By Chris Sarcletti
City: Florence
Living in Amsterdam at the time, I was quite excited to see my parents since it had been several months since our last meeting. The fact that we would be meeting in Florence of all places made things all the more interesting. They were traveling as part of a tour group through Italy for 10 days. We decided that Florence would be a good meeting point since they would be spending 3 days there. They had enrolled in this tour 10 months earlier right before I made the decision to accept a position in Amsterdam and move there. As a result, there trip to Amsterdam would have to wait and Italy would be the first destination either my Mom or Dad would experience in Europe.
I am actually very close to my parents but had only been able to spend approximately 8 days with them over the past 8 months. That was a bit difficult but is not uncommon for those working across the country or overseas. As our impending visit got closer and closer, I grew a bit nervous about our meeting. I certainly wasn’t nervous about seeing my parents but was a bit nervous about the setting. It was my parents first time in Europe and my mother had already planned for me to have dinner with their entire tour group on a couple of different occasions. That was fine with me. However, I wasn’t going to be alone. My Irish friend and colleague from Dublin, Antony, would be with me also. Antony is a great guy and is very easy going. However, I didn’t know how he would take to some of the people on the tour and some of the potential comments he might hear. Comments like “Look how small their cars are!”, “Why are the houses like that?”, “That’s stupid!” and “God, I’m glad it’s not that way in the States!” See, many of the people on the tour were first time visitors to Europe, and in some cases might not understand that certain comments made could be perceived by others to be culturally insensitive, if not downright offensive. Personally, I find comments like these to be annoying and amusing at the same time. As you can imagine, hearing these types of things could be much more offensive to those people who make their home and life in a European Union country as Antony does. However, I did try and calm my nerves a bit and prepare Antony as I told him that he shouldn’t be surprised by what he hears.
The manner in which I met up with my parents in Florence was quite interesting. All I had was an address for their hotel. We had no phone numbers to exchange or anything. The last time I talked to them, I just told them I would meet them at their hotel at a specified time. I left Antony in our room and began to navigate the streets to find the Jolly Hotel where my parents were staying. Florence is a pretty easy city to navigate actually. Even I, with my poor sense of direction, am able to walk around the city with the confidence that I will actually be able to find what I am looking for. As I made my way to their hotel, which didn’t look too far away according to the map, I was surprised to find out just how close it was. In fact, it was less than a ten minute walk from the pension we were staying at. By the way, the pension Antony and I found had a fantastic view of the beginning of the Tuscan countryside that we had recently driven through. As I walked down the street towards the Jolly hotel, I looked up and saw my Dad walking down the street. I yelled and he turned around and we ran to each other and embraced. I must admit that it was a bit movie like.
In any case, over the next 30 minutes, I saw my parents hotel room, met their friends Laurie and Reggie, who they were traveling with, and was introduced to 10 other people from the tour group who seemed to know quite a bit about me and Antony. In addition, I met the tour guide operator, Julia, who made quite an impression on me. My parents informed me that I had an hour to get back to my room, shower, and return with Antony so that we could board a tour bus that would leave from my parents hotel and take us to dinner. Off I went. Despite the hurried state, I did manage to stop for an espresso in a coffee bar on the way back to my room.
Believe it or not, an hour later we were boarding the tour bus. My parents met Antony and being the friendly people they all are, they hit it off well. As Antony and I boarded the bus, their seemed to be a state of pandemonium as everyone wanted to meet me and even more people wanted to meet Antony. Many of these people acted as if they had never actually met and spoke to someone who is from another country. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. Many of them probably hadn’t. They absolutely loved Antony’s accent. I heard more than one person say, “Isn’t his accent cool?” I do think that there were some women who would have liked to have seen a little more of Antony, if you know what I mean. Maybe there is some credence to the saying, ‘American girls are suckers for accents.’ The bus ride was interesting, to say the least.
One highlight of the bus ride for me was watching Julia, the very Italian and very attractive tour operator, speak with her sexy accent and explain to the tour group, as if they were school age children, the logistics for the night and the next day. Maybe, American guys are suckers for accents also.
We had a very nice dinner. The three course meal we enjoyed was very good and we washed it all down with quite a bit of wine. Like I said earlier, I warned Antony about ignorant comments. Keeping that in mind, a 65 year old woman from Ohio at our table on her first trip to Europe said to me and Antony, “You guys were able to make it over here with the war?” We looked at each other, perplexed, and said, “What war?” As it turns out, she was referring to the Kosovo War. We discussed the topic for a minute, explaining that cancelling a trip to Italy because of a war in Kosovo is paramount to cancelling a trip to Wisconsin because there are riots going on in Los Angeles. After making that analogy, she understood where we were coming from. She was a nice woman and we had a nice chat.
After dinner, a group of us walked over to a bar near the Duomo off of Via Cerretani where we had a couple drinks. My Dad was especially enthusiastic about breaking from the confines of the tour and going to have a drink at one of the neat bars that line the streets of Florence. Joining us were my parents friends Reggie and Laurie and a group of four women from the East Coast who were vacationing without their husbands. They were labeled, “The girls” by my mother and were the wild group of the bunch. They were old high school friends near the age of 40 who decided to take a break away from the family. From the sounds of it, they had been doing their fair bit of drinking and partying on the trip. I have to say that they were extremely open regarding just about everything in their life. We found out just how open on the following evening.
The next day we met my parents in front of the Duomo in the afternoon. They had four hours of planned tour events that morning. After seeing the Academia and Duomo, they went to a leather and jewelry factory where they supposedly had the best deals to buy leather, gold and silver. Fortunately, my parents didn’t buy anything because the best deals are certainly not in some warehouse on the outskirts of town. For those deals, you need to peruse the leather market and associated shops in the San Lorenzo area. For jewelry, why would you ever stray from the litany of stores that are spread across one of the worlds most beautiful bridges, the Ponte Vecchio. I am not that naive to think these tours are not about making money. However, much of the charm of shopping in a city like Florence can be found while walking through some of the wonderful parts of the city where many of the shops are located.
