What I know about Ho Chi Minh City after being here for two days, seen three streets, had six meals and met eight locals.
It’s muggy. There’s a reason why the business suit, as we understand it in the West, has not really made a total, global conquest.
English is written everywhere.
Just because English is written like you’ve seen it written, don’t mean they pronounce it in any way that you can understand, lumpy round-eye. Still, having it written is far better than not. It gives the uninitiated something to point at on a menu.
After China, it’s clean and quiet. They don’t smoke (I mean, they do, but they’re amateurs compared to the Chinese). And I can tell when they’re having an argument or just talking.
They are unfailingly polite and rude at the same time. Solicitude mixed with utter disregard.
Stop Press: I just saw an overly tanned Englishman in a singlet top that said, “The Man”, with arrow pointing up to ugly head. “The Legend”, with arrow pointing down to probably uglier crutch. Oh yes, whitey continues his illustrious incursion into the Delta.
Lunch. They close the office. No shit. They close the doors, turn off all the lights and those that don’t go out for food, lie down and have a little sleep! It’s so civilised. I’d like to run the lunch nap into a siesta and just nap on through to dinner, then put in a hard evenings dozing before pushing off to bed.
My nickname in China was “One Basket” (For why, click here). Anyway, to continue a well worn theme, One Basket doesn’t fit in Vietnam. They keep giving me tiny, tiny, kid-sized plastic chairs, designed to carry the full weight of a grown Vietnamese man, at about 45 kilos. I’m going to get something wedged into me, I just know it.
It’s muggy. There’s a reason why the business suit, as we understand it in the West, has not really made a total, global conquest.
English is written everywhere.
Just because English is written like you’ve seen it written, don’t mean they pronounce it in any way that you can understand, lumpy round-eye. Still, having it written is far better than not. It gives the uninitiated something to point at on a menu.
After China, it’s clean and quiet. They don’t smoke (I mean, they do, but they’re amateurs compared to the Chinese). And I can tell when they’re having an argument or just talking.
They are unfailingly polite and rude at the same time. Solicitude mixed with utter disregard.
Stop Press: I just saw an overly tanned Englishman in a singlet top that said, “The Man”, with arrow pointing up to ugly head. “The Legend”, with arrow pointing down to probably uglier crutch. Oh yes, whitey continues his illustrious incursion into the Delta.
Lunch. They close the office. No shit. They close the doors, turn off all the lights and those that don’t go out for food, lie down and have a little sleep! It’s so civilised. I’d like to run the lunch nap into a siesta and just nap on through to dinner, then put in a hard evenings dozing before pushing off to bed.
My nickname in China was “One Basket” (For why, click here). Anyway, to continue a well worn theme, One Basket doesn’t fit in Vietnam. They keep giving me tiny, tiny, kid-sized plastic chairs, designed to carry the full weight of a grown Vietnamese man, at about 45 kilos. I’m going to get something wedged into me, I just know it.
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