Good Morning Vietnam, Day 2

I woke up quite early. Father and daughter slept soundly on the double bed we all shared while Rosene's single bed was empty as she spent the previous night in a friend's flat. I had the morning all to myself so I took some pictures from our room and from the top floor where our morning meals were always served.

It was explore-HCMC-day for the family. After breakfast, we immediately set off on foot to the Opera House which was but two blocks from Mac Thi Buoi. Along the way, we passed by the shops of Dong Khoi, a bridal photo shoot and HCMC's Vespa gang at every turn. Contrary to what I've read about these motorists over the net, I noticed that they were not as unruly as the write-ups said. But then again, it was a Sunday so it was too early to tell.

The Post Office was next. It was very touristy. Everybody was busy clicking away so we took no time joining in the shutter fest. There was quite a number of subjects actually—the grand ceiling, the antique maps on the walls, a portrait of Ho Chin Minh, the telephone booths from another age...

We then crossed the street to the Notre Dame Cathedral and soon found out that we didn't make it to viewing time, darn! Nevertheless, we spent time clicking away with the church's beautiful facade as background.

We were hungry but the only resto in sight was Pho24 which we just had to pass up since we had those back in our Manila malls already. And so we walked some more but the sun was at a rather unforgiving state and Indie was complaining about her empty stomach so we settled on the plain yet decent-looking fast food joint right next to Pho24. Food was very cheap but surprisingly good, the chicken and pork as tender and tasty as we wanted them to be. We also tried the Fanny Ice Cream which was, come to think of it, pricier than the food! But what the heck, the strawberry flavor was authentic. And the mint chocolate was, I must say, close to nirvana.

We were just dodging a bike outside when a smiling waitress came running after us with Indie's forgotten hairband. The Vietnamese were good people, I made a mental note of that.

After siesta at the Thang Long, we went back to our tourists-for-the-day endeavor and were soon at the Cathedral which, thank God, was open for viewing this time. There was a divider just a few steps away from the giant doors that separated the sightseer from the pious and nobody minded it seemed. But I did! I wasn't able to take pictures of the altar which I bet would have been fascinating to photograph just like any old churches anywhere in the world.

We walked further to the left side of the Notre Dame in the direction of the Reunification Palace. The parks were lined with tall trees and populated by locals enjoying their Sunday picnic. I also spotted a rowdy group of men engaged in some form of Viet gambling.

French influence was everywhere. And it was that thing that made HCMC both lovely and mysterious to the eyes of a stranger like myself. It was old like a small European city but it never lost its Asian roots. We walked along Nam Ky Koi Ngia and Pasteur and immersed ourselves in our surroundings.

After some time, we found ourselves in front of the Museum so we gave it a go for 15,000 dong per adult while toddler Indie was free to enter. So on to another round of photo ops.

We came across some independent Saigonese fashion shops somewhere in Pasteur and we were so lucky to find some exquisite and intricately-made beaded bags on sale. Ten thousand dong only I went crazy!

Then there was this other shop selling very unique stuff from Cambodia, Laos and the mountains of Vietnam. I just found the perfect Mother's Day gift for Nubs to buy me! But there was no need to rush...

We reached the People's Committee Hall and wasted no time having our pictures taken in front of the Colonial architecture. By this time, Indie was quite tired so we took a leisurely stroll back to our hotel.

We freshened up and hooked up with an old friend for dinner at Ben Thanh night market. Poppet took us to a crowded al fresco make-shift restaurant with waiters in yellow shirts who were obviously having a hard time keeping up with the sea of diners wanting a taste of whatever the resto had to offer. Given his familiarity with the place, my friend appointed himself in-charge of ordering.

Then viands started falling, as if randomly, into our very, very small table like manna from heaven and there was clearly an absence of space for plates to eat on. Okay, small bowls would have to do but these certainly took a long time coming. And the vegetables! I've never seen so many of them gathered on one table or plate for that matter.

But what do you know! The meal proved to be our best dining experience in this quaint little city. There was pork barbecue, grilled beef, kikiam, sugar cane sticks wrapped in shrimp meat, bean sprouts fried in a lumpia-esque wrapper, yang chow rice, another kind of rice and, of, course, the greens.

And we had to eat everything in a certain way. Like Beijing's Peking Duck, it came with some sort of Saigonese ceremony:

1. First, spread a leaf (lettuce or romaine) on your palm.
   
2. Line it with filling of choice (been sprouts, sugar cane sticks, kikiam, beef or pork) or a combination of two.
   
3. Add a basil leaf or two for that authentic local flavor.
4. Roll it.
   
5. Dunk it into the spicy fish sauce.

And voila, it was simply the best! For a self-declared non-veggie eating carnivore, I had an unbelievable total of 5 rolls. Everybody ate so much it was difficult to get up on our feet to kiss Poppet goodnight!

