Sunday Afternoon in Da Lat

It is Sunday afternoon. The air is crisp and cool. New year celebrations are over and life for members of my family are slowly returning to the rhythm of reality. Gone are the customary three days of New Year feasting, handing out of Li Xi (lucky money), and days spent carrying New Year wishes to different households. I am sitting at a cafe in Da Lat, slowly drinking my tea as I write this entry. Below me is Da Lat, the city of eternal spring, le petit Pari, the city of flowers. A city where cafes compete with towering pines, to see which one can proliferate faster.

The French founded this little hill-station to escape the tropic heat of South East Asia back during the colonial era. During the Viet Nam War, American, Vietnamese and Viet Cong generals used the city as a retreat--enemies down in the battle fields, but neighbours in Da Lat. The French have left Da Lat, however, their legacy of warm baguettes, slow-drip coffee and wine have not.

Below me, I see a sea of motorbike traffic. With the road acting as a stream, the motor-bikes are like minnows, moving effortlessly through the road. Every once-in-a-while, a car, SUV or truck moves into the road, and the stream of motor-bikes change their shape to accommodate the bigger fish on the road. The bigger vehicle moves out of the way, and the minnows again re-conform to their shape. There is an unspoken law or rule that the drivers know and follow, and yet, to the novice eye, traffic seems like a naturally flowing mess.

Surrounding my table are families, lovers, friends--all enjoying their Sunday afternoon. In front of them, tall glasses of slow-drip coffee are placed--the coffee slowing dripping down to the white milk at the bottom of the glass, a stark contrast from the fast traffic below. There is a young group of friends sitting and chatting at the table directly across from me. They are pulling out their mobile phones, taking pictures, texting, etc... Their clothes are decorated with Gucci, Armani, Prada--real or fake, I do not know. This image of Viet Nam causes conflict in my mind. As family and personal incomes increase, is this the image of a developed Viet Nam? Clothes decorated with Western brands, and motor-bikes racing below...racing to the next destination, racing onwards to the future, a brighter future?

Editor's Note: Shawn will be posting for David when he is unable to access the blog to post himself.

Chung Mung Nam Moi!!!

Chung Mung Nam Moi (Happy New Year)!!!

It is spring time in Viet Nam.  The country is in a festive mood as people usher in the Year of the Tiger.  After leaving the monastery, I was immediately thrown into activities: spring cleaning, making Banh Chung (see previous post), finding the perfect branch of peach blossoms to display at home, visiting ancestral graves, and making lots of food for the traditional three days of feasting after the New Year.  I was guided through each of the activities above by relatives showing me the proper direction to sweep so bad luck does not leave the house, how many times to bow to show respect at the ancestral graves, and how to trim the branches of peach blossoms to ensure a balance and sense of harmony.  Every action is guided by traditions passed down from generation to generation, ensuring not only that these traditions are kept, but providing a space for inter-generational interaction.  During these activities, I have not only learned how to properly sweep a house, or trim a peach branch, but I have learned the life stories and experiences of my grandmother, grandfather, aunts and uncles.  As I take a moment to reflect, I am beginning to see the importance of traditions, rites and rituals--whether it be in Japan at a tea ceremony, the way in which languages have little nuisances, monastic daily life, or the direction in which one sweeps, traditions anchor us to our past, and act as guideposts for our future.  I am excited to see how my eyes will be furthered opened and my experiences enhanced through tradition as my travels continue.

Below are some pictures of Da Lat during the Tet season:

Eating to Remember

Legend has it that the ancient Vietnamese King Hung Vung called together his three sons and said, "I would like each of you to provide for me a dish of food, you must search for the ingredients and make the dish and serve it to me on the last day of this Lunar Month, and on the basis of this dish I will decide who is to be the ruler of our Kingdom."

