Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam: Street Delights

Hi Chi Minh's statue in downtown Ho Chi Minh City

City of Two-Wheelers:

Walking around the streets of downtown Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, you can’t but notice the incredible number of two-wheelers zipping around the streets. This city has 1.2 crore residents who among themselves own a whopping twenty lakh two-wheelers here!

These little creatures swarm around like bees. Watching them at the red light seemed as if one was watching a phalanx of armymen, ready to fire (= zipping off the moment green light comes on).

Two wheelers stop impatiently at the traffic Light

And they whizz off the moment light is green...

The Masked Riders

Many of the 2-wheeler riders wear masks such that only there eyes are visible under their helmets. I was told that this was legacy of the dreaded SARS disease which had spread in this part of the world a few years ago. Plus of course the pollution caused by the two-wheelers themselves.

Cable Tangle:

The streets offer another unbelievable sight: miles and miles of overhead cables and wires snaking along the streets supported by the telegraph posts. It is not just one or two cables but dozens of them bunched together. I wonder how the repairman figures out which cable to fix! This maze of cables is transformed to some post-modern street art with complex twists of turns at street junctions when the cables have to take different routes, some turning left, the others right while the remaining going straight. And yet another set of cables joins this melee!

Here are some images from cable “art”:

Cables across the street

Some more cables across the street

Cable maze

Even more cable maze....

The Lovely Street Vendors:

Street vendors are not new to me. I see tons of them in India. What was interesting in Ho Chi Minh City was that nearly all vendors were women. And all of them were smiling and cheerful. Some were happy to pose for photographs. Most were selling fruits: the small yellow banana, oranges, sweet potato and jackfruits.

Banana Seller

Sweet potato seller

Orange seller

Art galleries:

As you walk along the streets you see small art galleries which you can step right into. Artists work here and also display and sell their paintings. Many of them are copies of masterpieces.

Art gallery off the street

I am not much into art but I could recognize a couple of Van Goghs, including the famous Sunflowers. There was also a recurrent motif of bare-thighed fat women. I wonder which artist drew the originals. I was told that Vietnam has a flourishing art market with some really good artists who do excellent originals. I suppose they must be doing these copies to support themselves financially.

Hand Embroidery:

Hand-embroidery is elevated to a work of art here. The craftsmen embroider landscapes in multiple colours. From a distance these look like exquisite paintings!

Embroideries or paintings?

Typically they are landscapes, farming scenes, boatmen, artisans, labourers. And there are a large number of flower embroidery too. I have picked up a few pieces which I shall have framed.

Trip to Tshangu Lake: December 2008

This was a journey which was as good as the destination. Or maybe the destination was as good as the journey. But all-in-all a wonderful package that morning of 9th December when our group made the trip to the famous Tshangu Lake, some 40 km from Gangtok.

Tshangu lake is just 8km away from Nathu La which is a trading post on the border of India and China.

For those of you, dear readers, who want to be spared the details which follow, let me describe the journey in a nutshell. Driving, chatting, eating, drinking and shopping. That is pretty much an accurate description of what we did on that 40 km, four hour drive from Gangtok to Tshangu Lake. And by the way, in the process we drove up from a height of 4,700 feet to 12,400 feet, a difference of 9,700 feet (Nearly 3 km if you are inclined to the metric system).

 

The Long, Winding Road

 

The destination: A body of water set against the backdrop of an arid mountain. And yes, with tamed yaks servicing tourists. Willingly or unwillingly, I do not know. More about that later.

First thing first. The journey:

 

The start from our hotel (Orange Valley Resort, Gangtok) was delayed by about 45 minutes, but the anxiety about this was relieved by the driver of our car. The great Karma Bhutia. He not only made up for lost time (sometimes causing our hearts skip several beats thanks to the speed at which he negotiated the road), he also regaled us with anecdotes from his 14 year experience of driving on this road to Tshangu. He made a quick exit from Gangtok town avoiding the impending one-way traffic rules and got us out of the town onto the highway to Nathu La. He spilled the beans on some his more colourful passengers, honey-mooners, men getting drunk early in the morning en route, passengers wanting to attend the call of nature en route. His pithy comments on the political leaders in the aftermath of the Mumbai terror attacks, if telecast, would have certainly increased the TRPs of the news channels.