In any case, I was going to make sure that my parents and Antony were not deprived of seeing what Florence has to offer. At least I was going to try. We first made our way to the Santa Croce church. Everyone was impressed by the church, not to mention the sight of the tombs of Galileo Galilie and Michelangelo as this is where their remains are buried. Since I was in the area, I had no choice but to show Antony and my parents another old favorite of mine that I knew they would enjoy. Actually, anyone with functioning taste buds would enjoy a visit to our next stop. We visited the famous Vivoli gelateria. The best gelateria in town? No doubt. The best in Italy? Who knows, but they do boast that they have the best ice cream in the world. Whether it is truly the best is only for those that visit this wonderful spot to decide, but I certainly do not doubt their claim. The creamy chocolate, coconut, amaretto and coffee flavored gelato’s we sampled were amazing. In fact, they were so amazing that Antony and I legged back to Vivoli’s on the following day to sample a few more flavors.
After visiting the church and having our sweet snack, my parents were ready for a bit of shopping. Antony and I took my parents to the San Lorenzo leather market. I felt that the man that Antony and I had both purchased leather coats from the day prior might be willing to give my parents a good deal on some jackets. After watching a dynamite Mexican girl model a leather coat that I was thinking of making my sister’s Christmas gift, I was sold. Yes, I am a complete pushover when it comes to attractive women. It was a nice coat though. Something my sister would like. I also gave the girl my card with our room information if she wanted to meet up for a drink later that evening. Go ahead and laugh to yourself, but I really did think she might call. Yes, I am a fool and apparently I am naive.
In any case, our Iranian leather vendor did give my Mom and Dad good deals on some leather jackets. The grand total was four coats that were purchased by my family and we were treated with genuine class, sharing some nice glasses of wine with the merchant as we completed the transaction. I must say that I never before envisioned myself with a robust glass of red wine in my hand in a leather market in Florence over a nice chat with a guy from Iran who just sold my family four leather jackets. I guess you never know how things pan out. The afternoon slowly crept away as we went back to our rooms and got ready for another tour group dinner.
Another bus ride was on the horizon for me and Antony. I’m sure Antony and his parents will enjoy laughing about his stories on a bus with an American tour group. On this evening, we were having dinner at a small Florentine palace. There was also entertainment with a band, and of course, dancing. The palace was absolutely brilliant in every sense of the word. It looked as if it would have been a fantastic place for a wedding. In addition, everything was first class. There was champagne and appetizers being passed before dinner and wine on the tables. We enjoyed dinner and had some great conversations. My mom, trying to be social and what not, told the 4 women traveling without their spouses to split up and sit by Antony and I. They were more than willing to take her up on that request. I really don’t know what good my Mom thought would come of having 4 women, who were traveling outside of the country without their spouses, getting to know two 27 year old guys better. Not to mention the fact that I have a history of having older women show interest in me. In any case, I danced with my Mom and one of these women and Antony did the same.
However, soon after the dancing began, my attention started to wane. It started to wane because it was being redirected, along with my stares, towards Julia, my parent’s tour operator. She was standing near our table talking to a couple of people. We made eye contact and whether she wanted to talk to me or not, I got up and approached her.
Julia is ravishing. She’s a blond Italian woman from just outside Rome. She’s around 35 and is sexy in more than one way. We talked for a few minutes but it was hard for us to hear what each other were saying because we were near the band. She took control by grabbing my arm and said that we should go to the back to talk so that we could better understand each other. I just followed her. The dancing would have to wait. There was a lounge like seating area behind the dining room that looked like a good place for a more intimate chat. We talked for a few minutes and then I presented her with a question which she definitely didn’t expect. Especially from an American. I asked her how it is to constantly be around American tourists, most of who had never been to Italy before. I was interested to see if she was impacted by some of the insensitive comments and took them at all personally. She was very frank with me. I told her to be. I wanted to hear how she really felt. First, she said it was part of her job and that it was something that she found innocent and a bit humorous. However, she also said that she found it interesting that many of these people had no idea how much they could offend a typical Italian person with some of their comments. She was very surprised by my openness. I have to say that sitting on the couch next to her was almost intimidating. As we talked, she stared directly into my eyes with a confidence that is uncommon with most women I have encountered. I stared right back. After about 15 or 20 minutes, one of the women from our dinner table came back and said I was wanted on the dance floor. I kind of shunned her and said “In a minute” and bought ten more minutes with Julia. Unfortunately, Julia and I had to finish our conversation and head to the exit because the night was about to end. I did get pulled into one more dance but it unfortunately wasn’t with Julia.
The night did carry on at the hotel bar and it did get more interesting. Julia did make sure to say goodnight to me, giving me a customary kiss on each cheek before she retired to bed. Wishing I was in the elevator heading up to her room with her, I decided that I needed to redirect my attention to the present and reality.
We were having drinks with about 15 different people from the tour in the Jolly Hotel bar. We ordered a couple bottles of wines, smoked a few cigarettes and chatted pretty freely about whatever came to mind. At this point, everyone was getting a bit tipsy, if not full blown inebriated. As time continued to pass, one by one people retired to their rooms to get some rest. Eventually, my parents said there goodbyes to me and Antony and made their way to bed. Morning would come early for them tomorrow as they had a 7 AM bus ride to Venice.
At this point, it was about 1 AM and the only people left at the bar were Antony and I, and 2 of the 4 girls from the East Coast. While we had all had a fair bit to drink, one woman, Cheryl, was extremely drunk. As we continued to talk, these women began to share more and more of their lives with Antony and I. After a while, Cheryl was in tears telling us about her best friend’s suicide that was the end result of many years in a manic depressive state. The suicide had happened years ago but she was recanting. We found it to be a bit sobering as we clutched our glasses of wine and just listened. I guess we really didn’t expect to get into a conversation of this type with people we barely knew at this point in the evening. Before long, the other woman, Erin, who was much less drunk, was sharing her suicide story. Her deceased husband also fought manic depression for years before finally succumbing to the disease and taking his own life. At this point, the only thing going through my mind was “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I was glad to listen to their stories and enjoyed their company. I guess I was just surprised.
We did continue talking and Cheryl shared a more light hearted and entertaining story involving her making out with a guy she works with in the back seat of a limousine. Supposedly, he decided he needed to loosen his zipper and pull out his “member” to see if Cheryl was interested. As Cheryl put it, “I laughed at him and told him that my husband has a lot more than that inside his pants.” Not surprisingly, Cheryl also revealed that her marriage, while not being an open marriage, certainly wouldn’t end as the result of a little infidelity. It was getting a bit heated at the table as is the case after many drinks had brought us to the point of listening to a 40 year old women talk about sex with two 27 year old guys, in the presence of her best friend. I am pretty sure the night could have taken us in a few different directions but I decided to end it at the ‘interesting conversation’ point and head back to our humble abode for some much needed rest.