His sons searched near and far for the ingredients to make their dish.  The first son took to the sea and brought back a bounty of delicious seafood for his father.  The second son went up to the forest and brought back to his father rare meats, mushrooms and fruits from the forest.  The third, and youngest son, went outside of the palace gates and to the rice paddies.  He brought back a simple dish consisting of pork, mung beans and sticky rice wrapped with banana leaves.  He told his father, "Rice is the most precious and valuable of all food found in this Kingdom, yet it is also the most abundant. I have prepared a dish that represents my love for you and our beautiful Vietnam...I have cooked a square rice cake, stuffed it with cooked bean paste and ground meat in the middle and called it Banh Chung. This will symbolize the earth we live on."

Noticing the wisdom behind his youngest son's dish, he named his youngest son the King of Viet Nam.  Continuing with this tradition, every year during Tet (Lunar New Year), Vietnamese at home and abroad cook and eat Banh Cung in order to remember their connection to Viet Nam.  This year, my uncles, cousins and I gathered at my grandmothers house 2 days before Tet to cook Banh Chung.  Continuing our family tradition, I stayed up all night with my uncles to tend to the fire as the Banh Chung cooked.  As we sat around the fire, a bottle of Johnny Walker was passed around along with Beer Saigons.  We shared stories, caught up on life, and talked about old family memories.  At 3am, we tasted the first Banh Chung of the season to see if it was ready!  We all gathered around my eldest uncle present as he peeled back the banana leaves and cut the Banh Chung into small pieces.  Then using our chopsticks, we all took up the pieces, dipped it in fish sauce, and savored the first bite.  It was an unforgettable experience to know that I was participating in an event that has been passed down the generations, eating to remember the land of my birth.

Bells and Incense

Daily Schedule of Truc Lam Zen Monastery:

Morning
3:15am    Wake Up Bell (3)
3:30am     Sitting Meditation Begins (Chanting Bells)
5:30am     End of Meditation, Light Exercises and Morning Cleaning (1)
6:15am     Breakfast Time (3)
7:30am     Beginning of Daily Tasks (3)
9:00am     Morning Snack
10:30am   End of Daily Tasks, Free Time (1)
11:30am   Lunch Time (3)

Afternoon & Evening
1:00pm     Afternoon Rest (3)
2:00pm     Wake Up Bell (1)
2:30pm     Sitting Meditation
4:30pm     End of Meditation (1)
6:00pm     Inviting of the Bells & Drum to Sound, Repentance Time (3)
7:30pm     Sitting Meditation Begings (Chanting Bells)
9:30pm     End of Meditation (1)
10:00pm   Sleep Time

**number in parenteses denotes the number of bells**

The monastic life is guided by the sounds of bells reasonating through the air, announcing a beginning or an end.  Three bells tells me when to begin an activity, one bell tells me to finish the activity.  When I first arrived, I was asked to change out of my shirt, jeans and shoes into a gray tunic, matching pants, and a pair of sandals.  By changing my clothes, I was entering a life dictated by 100s of years of traditions, rites and rituals; I was entering a world that lingered somewhere in between the physical and the spiritual; A world where silence is the norm, not the exception.  I followed behind saffron cloaked monks into and out of meditations and repentance sessions, often times going into temple under a heavenly blankets of stars and exiting the temple just as the sun is breaking through the mist of the lakes and mountains surrounding me.  My reflections after a week of living this lifestyle--following the rigorous schedule above--slowed me, calmed me, and allowed my mind to look inward as my eyes looked outward at God's glorious creation. The rigid schedule envoked a deep sense of spiritually in me, while simultaneously took away my sense of personal freedom--to do what I wanted, when I wanted.  I lost my freedom of access to information, being connected through the internet, the mobile phone, through talking to friends and family; I was told that personal freedoms are taken away in order to make way for my soul, buried deep beneath wants, desires and distractions, to become free.  I felt this feeling of lightness and emptiness a couple of times during meditation sessions, but it was soon dissolved by a thought entering my mind.  My parting words from a senior Zen monk is that meditation and listening to the silence of one's being is a practice that will take a life-time. 

