By John Gottberg Anderson A colossal figure in alabaster rising majestically from a hilltop outside Danang stares regally across an armada of fishing boats into the vastness of the South China Sea. She is Quan Âm, whom the Vietnamese call “the Lady Buddha.” In the mother temple of the Cao Đài religion near Tây…
In April 1904, Chinese Prince Pu Lun, the 32-year-old heir apparent to the throne of the Manchu Empire, sailed to the United States, the first member of the Qing Dynasty ever to cross the Pacific. He was a “Kodak fiend” fascinated by everything he saw and Americans readily embraced him. En route to the St. Louis World’s Fair, where he would serve as China’s Imperial Commissioner, he attended a banquet where the host provided a dish he hoped would remind the young prince of home. Pu Lun looked at the platter curiously and asked his host what it was. “Why, that’s chop suey, Prince,” said the American. Eager to discover something new and foreign, Pu Lun smiled at this revelation, nodded his head slowly, and asked, “What is…chop suey?”
By Byron Kennerly No joke, I’m embarking on a quest to perform an improv comedy show in every country in the world. First stop, Japan. Improv is a chaotic, spur-of-the-moment comedy form that relies on the audience yelling out suggestions. Japan is harmonious, well-planned, and exceedingly polite. What could go wrong? Show 1: Tokyo,…
Vietnamese love their coffee. Credit the French. Although Vietnamese have little love for France’s colonial history, modern Viet culture embraces Gallic style, from wardrobe and architecture to — especially — cuisine. Báhn mì sandwiches, crispy baguettes wrapped around pâté and vegetables, are a legacy of the French. So, too, is phở, the rich beef noodle soup that has become an international icon of Vietnamese taste. But coffee truly distinguishes Vietnam from its neighbors. Most coffee shops are tiny, just big enough for patrons to enjoy conversation while waiting for the grind to filter through a four-part aluminum phin, often into a pool of sweetened, condensed milk to balance the bitter essence. More often than not, the brew is consumed iced in a glass: cà phê sữa đá (literally “coffee milk ice.”) Enthusiasts can even find such unlikely adaptations as egg coffee (with beaten egg yolks, sugar and condensed milk) and cheese coffee, that has a creamy foam topping that is stirred into the drink or scooped out and eaten separately.
You won’t find these hotels in a guidebook of great getaways. Amenities are woeful. Rooms aren’t clean or relaxing. You’ll find no vacationing families or romantic couples in the bar or restaurant. But for Olivia Ward, a Toronto Star war correspondent assigned to cover authoritarian hell holes from the Balkans to Central Asia, five-star spa resorts simply were not available. She stayed in hotels of last resort. Here is her story: Arriving for a first visit in Iraq to cover Operation Desert Fox, a four-day bombing campaign in 1998, I was determined not to stay in the notorious Al Rasheed Hotel, origin of a thousand CNN soundbites beginning “as bombs fell over Baghdad … ”
“There are other hotels, ” said my driver as we sped into the city. “Nice hotel, the Sheraton. Better than Al Rasheed.” But inexplicably, his car pulled up at the Al Rasheed. And while I was still protesting, three middle-aged bellmen had a tug-of-war with my luggage, eventually trundling it to the reception desk.
By John Gottberg Anderson I had crocodile for dinner the other night. Not the whole thing, of course. Even a relatively small adult croc could feed a Cambodian village for a week. But fileted and stir-fried with aromatic lemongrass, onions, garlic and spicy red chilies — served with steamed white rice and a cold beer…
By John Gottberg Anderson I celebrated my first Tết holiday, as Vietnamese call the lunar new year, at the start of 2020. I arrived in Vietnam three months earlier, partially at the behest of my friend Kurt Bennett, whose Vietnamese in-laws had dubbed him Mỹ Mập (“Fat American”). His wife’s extended family lived in a…
By Jian Huang Shopping is as important to the Chinese as baseball is to Americans. Especially during the Chinese New Year season that starts at the end of January, people from all walks of life congregate together at shopping malls for the cultural ritual of getting good bargains. For the affluent and designer-obsessed, a plane…
It’s the first Saturday in October at Bauman’s Harvest Festival in Gervais, Oregon and dozens of children have broken free from their parents and are running for the petting zoo. Petting zoos are probably the most popular attractions at autumn harvest celebrations now occurring across the U.S. and Canada. On the other side of a tent selling hot coffee, apple tarts and pumpkin scones more parents and kids are scrambling up a hay bale pyramid or crowding expectantly around an above ground pool to watch local farmers weigh their pumpkins. In a few moments some of the biggest pumpkins will be sacrificed.
What images come to mind when you think of Vietnam? A peasant in the conical nón lá hat, harvesting rice from the fields? Colorful lanterns dancing from the masts of river boats or the corrugated eaves of Taoist temples in ancient Hoi An? Perhaps you dream of karst peaks that erupt from the placid waters of deep-blue Ha Long Bay?
All are part of the visual culture of the country I now call home. But I believe nothing says “Vietnam” more than the áo dài. The sleek silk gown is as much a statement of Vietnamese fashion and femininity as is the kimono in Japan, the sari in India or the cheongsam in China. At once draping and clinging, accenting the Asian woman’s natural curves, the áo dài teases with restraint and decorum, promising nothing but implying everything. As worn by Vietnamese women, who learn to walk gracefully at a young age, it is at once marvelously modest yet incredibly provocative. A man who isn’t stirred is either dead or recently divorced.