December 2010
8 posts
Oh Saigon, you're my heart, you're my soul
Today’s taxi driver to Tan Sun Nhat Airport busted out one of my favorite jams: Modern Talking, You’re my heart, You’re my Soul, with double decker synth keys and electric drum pad. It might have been his “American Tourist CD collection,” thinking he also has Japanese, Korean and Aussie cd mixes for each tourist group. (Even though MT is German, i think.)
Looking...
Into the steamy Saigon air
We reluctantly leave Vung Tau after the fishing boats come putting back from their morning catch at 10AM, via an old Soviet vessel used as a ferry. Tons of mopeds are parked at the dock. It’s a popular commuter route and rich peeps come on the weekends from the city.
She’s a creaky old thing, with curtains and furniture that are relics of the 1960s, and her hull has never been...
Vung Tau in the Hau(s)
I write this from a communist-run hotel overlooking the bay, in a super comfortable Burmese sarong Brian’s sister nabbed for my Christmas present. We are wondering how much Humberto at Opening Ceremony would sell these sarongs for. Gotta beat him to it. I’ll get them manufactured by single mothers, take a picture of behind the scenes and attach to the tag, bring these babies back and...
Photos are up, finally
I spend Christmas Day miserable, drifting in and out of sleep, sick as a dog. I’m alternating between a truly nasty Chinese cold cure Nim Jiom - which contains wolf and snake balls, Beechman’s Hot Lemon, and Advil. I will kick this damn travel cold, and the sauna that is Vietnam should help me sweat it out.
Nim Jiom claims to “expunge external evils.” But what about my...
One night in Macau
Writing this from a plush, white sheeted hotel bed on the Special Autonomous Region of delicious Portuguese food and wine: Macau. After dinner at O Manuel, owned by Manuel, bien sûr, who has been on the island for 60+ years, we head to The Wynn. Manuel wears an I LOVE LEVIS t shirt and slams our food down on the table. Chorizo! Lemon Clams! Baccaláo! When he runs out of food, he closes shop. We...
MSG withdrawal - in the worst place to have it
In Nueva York I rarely go a day without MSG. My office digs are steps from Koreatown where everything is slathered in red bean paste, and my route home to Brooklyn runs a few times a week through Chinatown for groceries, Vietnamese food at An Choi or a dumpling & noodle fix.
Finally tonight, after two long days in Hong Kong with nary a Pretz, dried cuttlefish or Shrimp Chip to tide me over, I...
I want to open a bar that looks like the original...
The roads in Hong Kong are windy, steep, and bring on vertigo if I look over the giant cliffs, past the 6.5 million dollar homes to the sea. I never experienced sea sickness from riding in a car, until today. Despite my latent fear of heights, I brave The Peak, the old tram car line that carries families with cameras up the steepest hill I’ve ever seen in a city. SF has nothing on HK.
At...
The only thing standing between you and an upgrade
…are your clothes. Or so I’m told by those more travelled. I don’t have a problem with this fact. Juicy Couture sweatsuits with “Dance ATTITUDES” embroidered on the back & paired with crusty Uggs are not worthy of first class, upper class, better than you class, or whatever Richard Branson is calling it these days.
Well-chosen travel togs are crucial. 14 hours...