The next day Antony and I made another stop at Vivoli’s and saw a few more sights. Oh, and we bought some shoes. And suits. And ties. What are we, fucking women?
Back to the shoes. What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t thinking rationally. We passed by a shoe store not far from the Ponte Vecchio. It was hard not to notice the gorgeous shoes they had in the display case. They had that wonderful Italian style with such intricate details. I loved the shoes in this store and felt I had to go inside. I was greeted by an absolutely gorgeous sales associate. As I found out later, she was from Vienna and she was quite the Austrian beauty. I pointed out the shoes that I liked and she brought some pairs out for me to try on. At this point, I was more interested in the girl than the shoes as was obvious to anyone watching my eyes follow her every move. I tried to play it cool but it didn’t really work. As nice as the shoes were and as much as I did like them, they were red. I tried to convince myself that they were maroon and I would get a lot of use out of them but the bottom line was they were red shoes and it is difficult for a male to get away with wearing red dress shoes to work. However, all it took was a look, smile and a few words from the girl helping me to sway my thinking. She said, “The thing about these shoes is that you will always have a story about them.” Needless to say, I bought the shoes. God, I wish there was more to the story so that I could have more entertaining details to reveal when someone asks where I found those shoes at. In any case, this beautiful girl made my day in addition to adding to my wardrobe.
On my last night in Florence, I had the pleasure to enjoy a meal with my friend Antony and my parents alone. It was so great to be with my parents in Italy. My Dad was looking forward to getting away from his tour and doing his own thing for dinner. He loved it. We had traditional Tuscan cuisine in a small trattoria on a secluded street. Our dinner was highlighted by a free glass of wine and dose of limoncello courtesy of the restaurant in celebration of Italy’s World Cup qualifying soccer victory. The traditional Italian food brought back memories to my Dad from his childhood and the simplistic, yet wonderful aromas and flavors that come from a true Italian kitchen. I must say that this meal capped a wonderful trip to Italy and specifically to Florence. Having the opportunity to share this time with my close friend and my family made the experience that much more memorable.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Facing the Dragon - Chapter 13
It is an early 6 AM rise this morning as we are partaking in an early morning river cruise down the Perfume River. After a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast, we make our way down to the river. Our boat cruises out from the shore and we immediately pass many boats, loaded with vegetables and being rowed in the direction of the Dong Ba market. These boats are used as transportation vehicles for produce and also serve as the primary living residences for many of the people who work on them. The scenery around the river is impressive, particularly the views of the mountains in the distance. I am running on about 4 hours of sleep and a relaxing morning like this is just what I need. As our boat pulls up to the Thien Mu Pagoda, I seem to be coming out of my shell as I am feeling more awake and refreshed. The Thien Mu pagoda is also known as the Pagoda of the Celestial Lady and it stands on the site of an ancient Cham temple. This pagoda is a popular tourist site and is situated right on the banks of the Perfume River. This pagoda also has a long history.
During the 1930’s and 40’s, the Thien Mu Pagoda was already renowned for being at the center of the Buddhist opposition to colonialism movement. However, the pagoda gained instant notoriety when one of the pagoda’s most revered monks burned himself to death at a busy Saigon intersection on June 11, 1963. The venerable monk, Thich Quang Duc, drove down from Thien Mu in a powder blue Austin car, exited the car and meditated in the lotus position. As he meditated, he was doused in petrol by fellow monks and willfully set on fire. His act of self-immolation was a form of protest against the way the administration of President Ngô Đình Diệm, who was a Catholic, was oppressing the Buddhist religion. More specifically, his act was intended as a symbolic attempt to represent the way in which all Vietnamese were killing themselves by fighting against each other.
David Halberstam, a New York Times reporter, witnessed the act and had this to say:
“I was to see that sight again, but once was enough. lames were coming from a human being; his body was slowly withering and shriveling up, his head blackening and charring. In the air was the smell of burning human flesh; human beings burn surprisingly quickly. Behind me I could hear the sobbing of the Vietnamese who were now gathering. I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think.... As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound, his outward composure in sharp contrast to the wailing people around him.”
After visiting Thien Mu, we return to the boat and venture out again, this time in the direction of the royal mausoleum of Tu Duc. Tu Duc, a romantic poet who was independent Vietnam’s last emperor, tried to rule Vietnam in the mid 1800s at a time when the Western world challenged the country’s independence. He is most well known for the fact that he had 104 wives, countless concubines and was known to partake in 50 course meals. Despite all the presumed sexual activity you would think that a man with 104 wives and numerous concubines would have had, Tu Duc never fathered a child. This is believed to be attributed to smallpox.
The mausoleum itself is spectacular with different buildings for hosting operas and other forms of entertainment in addition to more than a few buildings to house Tu Duc’s wives and concubines. The highlight of the mausoleum is an idyllic pond located between some of the buildings covered with lotus plants and water lilies; a perfect example of peace and serenity.
The 2 kilometer trek from our docked boat to the mausoleum is a memorable experience. There are many people selling incense, rain ponchos and refreshments on the red clay road that leads us towards our destination. A monsoon hits during our trek and continues to pour rain down for the better part of the next 3 hours. The power of the downpour is unbelievable. It is easy to understand how dangerous floods can come about quickly in these areas after witnessing a storm like this one. While the rain continues to pour, we enjoy a nice lunch under a covered pavilion.
I spend most of the afternoon meandering around the city on a cyclo. There is no better way to see a Vietnamese city. With only open air surrounding me, I am able to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Hue. I see barbers and tailors at work in their shops and also see the so-called “boat people” of Hue. My cyclo driver stops and lets me off so that I can get a closer view of what appears to be two different families who live on the small boat in front of me. I am surprised to find TV antennas wired to the boat. It seems that even in the most modest of homes, television seems is a necessity. Leaving this area, we drive through other parts of Hue and see more of the Vietnamese marketplace that is otherwise known as the street. As in the other towns I have visited, everything from grilling corn to selling gum to shining shoes seems to be taking place somewhere along the streets I am riding on. We eventually make our way to the primary market in town for a stroll through the market. I continue to be fascinated by the multitude and variety of products and services that are available. If you can’t find what you need at the market, you aren’t finding it anywhere. Today, my focus is on watching the people prepare and display the meat that is for sale. While the meat looks fresh, it is fully exposed to the open air and with the open air comes fumes, dust particles and insects. While a hot grill will cook off any detrimental affects that are the result of the surrounding environment, I can understand why some Westerners might see one market and decide that they will refrain from eating meat until they are back in the comforts of their own homes. However, they would also be missing out as eating like a local is one of the best parts of traveling.
