Massage by feel

In Thailand blind traditional masseurs are not unusual. Now they've found their way to Hanoi.

I'm a soft spot for a massage and often measure the civilisation of a town or city by the quality of their masseurs.

Well Hanoi has some well-trained masseurs, they are overwhelmingly women and they work the Nha Nhnis - or guest houses where men can hire a room, and a masseuse, by the hour.

Not my deal. And if you don't want to go to the spas and beauty parlours that have now opened in Hanoi (quite OK masseurs there) where to go?

My friends took me to a centre off Ngoc Khanh street in Ba Dinh, now Hanoi's diplomatic quarter. Its a plain double story building, unadorned cement and tile inside and - at 10 am pretty quiet. Hahn welcomes me whilst my friend Nam Huong explains in Vietnamese the kinks in my neck and the missing bits of my lower back - necessary as I couldn't go into such detail with my basic Vietnamese.

Upstairs there are basic, screened off rooms; Vietnamese women often bring their own pyjamas to wear (in Thailand you'd be given a pair). The massage is rougher around the edges than what I'm used to in the best places in Thailand, where massage's elevation to a temple art, experienced practice and a demanding middle class have refined approaches, techniques and reading the body rather than following a learnt technique.

But the young blind masseur has the basics in hand, so to speak, and the style here has echoes of that in Thailand, a mix of acupressure, muscle pressure/squeezing and stretches. He also uses a local balm and a heat lamp when massaging my back.

From next door I hear the constant beating of wood and a bell. the masseurs tell me its a private house where they practise buddhist blessings for young couples seeking the right partner for marriage.

At night its clear the centre is more than a workplace as the young masseurs, mostly from the countryside, eat and sing and play guitar together in between massage gigs.

Worth a try. But take Vietnamese friends with you the first time. I'm working out how to give some useful feedback through my friends. Prices are ridiculously low - less than two Australian dollars for an hour's massage. So, as its an institution which supports the blind through skills training I'd make a much larger donation each time.

How to find it: Tam Quat cua Nguoi Mu (Massage by the Blind) is in in Ngo (Alley) 94 off Ngoc Khanh Street in Ba Dinh, on the same side as, and about 100 metres west of the Ngoc Khanh hotel.

SEASONS GREETINGS - From Marx and Mars

(Ripped from Drawn a beaut art blog) - Old Communist Greeting Cards!!).

And........a very merry Mars: This Christmas Eve, Mars is at its closest to Earth for the next nine years. Mars is also "at opposition." That's astronomy-lingo for "directly opposite the sun." It means Mars is up whenever the sun is down: on Christmas Eve, the Red Planet will be visible all night long. As Christmas scenes go, it doesn't get much better. Gliding in formation across the sky, the moon and Mars seem so close you could almost reach up, grab the pair and bounce them down the street... - Nasa

Cathedral Christmas in Vietnam

Published by The Australian, Travel - 15/16 December, 2007
I AM blinded by the lights and trapped in a congregational crush waiting for midnight mass to begin on Christmas Eve in Phat Diem Cathedral.

It is Vietnam, 1993. Vietnamese work colleagues suggest we travel to the Catholic heart of north Vietnam in Ninh Binh province, a few hours south of Hanoi. It is a flat Red River delta landscape of rice paddies scattered with European-design churches.

Intriguingly, an invitation to celebrate Christmas Eve has been issued to the foreign community by state authorities, a way of showing the country's new open-door policy is extended to the temple and cathedral as well as the economy.

I don't see many foreigners in the cathedral. Is this a foreign boycott or botched Vietnamese communication? Both are possible.

The local worshippers are dressed in their best: old men in white shirts, lumpy coats and trousers with fraying hems; women in scarfs, now and then a mantilla, over long, dark dresses. Only young girls sport a splash of colour.

My colleague, Tuan, tells me this is the first time he has been inside a church. And this is no ordinary church but an 80m-long Sino-Vietnamese architectural fantasy of granite, marble and wood set amid ponds, a lake, grottoes and chapels, and dominated by a bell tower with pagoda-like roof.

In The Quiet American Graham Greene's journalistic alter ego, Thomas Fowler, watches a night battle between unseen Viet Minh and the French military from this bell tower.