While Karma was giving his socio-political commentary, some of us were either catching up on our sleep or catching up on the scenery around us. And what a scenery it was! Alpine forests changing to arid landscape as we climbed higher and higher. The roads were lined with army camps throughout. Shaktiman trucks of the army were a constant companion. It was with some hesitation I pulled out my camera and took photographs through the car windows of these army establishments. In fact, when we got down for a while en route and I saw some jawaans walking by, I sought their permission to take their pic. which they agreed-to with alacrity!

 

The Army Camps of the Nathula highway

Half-way to the lake we chanced upon the Kyongnosla Waterfall, a clear (and pretty cold) stream of water flowing down the mountain. Some of us managed to grab the thin sheets of ice layered upon the water, while others could grab on their cameras the “rainbow” as it shimmered upon the body of water. Next to the waterfall we saw a bridge which was labeled thus on the concrete tablet next to it: “Stock span bridge span 38 ft, 6 in constructed by 109 constr. coy (Gren.) 12 July 1963.” Just after the Indo-Chinese war in 1962, I realize. And, by the way, the road on which this was located was called J.N. Road. Jawaharlal Nehru Road, I am sure. So the ubiquitous J.N. Road so common across the country (as common as M. G. Road) was servicing us even in this extreme part of the country!

 

Kyongnosla Waterfall

A little further up the road and we see the most amazing sight of snow-clad mountains seemingly just a few km away. Karma, our driver, is kind enough to stop for us to take some pictures of this beautiful sight. The famous Kanchanjangha. Or Kanchendzonga as it is called by the locals.

 

A View of Kanchanjangha

A short drive onwards we stop at the little shopping stop, one shop here is called Kyongnosla Cafe and the height is prominently displayed: 10,400. Just 2000 feet more to go for the Lake. And 8 km. These shops are mini-departmental stores run by Tibetan refugees. You can get a host of products here. Woolens, bottles of liquor, souvenirs, cowboy hats. And paper cups of hot sweet tea. The sales persons are all Tibetan women, all fluent in Hindi to our surprise. They were aided by young boys walking around with cowboy hats which looked impossible large on their tiny frames.

Kyangnosla Cafe 10,400 ft

I zero-in onto a shop run by an enterprising women duo of which one is more active and voluble.

“What is your name?”, I ask her

“Shhee-rin”, she replies cheerily.

I do not get it, so I repeat.

She repeats as well. “SHHEE-rin” The shhee this time is longer drawn, and the voice seems higher pitched.

I wonder how someone could be called Shirin in this part of the world and then it strikes me that is could be Tshering. This has a distinct Tibetan ring to it!

 

Ms Shirin?

Between cups of tea and chatting with the shopkeepers, our team has gone berserk shopping. The favourite item is a sturdy-looking cowboy hat and soon enough we have a whole army of cowboys scrambling back into their Sumo and Mahindras ready for the final leg of the onward journey to Tshangu lake.

Tshangu lake, here we come!

But, but, but! Our caravan is halted in the way quite abruptly. We see a whole line of vehicles waiting by the road-side.

“What happened”, we ask.

“A landslide, perhaps. But do not worry, the BRO is clearing the road. BRO being Border Road Organization which is responsible for the construction and maintainence of roads across India borders.

Soon the road is cleared and we reach the Lake, finally!

 

Tshangu Lake

Tshangu Lake is a deep blue body of water some 1 km long. While there is nothing dramatic about the lake itself, there are a few things which make it quite remarkable. The lake surface is the largest horizontal surface we had seen for long, long time in this trip. And the lake is set quite dramatically against a dark mountain where rivulets of water had frozen mid flow. This nearly looked as if some naughty kid had poured a bucketful of white paint from the top of the mountain and the paint had trickled down in random paths down the slopes!