At Rosene's suggestion, the sumptuous dinner was to be capped by the most delicious crepes in town to be relished in to-die-for ambience. In the span of a few minutes, the search for La Fenetre slowly became the great Saigon adventure for apart from the street name, Rosene had no idea where it really was. After a few intersections, Nubs and I realized that Nam Ky Koi was the same road we passed by during the afternoon but we didn't know exactly what Rosene was looking for and besides streets had this uncanny ability to change appearances under the cover of darkness so we were absolutely of no help! In the middle of all this, Mr. Taxi Man drove steadily, dealing with our friend with the patience of a saint despite the language barrier that hung between them. By the time we gave up and decided to just head back to the hotel, Mr. Taxi Man seemed to have lost a fraction of his patience and grew an allergic reaction to every mention of Nam Ky Koi!

After the failed dessert attempt, I contented myself with a few shots of the Thang Long and was in for another discovery! There, right beside our home in HCMC, seemingly out of place, was a conveneince store not like 7-Eleven or any other air-conditioned mini-mart—it was a sari-sari store no different from the ones back home!

Ho Chi Minh was turning out to be full of surprises I couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow might bring....

Good Morning Vietnam, Day 1

We—my husband Nubs, daughter Indie, friend Rosene and myself—landed in HCMC at midnight. Masks on our faces, we went from immigration to baggage briskly and proceeded to get ourselves some dong. It was actually a lot of dong, no loads of it! I exchanged a couple hundred USDs and became an instant millionaire three times over and more!
We were collected at the airport by the driver of a local travel agency and immediately transported to our 2-star hotel along Mac Thi Buoi St. in the Dong Khoi area in District 1. I discovered Thang Long through the internet and chose it over many other budget hotels simply because it was negative review-free on Trip Advisor and other similar sites. Our room, bathroom included, was spotless when we arrived. It was cramped but it was cheap so no one complained.

We unpacked, slept around 2 am Vietnam time (1 hour later than Philippine time) and woke up by 10. Complimentary breakfast, on the top floor, was a choice between bread or pho, plus a drink. Save for the bread which was very good, it was nothing great but filling enough.
We walked along Dong Khoi. This was roughly equivalent to our Makati as opposed to Pham Ngu Lao, the backpackers' district that was more like our Ermita. By Makati, I meant the Sheraton was there; there was a Gucci, a Versace, a Marc Jacobs and a Louis Vuitton among others; the restos were on the uppity side, with food prices more or less similar to those in Greenbelt; there were rows upon rows of mid- to high-brow shops selling embroidered accessories, art, apparel, silk scarves and ethnic bags among others.Of course, Ho Chi Minh was, correct me if I'm wrong, about two or three decades lagging behind us. Our MOAs, Gloriettas and Ayala Avenue skyscrapers were unheard of in these parts. All the same, HCMC was not provincial, possessing a touristy bustle that seemed both healthy and promising.
For lunch, we walked thru a dark alley of a hundred parked motorcycles you'd think this was the hideout of some Vespa mafia. It was deceiving, naturally, for hidden in this alley was a classy Thai restaurant with gorgeous Old World interiors and world-class cuisine. We had Catfish Salad (with green mangoes on top), Vegetables with Grilled Pork, Red Chicken Curry and sticky rice to go with everything. Deeeeelicious!

We spent our first afternoon in the city in Ben Thanh market where we bought an ao dai and traditional Vietnamese hat for Indie and souvenirs to bring home. Haggling was the norm. It paid to pretend to walk away to get the price you wanted or at least close to it. Generally, it was cheaper to buy from outside stalls where they sold goods at fixed prices versus those inside where everything was more expensive—I think it didn't matter if you haggled hard for them.
From Ben Thanh, we moved to Saigon Square for the overrun selection the prices of which, according to Rosene who was there three years ago, rose in direct proportion to HCMC's popularity among tourists. Oh, by the way, cab-hopping within District 1 should cost you 12,000 dong only, anywhere higher than that and you probably flagged a not-so-scrupulous taxi driver.

It rained in the middle of the afternoon so the night was thankfully cool. We had dinner at a restaurant aptly called Vietnam House that catered to a Caucasian market. There was a certain grandeur to the place: high ceilings, chandeliers, yellow hotel-ish lighting, ambient indigenous music played by a group of four ladies in national costume.

We had spicy beef pho, prawns in honey and grilled pork chop. The meal was soooo good but hey, what could we expect from people who once hosted former Presidents Cory Aquino of the Philippines and George Bush of the USofA!

Dessert was Banoffee Pie in Jaspas, a few blocks from Vietnam House in the company of two of Rosene's Saigon-based Filipino friends. The pie was fantastic, rivalled only by the banoffees of the now closed Area Café back Home.