Nearby in the administrative office the line of bishops' portraits stops in 1954, when a half-million northern Christians moved south after what was supposed to be the temporary partition of Vietnam following the end of French rule.

A French student tells me he will sing with Vietnamese friends in the choir, at the back of the nave and up a set of rickety stairs.

I wonder if the organ will survive the service, as there are huge bits missing. The organ pumps up to announce the entrance of the clergy draped in old finery, and chattering dies as the mass begins.

My Vietnamese is basic and Tuan gives me brief updates while I look around at the rows of women (far more females than males), some teary eyed.

A teenage girl reads from the Bible, a wall of gold lacquer shimmering behind her. Then the choir at the back of the cathedral breaks into Silent Night. In Vietnamese it is both strange and deeply familiar: a song of birth and peace in a country that has lost millions in war.

The French boy sings without a song sheet and voices fill this huge cavern held up by 48 ironwood pillars. The cathedral was hit by US bombs in 1972, though its wounds are now barely visible.

Tuan is transfixed as the priest delivers the sermon. After the mass I find out why. He holds his hand on his heart as he tells me: "It was about a poor, young married couple. At Christmas the woman sells her long hair, her great possession, to buy a watch-chain for her husband. She does not know he has sold his watch to buy her lovely hair combs."

The priest has told the most famous story by American writer O. Henry, The Gift of the Magi. "It is about what we are prepared to give up when we love," Tuan says as we stream out of the warm cathedral into a chilled, ink-black Christmas morning, breathing in the moment and wishing chuc mung giang sinh to all around us.

Neon nights - Fast Food and Wifi Free

In Hanoi you can be blinded by neon lights but still fall into holes on the street because you can't see. Electricity demand is soaring in Vietnam and supply breakdowns have been reported this week in the English-language Vietnam News. Due to low water levels in the rivers feeding Vietnam's hydro-based system industry needs have had to be prioritised around the country. In private life airconditioning units are crawling all over the new apartment towers in Hanoi. But I reckon flashy neon lights are eating into the grid too. "Fast food and WiFi Free" says one neon sign on Ngoc Khan Street. I sure hope so. And they have a Christmas Tree, actually a pile of flashing decorations smothering the plastic pine. It all started with the charming fairy lights so loved in this part of the world; they curled around tree trunks and spread out to the branches to create a charming ambience. But with development on the run across Hanoi in construction, cafes and services charm ain't enough, you need noise. So at night multicoloured neons flash, beckon, scream for attention from hotel roofs, cafe gates and side alley shops. Giant plasma screens shimmer at street intersections blinding motorbike riders at red lights with the latest in mobile phones, DVDs and other techno tasties. In all this visual noise many Hanoians still steal electricity, plugging illegally into distribution boxes; messy ganglions of electricity wires still net their way along the streets. Along with a clean water system and a modern sewage system (current infrastructure installed by the French) Hanoi's utilities drag behind the reality of a lit up town.

D-Day for helmet heads in Vietnam,

On 15 December Vietnamese will have to put on their helmets when riding motorbikes. All around town posters with the regulation family size smile above signs which proclaim "Lets get home safely", or "Helmets for your safety." Even neighbours in my Hanoi alley have got in on the act and are advertising and selling helmets.
Its hard to under-estimate the transformation of Vietnamese society from languid bicycle-riders to motorcycle-mad road fiends. Suddenly the family could go Sunday driving on the one small 'xe may'. Country people could transport produce further and faster, city people could get to work easily and on time. But the social costs have been high because road rules in motorised Vietnam are minus zilch. In fact if you tried to ride according to basic road rules in Hanoi you would probably be a death-risk. This week a friend and I were almost skittled by a motorbike bearing a boy who looked 15 and droved his machine as if he were in a computer game. Which he probably was. Online, you do not die, you just refresh the screen and start the game again.
In the real world so far in 2007 14,000 people have died on the roads and health costs for injuries have soared each year. But Vietnamese resisted the helmet. According to press reports, a decade ago women proclaimed helmets would interfere with their hairstyles. Men quickly agreed, of course. It is astonishing that years later the authorities, who can enforce most things, have not acted to enforce helmet-wearing. Authorised safe brands have been available at high rates of subsidy for some years. Of course, as Vietnamese friends point out, there is no point making people buy helmets if they don't care a fig about road rules. And there are the usual grumbles about what to do with helmets when you have to go to cafes, hospitals, offices. (This will spawn a new industry of helmet-minders). In a country where 76% of the population is under 25 - that ripe motorcyle riding age - I await the dawn of D-Day with a sceptic's hope.