As I walk through the market, I am incessantly badgered for some time until I am forced to make an active attempt to lose a woman whose eyes are unflinching as she follows me through the market. Apparently, she wants me to look at the merchandise in her clothing stall. Her persistence finally pays off, as I have no choice but to stop and see what she is selling after I buy some bananas from a fruit booth that is directly across the aisle from her stall.
The woman’s name is Mimi. While her persistence is definitely one factor that draws me into her stall, it isn’t the only one. I am drawn to her because of her endless reservoir of energy and I am impressed with her ability to switch from speaking English to Spanish to French as she attempts to communicate with prospective clients that she hopes to lure into her stall. She has a feisty, smartass attitude that I have rarely encountered in my interactions with Vietnamese women. She is also very cute. I browse at the items in her stall and chat with Mimi for a bit. I find out that she is 19 years old and she makes sure that I don’t walk away empty handed. I buy a red T-shirt that has an emblem of the large yellow communist star of Vietnam on the front. On the back, it says Saigon, Vietnam. After paying Mimi, I ask her which direction I need to head in order to get back to my hotel. She grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the market to give me the kind of directions I understand the best – ones that involve pointing. We chat and joke with each other as we walk along. Mimi and I have some of the best riff-raff that I have had with any girl I’ve met in Vietnam. Mimi is a darling girl with so much potential. Our chance meeting has made my day a much brighter one.
After leaving Mimi to head to my hotel, I encounter a group of children playing on the street. I attempt to walk by them but they refuse to leave me alone until I stop and play with them for a few minutes, and let them stare at and touch me. As we kick a soccer ball back and forth amongst us, I buy some candy for them from a street vendor passing by. After 15 minutes, I decide that I have done enough playing and that it is time for me to get back to the hotel. Apparently, these children do not agree as they put up a form of protest. They stop their informal game of soccer and follow me, and follow me and follow me. For at least 10 minutes, I see them walking behind me every time I look over my shoulder. I feel bad but know that if I give in, my night will be over as I will be here for hours. Eventually, they do give up but I am impressed by their determined efforts.
Tonight, we have a simple dinner since we have an overnight train to Hanoi to catch in a few hours. We pick up some takeout Indian food from a nearby restaurant and walk across the street to the DMZ bar so that we can have a couple beers with our meal. The food is average but it is a welcome change from the strict Vietnamese diet I have been adhering to. After dinner, we walk over to Hue’s central station to catch our overnight train. A train ride in Vietnam is much different that any other train related experience I have ever had. The schedule means NOTHING. Our train is already an hour delayed and there is no indication of when the train will arrive or when we will depart. I am tired and my eyes want to shut but the only way I can ensure that I will get on the train is if I pay close attention to whatever message is being broadcast overheard. After another hour, I become restless and tell one my fellow travelers that I am going to walk outside and take a stroll around the area surrounding the train station.
It is 11 PM on a Friday night and there are a lot of people in cafes enjoying late night meals and drinks. Others seem to be enjoying a movie screened in a bar while still others are enjoying meals that are being prepared in one of Hue’s many street kitchens. This particular street kitchen has 8 to 10 tables surrounding a portable kitchen that is located somewhere between the area where the street ends and the sidewalk begins. I love street kitchens. It’s the outdoor dining areas we love, but it’s not just the dining that takes place outside. Everything is outside including the pots, pans, tables, grill stove and chopping boards. Under a canopy, men and women prepare and cook the food and then hand it to a server who delivers it to the surrounding tables. Amid the chaos and activity of the street, it is nice to know that you can enjoy a fresh and tasty meal without anyone involved with any aspect of preparing or eating the meal even setting foot inside a restaurant.
I continue to walk around this area and see a woman sleeping on the street with her child. This is real poverty before my eyes and it impacts me. The woman tries to coddle her son from the elements of the street and they try to sleep through the loud and frequent clatter that surrounds them on every side. I don’t know how someone gets in this situation. Life is unfair and there is not enough for everyone. As I watch this woman and her son, holding a train ticket in my hand that cost me a sum of money that would feed them both for at least a few days if not a few weeks, I realize just how unfair the world really is.
Our train finally leaves after midnight, but due to our late departure we won’t be arriving in Hanoi until approximately 5 PM tomorrow. This is going to be one hell of a long train ride. I have no idea what to expect as I board the train and make my way to the sleeper car I am sharing with 3 of my other travel companions. I have done much train travel in Europe but this is definitely not Europe. Not expecting much, despite the fact that we are traveling first class, I am actually pleasantly surprised. This train is very similar to the European trains I have taken in the past except that it isn’t as clean. Our sleeping couchette has an air conditioner within it and it is cool enough that I shouldn’t have a problem falling asleep. Unfortunately, I don’t have any kind of a sleeping sheet or pillowcase with me and I am skeptical as to whether the sheets and pillow cases that are already in place are clean. I lie down and read until past 1 and then try and fall sleep. The sheet situation doesn’t sit well with me but I try to shut my eyes and forget about it. I doze off for about an hour before waking up with my bladder rumbling. I climb down from my top bunk and make it out to the hallway to find the bathroom.
The bathroom isn’t very clean but I have used worse. I am just glad I bothered putting my sandals on as I would not feel good about walking with bare feet on this bathroom floor. After using the washroom, my interests are piqued and I decide to walk through the sliding doors at the end of the hall and into the second class area. I want to see what this area is like because this is the area I would typically be sitting in.
What I see is utter chaos. The second class area is not compartmentalized with sleeping carriages, but is open seating like on most trains. Unlike many trains I have traveled on though, it is unbearably hot with no air conditioning. One man is actually lying in the middle aisle which divides the two columns of seats with his shirt off. There are three people sitting and attempting to sleep in seats made for two. Can you imagine trying to sit and sleep for 15 + hours shoulder to shoulder with another person in 90 degree heat and humidity? After witnessing this, I just thank God that I have a sleeping couchette as it would be nearly impossible for me to sleep in these conditions. While I do like train travel generally, the one thing I don’t like about over night train travel is the frequent interruptions and noise because for me, those interruptions severely impact my sleep. With that mind, I head back to my sleeping car and try to get back to sleep.