Aside from bells being my constant guide through the day, I also noticed the smell of incese permeating the air.  During my week at the monastery, whether it be cleaning up after a meal, in meditation sessions, or sweeping up the monastery grounds, the sight of incense rising up to the air envokes a feeling of prayers being lifted up to heaven; its lingering smell served as a constant reminder that the world, our world, the world that I am going to see, is always in need of prayers.

Relations and Pre-Monastery

Maternal aunt older than mother, paternal aunt older than father, maternal uncle younger than mother, paternal uncle younger than father, paternal aunt-in-law older than father, maternal uncle-in-law younger than mother, paternal father's older cousin, maternal mother's aunt, paternal father's aunt's younger female child, and on, and on and on....

In Vietnamese, there are different words for each of the persons above, each form of address denotes how you are in relation to them, and how they are in relation to you.  Everyone is indeed, family.  My first two days in Viet Nam have been a furry of visiting relatives and trying to remember these forms of address.  I have had to address new born babies the american equivalent as "aunt" and older men of my grandfather's generation as "cousin."  There have been mishaps, which were met with a stern eye from my grandfather and a gentle excuse from my grandmother saying the phrase, "you must forgive this grandson, he is from America (followed by nervous chuckles from both sides and me sitting there with an akward smile sipping tea from what would be considered shot glass).  For some reason, the Viet Nam in my mind does not consist of these memories.  The nostalgia of smells and sound over take memories of these akward moments. I did smell Pho lingering in the air this morning, the baugette boys did wake me up with their cries, and I did, more than once, fear for my life as my 85 year old grandfather whizzed through town on the back of the motor-bike with me in tow.

Tomorrow, I leave all of this behind as I enter into a Buddhist monastery for 6 days.  I do not know what to expect from this experience.  Maybe it wil serve as a chance to "escape" everything, or a time to reflect, slow down and concentrate on the present; maybe it will serve as an opprotunity to think, or have the absence of thought, without distractions, or maybe it will be a time for me to try and remember how to correctly address all of my relatives.  All I know is that I am only allowed to carry in two change of under garments, a journal, and my passport to register with the local authorities--everything else will be provided for.  (below is a picture of Thien Vien Truc Lam monastery, where I will be staying)

Also, I would like to take this opprotunity to thank Shawn, Kevin and Drew for your help in the design and coding of this blog.  Also, I am giving credit to my former co-worker Michelle for her quote, "You cannot have a beginning without an end."

Ancestral Words Calling Me Home

Location: Hong Kong
Local Time: 3:40pm
Status: In-Transit to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Viet Nam

As I am waiting for my flight to Viet Nam, my mind is filled with her images, sights and sounds.  When I think to myself that I am going to Viet Nam, I say, "ve Viet Nam."  This phrase is interesting because of its meaning and implications.  In Vietnamese, some words can only be used with other words and while it might make perfect sense to use them in another word, that just does not happen.  For example, lets take the phrase, "going to Viet Nam":  I would say, "ve Viet Nam," whereas if I was going to say, "going to the United States [or anyplace other than Viet Nam]," I would say, "sang My (US)."  The difference between the words "ve" and "sang" is that "ve" conjures up feelings of and implies that one is going home, going to a place of origin, of a return; whereas the word "sang" implies going to a foreign place for a temporary period of time with the intention of leaving to return home.  The catch, or interesting part, is that the words "sang" and "Viet Nam" would very rarely be used together--Vietnamese peoples would almost always say, "ve Viet Nam."  This is especially strange for me, and others who are Vietnamese located outside of Viet Nam, because we still say (translated), "going home to Viet Nam," and "visiting the US," even though my home is actually in the US.