YEP: THEY DID IT. Even at 8am on D-Day cops were pulling over the handful who had not converted. I could not believe the sight of thousands of helmet heads - in Hanoi, Haiphong, Cat Ba. Frightening. But there were a lot of helmets that were probably bought at a kids' toy shop. And my xe om (moto taxi) driver probably summed the change up, he gave me a cap, put on his own - but didn't bother fastening it.

Eating, eating, its all about eating

Ah its a story to chew on. Vietnamese food is a mix of remarkable influences from over the millenia - Indian, Thai, Cambodian, Chinese to name a few. But the country's regions have developed a distinctly Vietnamese culinary style. And there is no better place to try it than - everywhere - on the street, in small cafes, a lakeside eatery, in elegant colonial houses and in friends' houses.

So here's a (continuous - so come back) menu of recent taste sensations:
The best pho ga (chicken noodle soup) in Hanoi at 34 Le Van Huu street, opens for breakfast to around 1pm, and still presided over by matriarch May Anh. In Australia we are used a chicken noodle soup south Vietnamese style, with lots of aromatic herbs. But here in Hanoi its the REAL deal: a rich chicken broth filled with rice noodles and spring onions, chewy beignets on the side, to which you can ask for an egg to be dropped in. Then add lime, chili or garlic as you wish. And a beer or water if its lunch time. All for around .75 cents. I was lucky, the youngest of the family still recognised me after a decade!

Au Lac House in a renovated French villa in the city's centre and a large spin off from the owner's Au Lac Cafe on Ly Thy To Street. Its a place to celebrate the new life of a Vietnamese Australian friend who has come back to Hanoi. We try soft shelled crab in tamarind sauce, banana flower salad and Hue specialty rice cakes stuffed with shrimp. And there is a remarkable range of international wines on offer. We try (at last!) New Zealand Cloudy Bay Sauvignon which, at current US/Australian dollar rates, was pretty good value. All in all a great place to try good Vietnamese food in a great location.
Au Lac House is centrally located at 13 Tran Hung Dao Street, Tel (84) (4) 933 3533.

The West Lake (Ho Tay) has a slew of restaurants on the water.
Recently, city authorities extended the lakeside road so it now rings the entire lake and a public walkway built. Gardens have been planted along the wide footpath on the south-western side.
In the construction boom starting in the early 1990s houses were illegally built on the road to and around the lake.
A Vietnamese friend and I note the illegal fishermen on their jerry-built piers already hauling in fish whilst at the northern end local authorities are just setting out to inspect their domain. We settle in at a local eatery and order chewy steamed water snails, susu leaves from the hills of Tam Dao or Sa Pa in the north, grilled soft shelled shrimps (to die for) - all with their distinctive dips based on salt/pepper/lemongrass/fish sauce. The staff are attentive and thoughtful - even offering us a fresh table whilst they clear up the detritus that is the sign of a Vietnamese meal that has been enjoyed.
At around Aust$3-4 a dish this is great value.

Speeding on Vietnamese coffee

Stock markets can rise and plunge again while you wait for coffee made Vietnam-style. Easy to forget in modern Vietnam that coffee-drinking is not just a sensory experience, its still considered a social ritual to take time over.
In my friends’ house in Ba Dinh in Hanoi’s north western area near the Ngoc Khanh Lake I wait for my first coffee. Vu places a small aluminium dripolater with pin-size holes on top of a demi-tasse cup. In goes the coffee – top quality Arabica Robusta from the Central Highlands -and he adds boiling water.
Then we practice Tieng-Anh– Vietnamese to English conversation.This is the deal my friends and I have struck.
I will converse in my poor Vietnamese – forgotten after a decade’s non-use, and the three 'young ones' in the family will speak in English. An English-Vietnamese dictionary is permanently perched on the refrigerator in the kitchen where we eat and chat.
Ah, now the first cup of coffee is ready. But the boiling water has got lost through the pinholes and the coffee is cold. We add more hot water and I drink it too fast.
"How much coffee did you put in?" I ask. "Five teaspoons," Vu says. Kaboom goes my head and I'm speeding already. Probably the only way to face my first day in Hanoi, now a city permanently on the move on motorbikes.