After dinner, Rosene and friends headed for a night of clubbing in Pham Ngu Lao while Nubs, Indie and myself walked backed to our hotel to let the little tourist rest. Good night, Vietnam....

The Thing About Flying on a Budget

Our trip to Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) was our first time to fly on a budget airline. It was one of those major Cebu Pacific seat sales that I chanced upon three months ago while surfing the net. Total for the three of us, my husband Nubs and our four-year old Indie, was just a little over Php14,000. So, together with our good friend Rosene, we grabbed the offer like a lifesaver to a drowning man. And it was a breeze! I could get addicted to online booking, really.

We were to depart at 11 o'clock p.m. at the recently opened NAIA 3. The flow from travel tax payment to check-in to terminal fee payment to immigration was confusing. Order was simply not the order of the day. We had to walk back and forth from one counter to another. It was a good thing we were two hours early and there were very few travelers to congest the place.

Apart from the lateness of the flight which was not very ideal when venturing out of the country with a little person, we soon found out the inconvenient truth about cheap fares. It took Indie but a few minutes on her chair to realize that these seats were certainly designed without comfort in mind. And the legroom? Maybe those people who built planes like this forgot one important thing—passengers do have legs.

Now the pilot seemed to know a great deal about what he was doing. We landed on Vietnam soil smoothly and thirty minutes ahead of schedule. We were quite impressed, aching backs, calves and all.

P.S. After the plane ride, the mere mention of the word "airport" sent Indie into fits of crying and I had to ask her repeatedly what was wrong, to which she finally answered, "The airplane was too small!"

So, is this the end of budget flying for us? It all depends... on the budget. Seriously.

Where Did That Come From?

In the car on our way to lunch with my nephews who came all the way from Batangas...

ME (38): Where do you want to eat guys?

MOJO (7): McDonald’s—

BUBBI (11): Hey, we didn’t go this far just to eat at McDo!
                  (pregnant pause)
      I learned that from my fat ass dad!

Okay, so where did that come from?

To Be Brit Or Not To Be Brit

If I were given a second chance and a second choice at my race, maybe I'd pick to be Brit. They brought us New Wave for Christ's sakes! (Can you honestly imagine growing up in the 80s without punk rock?) And the Beatles before that! And there's Hugh Grant. Plus Jim Sturgess. And for many others, Robert Pattinson. And who doesn't love Brit humor? Think Notting Hill, Bridget Jones, and, yes, Simon Cowell. And never forget about the bloody accent. Isn't it lovely?

But coming from yesterday, I am only too happy there are no such things as second chances and second choices at race. The Brits have all of the above alright, but they do not have Manny Pacquiao.

PacMan Proud

We have been called a lot of things. Maids (by the Webster dictionary and, most recently, by a HongKong-based writer). Petty thieves. Mail order brides. One cannot blame our Filipino brothers abroad for sometimes having feelings of shame about the race they are born with. No, it's not because of the domestic helpers, the internet brides, the petty thieves. It's the bigger thieves sitting in positions of power in their homeland, hounding them with news of corruption even as they work their butts off in strange lands because their country cannot provide for them.


Today, Pinoys all over the globe should savor the moment. They should go out in the streets and tell everyone they come across with they are Filipinos—with pride, without the old feelings of inferiority, without bowed heads and downcast eyes. They should do it now. While the victory is still fresh. While the world is still in awe. And at the end of the day, they should thank God for men like Manny Pacquiao.

Pinoy Food Lab

Since the New Year kicked off I have been experimenting on my favorite Filipino dishes guided by a cookbook I inherited from my sister Odie who is blessed with loads of talent in the kitchen, who in turn inherited this talent from an old maid aunt who passed away long before the "birthing" of my so-called interest in cooking.

The recipes are simple and idiot-proof, thank God, that even kitchen ignoramuses like me have no recourse but to do everything right. The only drawback here is that everything is written in Filipino—Tagalog, actually—and I have, on several occasions, encountered unfamiliar words that I just try to decipher through the context that they are used. Of course, it doesn't help to have an Ilonggo for a husband. 

My first attempt was the picadillo. It's a dish of Latin American origin that has been Filipinized by Maya (meaning, the olives, capers and chili have been omitted) and family-ized by Odie who added malunggay for nutiritional value.  

The almondigas was not entirely new to me. I tried cooking it as a college kid but it never turned out great. I'm proud to say things have changed for the better...

My nilagang baka was good enough except that we had quite a hard time chewing the beef. My fault. I should have used the pressure cooker but I had no idea how it worked!

My pork sinigang was better than all my other experiments. Yum!  

But my twice-cooked adobo was the best of them all! The toasted garlic were so delicious I couldn't believe I ate them!

Now I think I'm beginning to fall in love with my lab. And the conclusion? I'm slowly losing my fear of the kitchen but surely gaining weight in the process!