And of course, the presence of the yaks. These huge bovine creatures with long black hair, bedecked in fineries by their owners, welcoming the tourists either for a ride or for a photo-op. (Rs 30 for per person!)

Tshangu lake is considered holy by Hindus and Buddhists. And sure enough, there was a stern sign next to the lake, in English and Hindi “Do not urine (sic) on the lakeside”. Thankfully none from our group attempted this, I was scared of the ferocious-looking yaks having a go at the rule-breakers!

Sight-seeing done, it was time for some serious shopping and eating at the surprisingly tidy-looking shopping center a few meters away. More woolens, folding fans, small bells, etc etc. And some chowmein for the hungry among us. I wanted to sample “chhurpi”, cheese made of yak milk. The kind lady running the curio shop did not have it for sale but generous to offer me a piece from her personal stock. One look at the soiled chhurpi pieces strung on an equally soiled thread made me hasten to decline the offer.

Never mind the chhurpi, the journey to Tsanghu is worth every minute of the drive, every foot of the steep climb!

 

Mauritius 6: Vikram, our guide and Bollywood

On the first day of our tour of Mauritius our driver-cum-guide Vikram lands up at our hotel sharp at 9.30 am to take us on a trip to South/South-West parts of the island.

The 20-something Vikram, hair neatly bleached and spiked, facial hair trimmed and carved into pretty unimaginable shapes, smartly clad in the global outfit of today, jeans and a T-shirt bearing his travel comany’s logo. Vikram could have been a young man from any part of the globe.

A cheery hi, a quick introduction and we were off to our first destination.

Five minutes into our drive, excited by the sight of the lush green sugarcane fields on either side of the highway, glimpses of the clear blue sea just beyond the green fields, no pot-holes, no traffic jams in the first 5 minutes, what better could a Bangalorean want at the beginning of a long-planned vacation!

Hey, Mauritius, here we come!

Lulled into the holiday mood I asked Vikram whether he could play some music for us on the car stereo.

“Of course”, he said, “I have just the right music for you!”

Vikram inserted a CD into his car stereo as I settled into my seat, eyes closed.

Strains of Sega music floating through my mind I quite looked forward to the drive. Alas, my pleasure was short-lived. As the first strains of the first number wafted through the speakers, I sat up with a jerk wondering what had hit me; it was the unmistakable nasal twang of good old Himesh Reshammiya. “Aashiq banaya, Aashiq banaya…”. I grit my teeth, too polite to ask him to change the disc, and braced my self for the HR assault. Then followed, “Aapka suroor..” and then “Shakalaka boom-boom”!

I could not bear it any longer and asked Vikram to change the CD and play something else.

“No, no, sir”, he said, “you MUST listen to this track. I have personally remixed this track on my PC with the new remix software I have downloaded”. So the HR assault continued this time via a remixed HR track, “Zara jhoom, jhoom..”.

Vikram went on and on about the Bollywood stars he has driven around Mauritius. Yes, he has driven around the great Himesh R. as well a few months earlier when HR was down to Mauritius for a concert.

Vikram then confided, he has also driven Preity Zinta around. He proudly said had promised to make him a Bollywood star should he deign to give up his driver-cum-guide job in Mauritius and visit Mumbai!

If it was not for Vikram’s earnestness and his innate likeability this piece of our chat would have been intensely funny. But I quickly realized that he was dead serious in what he was telling us. I just could not bear HR any longer and asked him to switch to any FM station which played Hindi stuff. And the good, well mannered guy Vikram is, he switched on to a popular FM station and guess which song was playing? Good old HR’s good old “Aashiq banaya!”

 

Bollywood film posters on street-side walls

 

 

Bollywood is something which will never be far away when you are in Mauritius. The latest movies play in the theaters of Mauritius. While we were there we could see the posters of “Lagaa Chunari Mein Daag” and Manorama Six Feet Under” pasted all over the city walls. A visit later to the posh Caudan Waterfront and we saw a giant poster of Om Shanti Om at a multiplex announcing the movie release on 8th November (9th Nov is the official release date in India).