Riding the Tiger

Singapore Airline's baby, Tiger Airways, is now operating from Darwin and Melbourne in Australia and fares are falling as this new cat on the block goes head to head internationally with Australia's JetStar - and domestically with Virgin as well.
Its a midnight run from Darwin to Singapore's and it looks like a packed plane of returning Singaporean students and holidaying families as well as travellers from Australia. But a system failure means we are delayed three hours at Darwin, not the best airport to hang around after midnight. We finally shuffle sleepy-eyed onto a jet with upright seats, no reclining here, and a South African pilot is apologising for the delay. The hostess is determined the ensure my handbag is stowed in a locker during takeoff, then I doze - off and on - as passengers are given the opportunity to buy drinks and snacks. Arrival at Singapore's Budget Terminal is smooth, Immigration processing rapid - and there's sweets on the desk for you - and baggage unloading is fast. The entire terminal looks like an empty aircraft hangar and, unlike Changi airport, just a 5-minute shuttle bus trip away, there are no on-site rooms to hire or large massaging lounge chairs to sink into if you have a long wait between flights - just pull up an empty space and unroll your sleeping bag or sit in another upright chair. Retail shops include 'adventure' gear, including tents, packs and clothing/boots, 711, travel accessories, down-market gift shops and the usual run of so-so food/drink. My first experience on a Tiger is no frills and fine, but I suspect in the larger world of aviation the claws are out in Asian budget travel.

Suicide Season hits Darwin, most survive

Images by Jan Forrester

I hit Darwin for a quick stopover near the end of the build-up (humidity builds, no rain), just before the monsoon season. Its also known as Mango Madness or the Suicide Season. Time was when local journalists struggling for a real story at year's end, made news of the first unfortunate to top themselves. The buildup is is like walking and breathing under soup. The humidity doesn't hit you, it devours you. This visit I bunk down at my mate Chris' flat near the city centre. Lushness surrounds the block of flats. (The blocks on Darwin's waterfront are, on the other hand, full of 'apartments'). Possum boxes festoon trees in her courtyard. "It keeps the critters out of our roof," Chris says. These flats are 1960s vintage and survived Cyclone Tracy in 1975. This time I ask Chris to show me the block's cyclone shelter on the ground floor; its chock full of furniture. "That will will be shoved against the wall so the bar can be set up in the event of a big blow", Chris says. Darwinites always have a fluid set of priorities. Dusty TV and radios are read to be connected to batteries lying somewhere under the furniture. I'm surprised to hear Chris say that the skyline full of contemporary apartment blocks in Darwin are not required to have cyclone shelters. I guess everyone will get in their cars and head south to the desert, or drive to the giant Parliament House shelter??.

The high humidity and 28-degree heat is bearable. But, after a morning wander along the beach at Fannie Bay I'm ready for a shower and the horizontal position under a fast fan. But we head to the Roma Bar in Cavernagh Street for coffee and Serial Thriller - a mix of Darwin humour and muesli, fruit and yoghurt. Three years between coffees at the Roma Bar. It has moved - across the road and into upmarket digs, with an outdoor balcony, fans buzzing overhead. Owners Patty and Paul changed the coffee scene in Darwin forever when they moved up from Melbourne twenty years ago.

We head off to the Northern Territory Art Gallery to dip into the treasure of bark paintings, pandanus creations then a drink at the open-air Ski Bar next door. After another loll under fans back at the flat we head off into the mildly cooler evening to the Dinah Beach Cruising Yacht Club in Francis Street. Unlike the Darwin Sailing Club patrons are allowed to wear shorts and thongs. There are over twenty ships perched on dry land, or 'on the hard' as we walk through to the cavernous, open club facing the Arafura Sea. The fish and salad is a good buy, the live music, open sky and lights on the ocean all add up to a laid back day in Darwin. I've passed through the Suicide Season for one sweaty day and am a thinner person for it.