During the 1930’s and 40’s, the Thien Mu Pagoda was already renowned for being at the center of the Buddhist opposition to colonialism movement. However, the pagoda gained instant notoriety when one of the pagoda’s most revered monks burned himself to death at a busy Saigon intersection on June 11, 1963. The venerable monk, Thich Quang Duc, drove down from Thien Mu in a powder blue Austin car, exited the car and meditated in the lotus position. As he meditated, he was doused in petrol by fellow monks and willfully set on fire. His act of self-immolation was a form of protest against the way the administration of President Ngô Đình Diệm, who was a Catholic, was oppressing the Buddhist religion. More specifically, his act was intended as a symbolic attempt to represent the way in which all Vietnamese were killing themselves by fighting against each other.
David Halberstam, a New York Times reporter, witnessed the act and had this to say:
“I was to see that sight again, but once was enough. lames were coming from a human being; his body was slowly withering and shriveling up, his head blackening and charring. In the air was the smell of burning human flesh; human beings burn surprisingly quickly. Behind me I could hear the sobbing of the Vietnamese who were now gathering. I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think.... As he burned he never moved a muscle, never uttered a sound, his outward composure in sharp contrast to the wailing people around him.”
After visiting Thien Mu, we return to the boat and venture out again, this time in the direction of the royal mausoleum of Tu Duc. Tu Duc, a romantic poet who was independent Vietnam’s last emperor, tried to rule Vietnam in the mid 1800s at a time when the Western world challenged the country’s independence. He is most well known for the fact that he had 104 wives, countless concubines and was known to partake in 50 course meals. Despite all the presumed sexual activity you would think that a man with 104 wives and numerous concubines would have had, Tu Duc never fathered a child. This is believed to be attributed to smallpox.
The mausoleum itself is spectacular with different buildings for hosting operas and other forms of entertainment in addition to more than a few buildings to house Tu Duc’s wives and concubines. The highlight of the mausoleum is an idyllic pond located between some of the buildings covered with lotus plants and water lilies; a perfect example of peace and serenity.
The 2 kilometer trek from our docked boat to the mausoleum is a memorable experience. There are many people selling incense, rain ponchos and refreshments on the red clay road that leads us towards our destination. A monsoon hits during our trek and continues to pour rain down for the better part of the next 3 hours. The power of the downpour is unbelievable. It is easy to understand how dangerous floods can come about quickly in these areas after witnessing a storm like this one. While the rain continues to pour, we enjoy a nice lunch under a covered pavilion.
I spend most of the afternoon meandering around the city on a cyclo. There is no better way to see a Vietnamese city. With only open air surrounding me, I am able to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Hue. I see barbers and tailors at work in their shops and also see the so-called “boat people” of Hue. My cyclo driver stops and lets me off so that I can get a closer view of what appears to be two different families who live on the small boat in front of me. I am surprised to find TV antennas wired to the boat. It seems that even in the most modest of homes, television seems is a necessity. Leaving this area, we drive through other parts of Hue and see more of the Vietnamese marketplace that is otherwise known as the street. As in the other towns I have visited, everything from grilling corn to selling gum to shining shoes seems to be taking place somewhere along the streets I am riding on. We eventually make our way to the primary market in town for a stroll through the market. I continue to be fascinated by the multitude and variety of products and services that are available. If you can’t find what you need at the market, you aren’t finding it anywhere. Today, my focus is on watching the people prepare and display the meat that is for sale. While the meat looks fresh, it is fully exposed to the open air and with the open air comes fumes, dust particles and insects. While a hot grill will cook off any detrimental affects that are the result of the surrounding environment, I can understand why some Westerners might see one market and decide that they will refrain from eating meat until they are back in the comforts of their own homes. However, they would also be missing out as eating like a local is one of the best parts of traveling.
As I walk through the market, I am incessantly badgered for some time until I am forced to make an active attempt to lose a woman whose eyes are unflinching as she follows me through the market. Apparently, she wants me to look at the merchandise in her clothing stall. Her persistence finally pays off, as I have no choice but to stop and see what she is selling after I buy some bananas from a fruit booth that is directly across the aisle from her stall.
The woman’s name is Mimi. While her persistence is definitely one factor that draws me into her stall, it isn’t the only one. I am drawn to her because of her endless reservoir of energy and I am impressed with her ability to switch from speaking English to Spanish to French as she attempts to communicate with prospective clients that she hopes to lure into her stall. She has a feisty, smartass attitude that I have rarely encountered in my interactions with Vietnamese women. She is also very cute. I browse at the items in her stall and chat with Mimi for a bit. I find out that she is 19 years old and she makes sure that I don’t walk away empty handed. I buy a red T-shirt that has an emblem of the large yellow communist star of Vietnam on the front. On the back, it says Saigon, Vietnam. After paying Mimi, I ask her which direction I need to head in order to get back to my hotel. She grabs me by the hand and leads me out of the market to give me the kind of directions I understand the best – ones that involve pointing. We chat and joke with each other as we walk along. Mimi and I have some of the best riff-raff that I have had with any girl I’ve met in Vietnam. Mimi is a darling girl with so much potential. Our chance meeting has made my day a much brighter one.
After leaving Mimi to head to my hotel, I encounter a group of children playing on the street. I attempt to walk by them but they refuse to leave me alone until I stop and play with them for a few minutes, and let them stare at and touch me. As we kick a soccer ball back and forth amongst us, I buy some candy for them from a street vendor passing by. After 15 minutes, I decide that I have done enough playing and that it is time for me to get back to the hotel. Apparently, these children do not agree as they put up a form of protest. They stop their informal game of soccer and follow me, and follow me and follow me. For at least 10 minutes, I see them walking behind me every time I look over my shoulder. I feel bad but know that if I give in, my night will be over as I will be here for hours. Eventually, they do give up but I am impressed by their determined efforts.
Tonight, we have a simple dinner since we have an overnight train to Hanoi to catch in a few hours. We pick up some takeout Indian food from a nearby restaurant and walk across the street to the DMZ bar so that we can have a couple beers with our meal. The food is average but it is a welcome change from the strict Vietnamese diet I have been adhering to. After dinner, we walk over to Hue’s central station to catch our overnight train. A train ride in Vietnam is much different that any other train related experience I have ever had. The schedule means NOTHING. Our train is already an hour delayed and there is no indication of when the train will arrive or when we will depart. I am tired and my eyes want to shut but the only way I can ensure that I will get on the train is if I pay close attention to whatever message is being broadcast overheard. After another hour, I become restless and tell one my fellow travelers that I am going to walk outside and take a stroll around the area surrounding the train station.
