feeling the guilt of exploitation.
My motive is pure. I raise the camera to take the photo and the tiny man in the
wheelchair smiles warmly at me. I notice he has laugh lines at the corner of his eyes.
My heart melts. For all he knows, we could be Americans. Yet he smiles at me.
I want to look at each of the band members and study their deformities, but it is too hard.
I feel embarrassed at my inability to deal with what I am seeing.
I remember a quote by Daniel Ellsberg from the documentary “Hearts and
Minds”... “We weren’t on the wrong side in Vietnam, we WERE the wrong side.”
Stan is standing next to me, he speaks and his voice cracks. “The
keyboard player”, he says “he has no eyes”. I look across, the keyboard
player is not just blind, there is only skin where his eyes should have been.
He is playing a happy up-beat tune, I wonder if he feels as optimistic as the music he is playing.
I leave some more money. How could it be enough.
We slip out into the sunshine, and the hubbub that is Ho Chi Mihn’s city.
I can’t stop thinking about the man with no eyes.
Majestic Breakfast
I was half way through breakfast when I remembered it was Christmas morning. We were sitting in the rooftop terrace restaurant of the Hotel Majestic in Saigon and there was a cool breeze wafting through the humidity of the early morning heat. I had eaten an omelette prepared for me while I waited, by the short order cook; downed a small pancake covered with banana and honey; and was navigating a plate of largely weird and unknown tropical fruit when the thought occurred to me. It was beginning to feel not at all like Christmas.
We spent the early part of the morning at the War Remnants Museum and returned by taxi, via a circuitous route, to the centre of town. After arguing with the taxi driver about the tariff he demanded. (I always amaze myself that I can fight with taxi drivers in foreign countries, in languages I don’t speak. Why taxi drivers think I am stupid, just because I don’t speak their language is beyond me, I also have a phenomenal sense of direction, bit of a party trick and a fairly uncommon trait in a women, so I know when I am being “taken for a ride”.) I employed a technique that I developed in Tunisia with the taxi drivers there. Throw the correct money on the front seat and get out quick. It was then I discovered that an entire aerosol can of sunblock had mysteriously emptied itself throughout my backpack. Luckily it was an alcohol based one, so it was more wet than sticky. By the time we had composed ourselves from the taxi ordeal and mopped up the contents of the bag we realised we had landed ourselves in the midst of Christmas fairyland. Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh!
I don’t know why I didn’t expect the department stores of Vietnam to have Christmas displays in their windows. It happens in London, Sydney, New York, so why not Ho Chi Minh City?
And I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to photograph children without being treated like a pedophile. The Vietnamese people have a strong sense of family and are proud of their children. Whenever I asked, proud parents or grandparents would hold up their babies for me to photograph. Unlike the stupid political correctness that is infecting Australian society where photographing someone else’s child is treated with suspicion and contempt, in Vietnam it is treated as an honour. For a people who have every right to mistrust foreigners, we experienced no hostility, just friendly happy people.
If we as a society, cannot celebrate the innocence and beauty of children, then we have lost our souls. The Vietnamese people, despite the ravages of war and invasion, haven’t lost theirs.
I'm forever blowing bubbles
I'd like to wish you all the best for the Silly Season. I am running away from home this Christmas to do what I love best. Travel and take photos. Going to Vietnam for a whirlwind 10 day trip... and I can't wait. These are a couple of photos from my last trip with my first DSLR the good old D70.
Enjoy these photos (clearly NOT taken by me) some of the happiest memories of my last trip to Vietnam. (you can tell how hot it was by how sweaty my hair looks... eek)
Bella Christmas
I guess you can tell from the flattened ears and the forward pointing whiskers, she was not an overly willing participant of Christmas dress-up... She does however, always look perpetually startled.
Roby Lakatos - Sydney Opera House
Thanks to the new 28-300mm and a performer who allowed photography of his performance, I was able to get some great memories of a great performance. Usually photography is not allowed inside the Concert Hall of the Sydney Opera House. Must be the gypsy in him!
Guess who graduated?