 

Poster display at Caudan Waterfront Theatre

 

 

We were shown various locations where Bollywood movies have been shot:

“Hey, this is where this shot of “No Entry” was shot!”

“And that is where the car chase in that movie happened”.

“And that is the beach where that song was picturized.”

And they all expected us to go all ooh-aah-waah at all these juicy tidbits!!

Bollywood has this uniquely irritating habit of crawling all over you wherever there are people of Indian origin.

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Mauritius 5: Grand Bassin or Ganga Talao

Grand Bassin or Ganga Talao as it is also called is the most revered place for the Hindu Mauritians. It is said when Shiva held river Ganga in his knotted hair to prevent flooding on earth, a few drops fell on Mauritius, creating a fresh water lake. The water of Ganga Talao (lake) is as revered as the Ganges is in India. A placid lake set amidst tranquil surroundings, Ganga Talao attracts devotees from across the island especially during month-long celebration of Shivratri when nearly five lakh devotees visit the Talao and the Shiva temple next to it.

Shiva Temple at Ganga Talao

Shiva statue across the Talao

A long drive through breathtakingly beautiful ebony tree-lined highway and then a quick turn into the road leads us to the temple. Even from several hundred meters away you can see a statue of Shiva, over a hundred feet tall, which we were told has been recently installed. The temple itself has the Shivaling and statues of several deities all around. There is Hanuman, Kali, Radha and Krishna, the Nandi etc. All amidst quiet surroundings and next to the most gorgeous lake we had ever seen.

There were a mix of visitors to the temple, local Mauritians, Indian tourists and a group of European tourists. The local Mauritians consisted of a newly married couple (accompanied by a horde of their relatives) who had come prepared with the usual pooja paraphernalia to pay obeisance to Ganga Maiyya and Shivji to seek their blessings for a happy married life, we presumed. The Indian tourists was a group of cheerful Gujaratis who seemed only too happy to compensate for the loss of missing the Navratri festival back home by seeking a darshan of Shivji. The Europeans came as a group and they appeared to be from different countries going by the mix of languages they spoke (We could decipher none, but we knew that no one was speaking in English)

At the doorstep to the temple we were wondering where to leave the shoes behind before entering when a voice from inside the temple invited us to come in. “Leave the shoes right where you are and walk in”, the voice said.

The voice belonged to Mr Satish Dayal, the secretary of the Trust running the temple. He has been a minister in the Mauritius government and currently working as an independent management consultant. His brother, a former Police Commissioner of Mauritius is the officiating priest of the temple. Mr Dayal seemed happy to see fellow Indians and when we told him that our roots were in Bihar he opened up for a longer chat. “It feels really so nice to be able to chat with someone from India in Bhojpuri, our mother tongue”, he said. He beckoned us to sit next to him on a bench and settled us in for a long chat.

Dayal-ji

“People complain to me as to how we allow scantily-clad foreigners into the the temple”, he said, warming to the chat. “But, tell me, if I asked them to come here only in modest garments, will they ever return? Will they ever dress up in a sari just to be able to visit this temple?” He continued with his irrefutable logic, “You and your wife have come here wearing jeans and T-shirts. If I were to tell you to visit this place only when you are clad in dhoti and sari, will the two of YOU bother to return?”

Europeans at Shiva Temple

I must say I had to agree to him, and I nodded my assent to his assertion.

“And if they do not visit this place”, he said generally pointing in the direction of the European tourists milling around, “how will they get to know about our religion and culture?” “Absolutely true, Dayalji“, I had to agree with him.

Suddenly in the middle of our intense chat he leapt out of his seat and approached a European woman hovering around the Shivaling. He picked up a spatula, dipped it into a bowl of kumkum and anointed the woman’s forehead with a stylized version of trishul-shaped tikka, muttering something in Italian all the time he was decorating her forehead! Having finished his artistry, he held a small mirror to enable her to see this symbol of Hinduism on her visage. An appreciative nod from her, a gentle nod from him and he walked back towards me quietly waving the woman in the general direction of the donation box. The obedient recipient of the kumkum dropped some currency notes into the box. Mission complete, both for the lady and for Mr Dayal.