It is 11 PM on a Friday night and there are a lot of people in cafes enjoying late night meals and drinks. Others seem to be enjoying a movie screened in a bar while still others are enjoying meals that are being prepared in one of Hue’s many street kitchens. This particular street kitchen has 8 to 10 tables surrounding a portable kitchen that is located somewhere between the area where the street ends and the sidewalk begins. I love street kitchens. It’s the outdoor dining areas we love, but it’s not just the dining that takes place outside. Everything is outside including the pots, pans, tables, grill stove and chopping boards. Under a canopy, men and women prepare and cook the food and then hand it to a server who delivers it to the surrounding tables. Amid the chaos and activity of the street, it is nice to know that you can enjoy a fresh and tasty meal without anyone involved with any aspect of preparing or eating the meal even setting foot inside a restaurant.
I continue to walk around this area and see a woman sleeping on the street with her child. This is real poverty before my eyes and it impacts me. The woman tries to coddle her son from the elements of the street and they try to sleep through the loud and frequent clatter that surrounds them on every side. I don’t know how someone gets in this situation. Life is unfair and there is not enough for everyone. As I watch this woman and her son, holding a train ticket in my hand that cost me a sum of money that would feed them both for at least a few days if not a few weeks, I realize just how unfair the world really is.
Our train finally leaves after midnight, but due to our late departure we won’t be arriving in Hanoi until approximately 5 PM tomorrow. This is going to be one hell of a long train ride. I have no idea what to expect as I board the train and make my way to the sleeper car I am sharing with 3 of my other travel companions. I have done much train travel in Europe but this is definitely not Europe. Not expecting much, despite the fact that we are traveling first class, I am actually pleasantly surprised. This train is very similar to the European trains I have taken in the past except that it isn’t as clean. Our sleeping couchette has an air conditioner within it and it is cool enough that I shouldn’t have a problem falling asleep. Unfortunately, I don’t have any kind of a sleeping sheet or pillowcase with me and I am skeptical as to whether the sheets and pillow cases that are already in place are clean. I lie down and read until past 1 and then try and fall sleep. The sheet situation doesn’t sit well with me but I try to shut my eyes and forget about it. I doze off for about an hour before waking up with my bladder rumbling. I climb down from my top bunk and make it out to the hallway to find the bathroom.
The bathroom isn’t very clean but I have used worse. I am just glad I bothered putting my sandals on as I would not feel good about walking with bare feet on this bathroom floor. After using the washroom, my interests are piqued and I decide to walk through the sliding doors at the end of the hall and into the second class area. I want to see what this area is like because this is the area I would typically be sitting in.
What I see is utter chaos. The second class area is not compartmentalized with sleeping carriages, but is open seating like on most trains. Unlike many trains I have traveled on though, it is unbearably hot with no air conditioning. One man is actually lying in the middle aisle which divides the two columns of seats with his shirt off. There are three people sitting and attempting to sleep in seats made for two. Can you imagine trying to sit and sleep for 15 + hours shoulder to shoulder with another person in 90 degree heat and humidity? After witnessing this, I just thank God that I have a sleeping couchette as it would be nearly impossible for me to sleep in these conditions. While I do like train travel generally, the one thing I don’t like about over night train travel is the frequent interruptions and noise because for me, those interruptions severely impact my sleep. With that mind, I head back to my sleeping car and try to get back to sleep.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Facing the Dragon - Chapter 12
I depart Hoi An with mixed feelings. While I am ready to leave and explore another part of Vietnam, the people of Hoi An and the charm of this town have quickly grabbed hold of me. Before departing, I make my way over to the shop where I did emailing to say goodbye to Than and her son. Than offers me breakfast but time does not permit a meal as I will be boarding the bus that will take me away in a few moments. Our exchange of goodbyes includes the exchange of our email addresses.
Today, we are headed in the direction of Danang to the Marble Mountains. Impressive from afar, the views from the mountain’s peak are supposed to give a good overview of the surrounding areas.
The climb up the mountains and in and out of the mountains caves is quite a workout. As I walk in and out of pagoda’s that were somehow constructed in and around these caves, I ponder to myself how the people who built these pagodas were able to get the needed materials up the mountain. Later, I relax and take a moment to myself in front of a secluded pagoda to absorb the peaceful environment. The setting is serene. I walk around the corner and find a huge marble smiling Buddha in my path. After looking behind me and confirming that I am alone, I kneel down, bow and pay homage for a couple moments. I feel at peace. Before heading back down the mountain, I take one more stroll and come to an overlook point which offers a spectacular view of the famous China Beach below us. China Beach was a very popular rest and relaxation spot for American GI’s during the Vietnam War. Given the tumultuous history of this beach, I am surprised to find how clean and untouched it appears, at least from afar.
I descend back down the mountain and out onto China Beach. Walking on the break where the sand meets the sea, I feel the water run through my toes. The water is clear and the warm water has a perfect temperature. I swim out about 20 feet to where Erin and Michael are and begin to body surf with them. The water is refreshing on this hot day and it feels good to just crash into the water and enjoy the sea like I did as a child. Eventually, I end up in the bamboo pavilion on the beach and munch on a sandwich while I watch some Vietnamese teenage boys play a passionate soccer game.
After lunch, we walk back to the bus to continue our journey towards Danang. I decide to shift my seating position and move up to the passenger seat so that I can sit next to our driver, Qui. Qui is a friendly chap. His seat is covered with an American flag that he says a tourist gave him years ago. With his limited English, he tells me that he is Catholic and managers to make a few Viet Cong jokes. The reason that I moved up front is because I wanted to get closer to the action and get another in depth view of the rough roads we are driving on.
The size of the potholes in the road continues to amaze me. These craters are large enough to easily cause a blowout. A car or truck that didn’t have its weight distributed evenly across the vehicle could literally flip if it hit one of these potholes. I see some overturned cars and trucks where this appears to have been the case. The road has approximately 1.25 lanes of traffic. This has meant constant beeping, stopping and starting as Qui competes with people, bikes, motorbikes, cyclos, rickshaws, cars, trucks and busses that vie for what they perceive to be their piece of the road. Amid this chaos, many people are carrying bundles of wood, sheet metal and even curtains on their bikes or rickshaws. I see one man riding a cyclo loaded with wood and being followed by another man driving a motorbike. The amount of wood loaded onto the cyclo makes it impossible for him to even attempt to reach the pedals to propel himself forward. Even if he could reach the pedals, the weight of the load is much too heavy for him to move the cyclo forward using only the power of his legs. That is where the man on the motorbike comes into the picture as he has his foot placed on the back of the cyclo. The engine on his motorbike is providing enough power to propel the cyclo and its large load forward, albeit slowly. As I watch this with my own two eyes, I have to try and remember to myself that Qui is competing with vehicles like these for a section of the road.