My gorgeous baby girl Graduated from University yesterday. And there was me thinking she was going to be a permanent student. She actually finished two Degrees two years ago, after 5 years of study. And has been buried in post graduated studies for the last two years. She now is the proud owner of a Bachelor of Creative Writing (Distinction) and a Bachelor of English (Distinction).
Blessed at the Cheesemakers
OK... so my friend's daughter made this cheese... Yes, there are people out there who actually make cheese, at home. Homemade cheese... who would have thought. Well certainly not me. And it was fabulous cheese, all soft and gooey and delicious and tasting, well, like cheese. *sigh* Blessed are the cheesemakers... Truly!
Haydarpaşa Railway Station Istanbul
I was saddended hear on the news this morning that a fire had engulfed the roof of the beautiful Haydarpaşa Railway Station in Istanbul.
"Istanbul's historic Haydarpasa train station has been severely damaged by a fire which engulfed the roof of the building.
The blaze broke out while restoration work was being carried out on the early 20th century structure on Sunday, officials confirmed.
Firefighters in fireboats battled the flames for several hours, using water cannons to extinguish the flames. There were no casualties in the incident, but the fire damaged 'most of the roof and the fourth floor according to Selami Ozturk, local mayor of the Kadikoy district.
The cause of the fire is now being investigated. Welding or an electrical short circuit is suspected.
Haydarpasa was built in 1908 on the Asian side of Istanbul, bisected by the Bosporus Strait, as part of German Empire’s ambitious Berlin-Baghdad railway project aimed at gaining control and influence in the region.
It is regarded as an architectural wonder, with flights of marble stairs leading to the ground floor from where passengers board trains from several tracks. The monument, covered by textured sandstone, sits on a foundation of hundreds of timber piles, hammered into the seabed.
Eyup Muhcu, head of Turkey’s Architects’ Chamber, said the building was considered to be a historic monument."
Daily Mail UK
"Istanbul's historic Haydarpasa train station has been severely damaged by a fire which engulfed the roof of the building.
The blaze broke out while restoration work was being carried out on the early 20th century structure on Sunday, officials confirmed.
Firefighters in fireboats battled the flames for several hours, using water cannons to extinguish the flames. There were no casualties in the incident, but the fire damaged 'most of the roof and the fourth floor according to Selami Ozturk, local mayor of the Kadikoy district.
The cause of the fire is now being investigated. Welding or an electrical short circuit is suspected.
Haydarpasa was built in 1908 on the Asian side of Istanbul, bisected by the Bosporus Strait, as part of German Empire’s ambitious Berlin-Baghdad railway project aimed at gaining control and influence in the region.
It is regarded as an architectural wonder, with flights of marble stairs leading to the ground floor from where passengers board trains from several tracks. The monument, covered by textured sandstone, sits on a foundation of hundreds of timber piles, hammered into the seabed.
Eyup Muhcu, head of Turkey’s Architects’ Chamber, said the building was considered to be a historic monument."
Daily Mail UK
Car Park
"Thank God for the model cars, you know? If they didn't have the model cars they wouldn't have gotten the idea for the big trains."
Oh how the Mighty have Fallen
The last time I saw this guy he was sitting rather majestically in the midst of the Sculpture by the Sea Exhibition on the beach at Tamarama, just south of Bondi (see image below). So I was surprised to see him 2 years later sitting on top of a shipping container outside a factory near my office. It makes the Sculptor's comments (below) even more poignant.
'on the beach'
Sculpture by Tim Kyle
Sculpture By the Sea 2008, Sydney
Artist's statement: My works is concerned with the mapping and recognition of the human condition. I use the figure as a metaphor for existence.
Love Where You Live
Tempe is an inner city suburb of Sydney... not far from where I work.
I was was asked to contribute to a community project called “Love Where you Live”... these are my submissions. The Exhibition opens at the Stella Inn Tempe on Saturday 30th October at 4pm...
735 Princes Highway Tempe. The brief was to take a photograph of a person, place or landscape in Tempe. The exhibition will be open until the end of December 2010.
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