“What were you telling her, Dayal ji as you were decorating her forehead?”

“I was only describing the significance of this symbol to her, in her own language, Italian! You may want to know that I know eight European languages and when I gather which language the person is conversant with I describe this process and the significance of the symbol in his or her own language.

He quickly went back again, this time to a Spanish tourist (as he told us later) awaiting the kumkum treatment. This process continued for about 8-10 times through our 30 minute chat.

“Tell me something”, he posed a question, “why does USA want to attack other nations around the globe?” Without awaiting my point of view on this weighty matter, he continued, “Simple, because USA wants to hoist its flag on these nations. But here we are, in Mauritius, and the foreigners come from different parts of the globe to our temple, themselves. The kumkum symbol I apply on their foreheads is nothing but the flag of Hinduism on a foreigner. They understand the meaning when I tell them in their own language, go back pleased; some even carry kumkum back to their country and continue to apply it and even tell their friends about it. Is not that a great way to spread the message of Hinduism all over?”

We found his logic irrefutable, and his adherence to his cause of spreading the Hindu philosophy to the followers of other faiths touching. As we bade him good bye, we saw him get up once again to do the honours to yet another European tourist.

And yes, my wife did receive the traditional prasad of coconut and bananas from the chief priest which we relished on the way back from Ganga Talao!

Shiva statue: A close-up

Mauritius 4: The seven-coloured earth of Chamarel

Would you pay money and drive an hour to take a look at a cordoned piece of undulating earth? What if you were told that the earth under discussion had seven different colours? “Nonsense”, you would say, “not possible”!

Intro to Chamarel

 

 

We decided to keep our scepticism away and made an expedition to Chamarel, in the south-west of the island. A drive through lush-green sugarcane plantation which morphed quickly into a coffee plantation, we soon approached this major tourist attraction of Mauritius, the seven-coloured earth of Mauritius. But before we could see the seven colours, there was another attraction to be relished first, the Waterfall of Chamarel. A quick flight of steps to the railed observation post and we were watching one of the most gorgeous waterfalls we had ever seen. Three distinct stream plunging down nearly a 100 meters down into the gorge. Clean, clear and without any fuss! Just a sheer drop!

Kaskaade...the waterfall

A fellow tourist happily accepted our camera to take our family picture against the backdrop of the waterfall. He fussed with the camera, must have zoomed in and then zoomed out and vigorously motioned us to shift to one side yelling, “kaskaade, kaskaade“. It took us a while to figure out what this friendly soul was fretting about. Kaskaade sounded like cascade and cascade approximately translates to waterfall. We were obviously hindering a clear view of the waterfall in our eagerness to huddle together for a snap. Quick nudges amidst us, a sharp click and the fellow tourist bounded towards us pointing at the LCD screen of our Sony cyber shot. There we were, a very happy family of four Ojhas and the three clean streams of the cascade (French for waterfall).

Then a short drive to view the famous Chamarel seven-colored earth. To say we were surprised at what we saw would be an understatement. There was this expanse of clay, amassed as undulating dunes, shining brightly under the sun in multiple hues! Red, yellow, purple, dark brown, black, white, dark green, light brown……..multiple colours layered over each other like so many different species of giant serpents, each of a distinct colour, sleeping cozily entwined.

Seven Colored Earth

 

We really could not believe our own eyes and had to take recourse to multiple slide-shows of the pics we had taken (as well as a video panning the landscape) before we came to the conclusion that we had, indeed, seen what others had done for decades before us, the magic of nature! Basalt rock weathered by years of rains and sunshine undergoing chemical reaction over the millenia presenting us a spectacle to behold.

Much arguments amidst us on which colours each one of saw, we decided to agree to disagree. After all, one man’s light brown could be another person’s yellow but we all agreed eventually that the clay did indeed have myriad distinct colors and while the color gold itself was not seen by us, we knew we had struck gold in this visit! A reverential “parikrama” around the periphery of this cordoned piece of magically colored section of earth and we were ready to leave for our next destination!

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