As we drive along, I keep waiting to hit a barren, remote area where there are no palm trees, vast expanses of water, hills or beaches to gaze at, but I continue to be pleasantly surprised by what I am seeing. This wonderful scenery continues precisely until we arrive in Danang. While Danang is the 4th largest city in Vietnam with a population of over 400,000, it is not a city that is know for it’s beauty. It is a big city but at first glance it appears to be drab and unimpressive. Danang experienced rapid growth and development during the Vietnam War when the neighboring air base spawned the greatest concentration of US military personnel in South Vietnam. Given the fact that we are passing through Danang to get to Hue, I can only presume that this is not an overly popular tourist destination.
Eventually, we arrive in Hue and it is immediately apparent that the reason we quickly pushed through Danang to get here has more to do with Hue itself and less to do with the inadequacies of Danang. Hue is the former capital of Vietnam. It held that title until 1945 and was the sight of many intense battles during the Vietnam War since Hue marked the point where the control of the South Vietnamese Army ended.
We exit the bus and head to the check in counter at the Huong Ciang Hotel. I am impressed with the design of the hotel as well as the excellent views of the Perfume River from the outdoor bar surrounding the hotel. After spending a half hour lying on my bed in my room and listening to my stomach growl, I head downstairs for dinner. We walk over to a local backpacker restaurant where the food is supposedly decent and cheap. This is the kind of restaurant that serves Vietnamese food in addition to hamburgers, hot dogs and pancakes. I am not too excited.
The portions are large though and food always seems to taste better when the quantities are large and the cost is small. I have a local Hue specialty called ‘bahn it’ along with broiled pork, a banana pancake and a couple of beers. It is a strange combination of different types of foods but the highlight is definitely the ‘bahn it’. Bahn it consists of a rice and vegetable mixture made into a pancake that is dressed with peanut sauce. While the food is decent, the atmosphere in the restaurant is much too touristy for me. There are more tourists at this restaurant than at any other restaurant I’ve dined at on this trip. Nonetheless, you cannot beat the value as I left with a bit of a buzz and a full stomach for 3 dollars.
After dinner, a few of us walk over to the nearby DMZ Bar. It is easy to see why this venue had the reputation of being a place to come during the Vietnam War for prostitutes, drugs and any other type of activity that falls into that general category. It is a dingy place with a good juke box belting out American and British classic rock and pop songs and everyone seems to be on their 3rd or 4th drink. The DMZ bar is loaded with tourists although I am sure that a few prostitutes still manage to use this venue as a place of operation. This is a Western traveler’s paradise if he or she wants to limit their interaction with locals to staff only. I spend most of my time chatting with Sebastian and Claire. Given our ages, I find it both funny and peculiar that these two men seem to be most like the friends I have at home that are my age. That includes the discussions we have about women and drinking and the sick sense of humor that I and many of the people I tend to associate myself with seem to have. I guess we are all dirty old men when it comes down to it, no matter the age. Claire and I joke with Sebastian about the boat ride he took in Hoi An and the extra services that “may” have been a part of that excursion. It seems that Seby has been waiting for an opportunity to share his story and he doesn’t hesitate to give it to us straight.
Sebastian’s adventure started with a boat ride that he took with a woman he met on the street in Hoi An. Actually, the boat ride turned out to be a pretty short one as it amounted to paddling about a quarter of a mile until they were behind a large ship in a secluded area. After Seby rowed the boat behind the ship, the boat ride took a much different twist. Sebastian told us that the woman performed oral sex on him right there in the open. He said that the woman told him that it was $2 for the boat ride but nothing for the additional services. I cannot stop laughing in shock, and disturbing awe, as Sebastian graces us with the information that he slipped the woman a $5 dollar bill and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the end of his interesting boat ride. I joke with Claire about him getting involved in these types of endeavors but he makes it quite clear that while he finds Sebastian’s stories humorous, he does not like to participate in any activities of this sort. I don’t think he is kidding either as he is the resolute, conservative type.
I find Sebastian’s story to be sad and entertaining at the same time. I find it distressing because many of the women working in the prostitution industry are working to support their children and survive. With no other opportunities to make a living, the harsh truth is that human services pay a livable wage that many other jobs do not. Yet, I also find his story to be compelling. Why? Because these types of situations are very bizarre, and until this point in my life I have never really been exposed firsthand to prostitution. I am also torn as my Western upbringing is trying to tell me that I should classify these women as disgusting and repugnant because of their profession, but I can’t. They are human beings and deserve to be treated with respect and dignity, no matter what their profession is. I guess I don’t find prostitutes any more unethical than anyone else, including myself. Different circumstances call for different responses and in many cases the women working as prostitutes have not been blessed with the opportunities many of us take for granted. The reality of it is that they need to make a living and support their families and are able to achieve this end by providing this service.
Today, we are headed in the direction of Danang to the Marble Mountains. Impressive from afar, the views from the mountain’s peak are supposed to give a good overview of the surrounding areas.
The climb up the mountains and in and out of the mountains caves is quite a workout. As I walk in and out of pagoda’s that were somehow constructed in and around these caves, I ponder to myself how the people who built these pagodas were able to get the needed materials up the mountain. Later, I relax and take a moment to myself in front of a secluded pagoda to absorb the peaceful environment. The setting is serene. I walk around the corner and find a huge marble smiling Buddha in my path. After looking behind me and confirming that I am alone, I kneel down, bow and pay homage for a couple moments. I feel at peace. Before heading back down the mountain, I take one more stroll and come to an overlook point which offers a spectacular view of the famous China Beach below us. China Beach was a very popular rest and relaxation spot for American GI’s during the Vietnam War. Given the tumultuous history of this beach, I am surprised to find how clean and untouched it appears, at least from afar.
I descend back down the mountain and out onto China Beach. Walking on the break where the sand meets the sea, I feel the water run through my toes. The water is clear and the warm water has a perfect temperature. I swim out about 20 feet to where Erin and Michael are and begin to body surf with them. The water is refreshing on this hot day and it feels good to just crash into the water and enjoy the sea like I did as a child. Eventually, I end up in the bamboo pavilion on the beach and munch on a sandwich while I watch some Vietnamese teenage boys play a passionate soccer game.
