Tower of Terror

My Florida trip was a time to reconnect with old-buddies Reno and Rey.  But it was also a time to visit Disney Land!  And while the others fancy the “Honey I Shrunk The Audience” thriller, we trooped towards the Hollywood Tower Of Terror for a scary ride to “The Twilight Zone!”  

Dust and cobwebs abound in the lobby.  There was a huge chandelier, and life-size-Dracula-like portraits hang on the wall.  We were herded to a dark room with seats and armrests.  The door was shut and the show began with a very old movie clip of an old fellow, who teased us with “Welcome to the Twilight Zone!”  Then darkness.  The room rattled as it started to move forward.  Lighting struck and thunder roared as holograms of ghosts and goblins flashed before our path.  Demonic laughing echoed as the lights flickered.  Then we turned, and dropped suddenly!  It felt like my stomach was sliced in half!  The shouting started here, and giggling, and laughing, and scared delight.  Then we were pushed up the tower so fast it felt like my legs was left at the bottom, then gravity suddenly took over as if we would crash to the ground!  We were pushed up, and dropped, then turned, and up again, and dropped!  We were shouting like crazy and we came out laughing like there’s no tomorrow….

I think we were the noisiest little big men in that group because the others asked us, “Was it your first time?”  And to their amusement we replied with a big, “YEeeeS!”

Vietnam

Being a fastly developing country with a steady rise in tourism, I did not know Vietnam is a communist state until I saw the red sickle flapping in the wind beside the yellow star on red background flag.  In Ho Chi Minh, a city in the south, business is thriving and the people are freely going about their business.  But after a few days in the northern capital city of Hanoi, I began to notice the confining feeling of Vietnam’s communist rule.

At the revered massive mausoleum, the guards strictly enforce the one line policy of queuing to view Uncle Ho’s remains.  If you stray a few inches from the line, the guard sternly approaches; if you stab your hands in your pockets, the guards quizzically demand that you withdrew them.  Silence is the preferred language, and obedience, the ultimate virtue.  On the streets, policemen rule, no one dares challenge their authority; while in the bus, the conductor lords over, and herds passengers to nooks he fancies.  I happen to sit on a railing and got a slap on the butt.  I felt like a 3^rd grader scolded by a teacher.  At midnight, the streets are empty.  So, with silence and obedience being my guardian angels, I enjoyed my remaining days in Indochina.

In lake Hanoi which is located near the Old Quarter (a tourist haven for cheap souvenir items and artwork) I tasted the best street food I have ever eaten.  It was a kind of soup with fresh vegetables thrown in and it was prepared by an old lady whose kitchen consists of two buckets balanced by a bamboo pole.  One bucket contains the boiling pot with the portable burner, while the other has the plates, raw vegetables and meat.  She was so glad we liked her food that she gave us a discount – 10,000 Dong for three orders.  Each order costs 3,500 Dong, so we saved 500 Dong.  Ah, that was really something. 

We were leisurely walking towards the ubiquitous Red Bridge in hoan kiem when I was approached from behind by an old lady.  She handed me a flash disc.  I kept a similar disc in my little secret pocket located above the right front pocket of my Levi’s jeans.  The secret pocket was torn and I remembered placing the disc there.  Somehow it slipped unnoticed by me, but the old lady noticed it so she came over and gave it back.  I was taken by this kindness and I thanked her profusely.  She replied with a wide-betel-nut-reddish-grin….

Red River

A mighty river flowing from southwestern China, going all the way to northern Vietnam and emptying itself to the Gulf of Tonkin is the Red River.  The reddish-brown heavily silt-laden water gives the river its name.  The Red River is notorious for its violent floods with its seasonally wide volume fluctuations.  And today we are paying it a visit, particularly, towards a floating community along its banks in Hanoi.  

To get there, we have to walk on Long Bien Bridge, designed and constructed by Alexandre Gustave Eiffel at the turn of the 20^th century.  It was opened to traffic in 1902.  Of great strategic importance, it carried the only rail link between Hanoi and the main port of Hai Phong.  During the war for independence, it was bombed repeatedly by American fighter planes F-105 Thunderchiefs and F-4 Phantoms.  In order to halt the bombs, the bridge was repaired using American POWs.

Along the way, we saw people including very young children emerge from the hollow steel frames of the bridge.  We tried figuring out how were they able to crawl past narrow passages along the frames that snake across the bridge.  One missed foothold means plunging 40 feet down the cold waters below.  The bridge is 1,682 meters long and is part of Hanoi streets.  But due to age and wartime wounds, it is only used for train, pedestrians and bicycles, no vehicle is permitted. 

At the bottom were corn plantations, and footpaths that lead us to one arm of the Red River towards a community of floating houses.  These residents are too poor to pay the rent for a piece of land where to build their little shacks.  The floating houses need to be occasionally moved in preparation to rising waters, lest they sink at the bottom.  The friendly floating residents beckoned us for tea, which we willingly oblige. 

The residents’ source of water is the Red River which needs filtration before being boiled for drinking and cooking.  So today we are making a UNICEF-designed water filter to be donated to the floating residents.  Right across the river is an island formed by alluvial deposits used for growing vegetables and spices.  The yearly floods brought in the nutrients, so the farmers do not need fertilizers.  But more than half of the farmlands will be submerged when the rain comes.

We hopped on the island going towards the other side facing another arm of the Red River where it has a football field.  Interestingly in cold Hanoi, nude local footballers play here in the afternoons unmindful of the dark history surrounding the area.  On the right side of the floating houses were concrete columns rising thirty feet in the air which line the river bank all the way to Long Bien Bridge.  These sturdy pillars are mute witnesses to the atrocities of the past during the French colonization of the country where hundreds of Vietnamese POWs were said to be tied to the posts and shot here.

Back at one floating house, people gather to knit “revolutionary” acrylic sponges to be used as soap-less dish washers.  While they were engrossed with knitting, I noticed a soft but high pitched melodious humming coming from the next room.  It was a mother swinging a hammock and singing a lullaby to her little child. 

Enduring the rain and cold wind outside, the others clean sand while we were all warm and comfy making the water filter demonstration inside.  For this, we need two (2) pails, one big, the other small.  The small pail is to be placed facing the big one’s bottom.  Clean sand, carbon filter and hoses will be put in place later.  I was asked to remove the red pail’s white handle.  I obliged, and I was successful in jerking the handle loose, but broke the pail.  (There was muted laughter.)  Then I carved a hole on the bottom of another red pail using a heated red knife.  I did as told, but made a crack emanating from the hole.  I continued with the task, until the red handle separated from the blade.  (Laughter erupted!)  Too clumsy for the task, I left to clean sand instead….