As I pondered on the use of language during my plane ride from Tokyo to Hong Kong, I thought: maybe by using the word "ve" or '"going home" with Viet Nam, I am unconsiously reminding myself that whatever place I am at, my home is still in Viet Nam.  In a land rooted in 1000s of years of traditions, rituals and beliefs, it only makes sense that through the use of language, my ancestry reminds me that I indeed belong to, Viet Nam. Prehaps that is why even though it has been 2.5 years since I was last in Viet Nam, every time I close my eyes and think about the country, my country, my senses become flooded with smells, sights and sounds.  I can hear young boys shouting "hot baguettes" in the early morning hours, taste the sweetness of slow-drip Vietnamese coffee, and smell the aroma of Pho mingling in the air.  I can feel the hot humidity weighing on my skin, hear the noise of traffic in Saigon, and see images school girls in white tunics (ao dais) biking to class.  Viet Nam, land of my birth, I am indeed, coming home...

Japan 1: Balance

I arrived in Tokyo on February 1st, after 16 hours of traveling from Boston. No delays or unexpected travel mishaps. I am staying with my friend Sachi and her family in Western Tokyo. The air outside is cold (30s and 40s), and on the first night I was here, Tokyo experienced her first snow of the winter. However, spring promises to be around the corner as plum trees are blooming, painting shades of pink and red against a brown back-drop. My last two days have been filled with Shinto Shrines, Buddhist Temples, the Edo-Tokyo Museum, gardens, a tea ceremony, an early morning visit to the fish market which sells tuna weighing in at approximately 100s of pounds going for 10s and even 100s of thousands of dollars, AND, lots and lots of food: Sushi, Udon, Ramen, plum wine, rice balls, mochi, the list goes on...Although the last two days have been filled with activity, I have taken a moment to reflect on my sights and experiences-which I share a piece below:

While touring the calligraphy section of the Edo-Tokyo museum, my volunteer guide says, "...you use to be able to tell a lot about a person from there hand-writing, but these days with the computer (he does the hand motion of typing), everyone is the same." My first impressions of Japan echos exactly this same sentiment-an extremely homogeneous society that is seemingly addicted to incorporating technology into every aspect of life, right down to toilet seats consisting of options such as "butt-spray," "woman-wash," "dryer," "high-water pressure," "low-water pressure," "water temperature," and the list goes on. On the surface, Japanese society seems to expect conformity to the extent that those who refuse are pushed to the peripheral; and with that conformity comes a set of mechanized actions such as an automatic formation of double lines while waiting for the trains and subways, and having mobile phones always on vibrate while on public transportation. I wonder, where does this adherence to unspoken societal rules come from? Perhaps it can be linked to the deep reverence for traditions and customs that are so ingrained in the Japanese collective mindset-the deep respect for the intricate movements of pouring tea in a tea ceremony, or the practice of self-discipline which carefully manicures bonsai trees and rake rock gardens, not reaping immediate benefits but rather, having to wait months, even years down the road. Perhaps the desire to conform is due to the fact that you do not want to do anything that will throw society "off balance," to negatively disrupt the fluid, consistent motions of everyday life that carries not only yourself, but others, through the day. Even during my short two days here, I have been able to witness this sense of maintaining balance: arranging a "dead" branch in with leaves and flowers to give balance to a floral arrangement, or eating warming foods with cooling foods to give a balance nourishment to the body. On a macroscopic level, it is amazing to me how this culture has balanced the incorporation of different influences while still maintaining a distinct Japanese-ness. As we were walking through Inari Shrine in Ueno park, my friend Sachiko informed me that the Japanese have a saying, "Birth by Shintoism, Marriage by Christianity, and Death by Buddhism."

(Pictures from top to bottom and left to right: １．Ｍｏｄｅｒｎ　ｍｅｅｔｓ　Ｔｒａｄｉｔｉｏｎａｌ：　Ｓｈｉｎｔｏ　Ｓｈｒｉｎｅ　ｉｎ　Ｃｏｍｍｅｒｃｉａｌ　Ｃｅｎｔｅｒ ;２. Signs of Spring: Plum Blosooms; 3. Homogenity: Shibuya Square; 4. NOW: Vending Machines; 5&6. Food; 7. Tuna at Fish Market; 8. 1000 paper cranes for Nagasaki and Hiroshima; 10: Prayers to Heaven: prayer notes at a Buddhist temple)