After lunch, we walk back to the bus to continue our journey towards Danang. I decide to shift my seating position and move up to the passenger seat so that I can sit next to our driver, Qui. Qui is a friendly chap. His seat is covered with an American flag that he says a tourist gave him years ago. With his limited English, he tells me that he is Catholic and managers to make a few Viet Cong jokes. The reason that I moved up front is because I wanted to get closer to the action and get another in depth view of the rough roads we are driving on.
The size of the potholes in the road continues to amaze me. These craters are large enough to easily cause a blowout. A car or truck that didn’t have its weight distributed evenly across the vehicle could literally flip if it hit one of these potholes. I see some overturned cars and trucks where this appears to have been the case. The road has approximately 1.25 lanes of traffic. This has meant constant beeping, stopping and starting as Qui competes with people, bikes, motorbikes, cyclos, rickshaws, cars, trucks and busses that vie for what they perceive to be their piece of the road. Amid this chaos, many people are carrying bundles of wood, sheet metal and even curtains on their bikes or rickshaws. I see one man riding a cyclo loaded with wood and being followed by another man driving a motorbike. The amount of wood loaded onto the cyclo makes it impossible for him to even attempt to reach the pedals to propel himself forward. Even if he could reach the pedals, the weight of the load is much too heavy for him to move the cyclo forward using only the power of his legs. That is where the man on the motorbike comes into the picture as he has his foot placed on the back of the cyclo. The engine on his motorbike is providing enough power to propel the cyclo and its large load forward, albeit slowly. As I watch this with my own two eyes, I have to try and remember to myself that Qui is competing with vehicles like these for a section of the road.
As we drive along, I keep waiting to hit a barren, remote area where there are no palm trees, vast expanses of water, hills or beaches to gaze at, but I continue to be pleasantly surprised by what I am seeing. This wonderful scenery continues precisely until we arrive in Danang. While Danang is the 4th largest city in Vietnam with a population of over 400,000, it is not a city that is know for it’s beauty. It is a big city but at first glance it appears to be drab and unimpressive. Danang experienced rapid growth and development during the Vietnam War when the neighboring air base spawned the greatest concentration of US military personnel in South Vietnam. Given the fact that we are passing through Danang to get to Hue, I can only presume that this is not an overly popular tourist destination.
Eventually, we arrive in Hue and it is immediately apparent that the reason we quickly pushed through Danang to get here has more to do with Hue itself and less to do with the inadequacies of Danang. Hue is the former capital of Vietnam. It held that title until 1945 and was the sight of many intense battles during the Vietnam War since Hue marked the point where the control of the South Vietnamese Army ended.
We exit the bus and head to the check in counter at the Huong Ciang Hotel. I am impressed with the design of the hotel as well as the excellent views of the Perfume River from the outdoor bar surrounding the hotel. After spending a half hour lying on my bed in my room and listening to my stomach growl, I head downstairs for dinner. We walk over to a local backpacker restaurant where the food is supposedly decent and cheap. This is the kind of restaurant that serves Vietnamese food in addition to hamburgers, hot dogs and pancakes. I am not too excited.
The portions are large though and food always seems to taste better when the quantities are large and the cost is small. I have a local Hue specialty called ‘bahn it’ along with broiled pork, a banana pancake and a couple of beers. It is a strange combination of different types of foods but the highlight is definitely the ‘bahn it’. Bahn it consists of a rice and vegetable mixture made into a pancake that is dressed with peanut sauce. While the food is decent, the atmosphere in the restaurant is much too touristy for me. There are more tourists at this restaurant than at any other restaurant I’ve dined at on this trip. Nonetheless, you cannot beat the value as I left with a bit of a buzz and a full stomach for 3 dollars.
After dinner, a few of us walk over to the nearby DMZ Bar. It is easy to see why this venue had the reputation of being a place to come during the Vietnam War for prostitutes, drugs and any other type of activity that falls into that general category. It is a dingy place with a good juke box belting out American and British classic rock and pop songs and everyone seems to be on their 3rd or 4th drink. The DMZ bar is loaded with tourists although I am sure that a few prostitutes still manage to use this venue as a place of operation. This is a Western traveler’s paradise if he or she wants to limit their interaction with locals to staff only. I spend most of my time chatting with Sebastian and Claire. Given our ages, I find it both funny and peculiar that these two men seem to be most like the friends I have at home that are my age. That includes the discussions we have about women and drinking and the sick sense of humor that I and many of the people I tend to associate myself with seem to have. I guess we are all dirty old men when it comes down to it, no matter the age. Claire and I joke with Sebastian about the boat ride he took in Hoi An and the extra services that “may” have been a part of that excursion. It seems that Seby has been waiting for an opportunity to share his story and he doesn’t hesitate to give it to us straight.
Sebastian’s adventure started with a boat ride that he took with a woman he met on the street in Hoi An. Actually, the boat ride turned out to be a pretty short one as it amounted to paddling about a quarter of a mile until they were behind a large ship in a secluded area. After Seby rowed the boat behind the ship, the boat ride took a much different twist. Sebastian told us that the woman performed oral sex on him right there in the open. He said that the woman told him that it was $2 for the boat ride but nothing for the additional services. I cannot stop laughing in shock, and disturbing awe, as Sebastian graces us with the information that he slipped the woman a $5 dollar bill and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the end of his interesting boat ride. I joke with Claire about him getting involved in these types of endeavors but he makes it quite clear that while he finds Sebastian’s stories humorous, he does not like to participate in any activities of this sort. I don’t think he is kidding either as he is the resolute, conservative type.
I find Sebastian’s story to be sad and entertaining at the same time. I find it distressing because many of the women working in the prostitution industry are working to support their children and survive. With no other opportunities to make a living, the harsh truth is that human services pay a livable wage that many other jobs do not. Yet, I also find his story to be compelling. Why? Because these types of situations are very bizarre, and until this point in my life I have never really been exposed firsthand to prostitution. I am also torn as my Western upbringing is trying to tell me that I should classify these women as disgusting and repugnant because of their profession, but I can’t. They are human beings and deserve to be treated with respect and dignity, no matter what their profession is. I guess I don’t find prostitutes any more unethical than anyone else, including myself. Different circumstances call for different responses and in many cases the women working as prostitutes have not been blessed with the opportunities many of us take for granted. The reality of it is that they need to make a living and support their families and are able to achieve this end by providing this service.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
