Tag: Ho Chi Minh

Goodbye Saigon, pt II

Another friend flew out for Thanksgiving.

There is no such a thing here in Saigon: oven-roasted turkey, croton and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce , yam and apple pie.

Mouth-watering!  children running around and old folks reminiscing the good old days.

Yes, his destination has a few hallmarks of the American Dream.

Here in old Saigon, the only thing that changes is new names on old streets and schools (no longer segregation, so it came with a shock as I rode pass the old all-girl Gia Long High to see the new mix of male and female students)

My friend likes the quote from T.S. Eliot (In my end, my beginning).

He knows the Earth is round, and that at the end of his short stay in Saigon is the beginning of his trans-continental journey to America and Europe.

Before meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

After meeting him, I carry water and chop wood.

But he left a vacuum hard to fill. Just like our mutual friend, before him (see Goodbye Saigon).

They have sons and daughter to attend to, paper work to sign and friends to play catch up with.

None of us gives up on Saigon. We all think the place deserves a make-over, a second chance (as if it needed our help and opinion).

Rated as most competitive in the nation, Saigon is quite poised to soar and regain its former glory (Pearl of the Orient).

Skyline and sea harbor, street signs and shops, all compete for clientele. Back-packers have a hard time configuring  their Google-map routes. But everyone here knows or are supposed to know where they are going.

Young work force pour over the key board, while street vendors peddle their wares (walking Wal-Mart).

When my friend was here, we used to sit at one of the ronde’s, French round-about, to feel and feed on the energy of bustling traffic.

Afterwards, we would retire to his quiet alley just a few feet away to recuperate. It’s exhausting and exhilarating at the same time to live the night life in Saigon. More bikes take up the space a few moments ago reserved for buses.

Years ago, they stopped allowing tow-trucks to come through before mid-night. So on this Thanksgiving eve, there is no Black Friday here in Saigon. Only window shopping and online shopping. Tourists find it refreshing to stroll the old boulevard, to discover names like Majestic, Continental hotels etc…

Time seems to freeze-frame here. And we took advantage of this to “re-enter” our past (as if it’s ever possible).

American pop songs overheard from retail shops can lure you back to a time when you were first in love or discover love.

Don’t give up on us, baby.

On the other side of the trans-Pacific flight, my friend perhaps is checking out his luggage, going through custom, with the reflexive greeting “Welcome home, mr Ngo”. I like America. When being addressed by Mr so and so, you know it’s official and that you have paid your taxes and your due.

Consumer confidence is returning with rising home prices in the Bay Areas. I hope it spills over across the pond. After all, Fukushima tsunami waves got tossed all the way to San Francisco bay. Why not this time around, with rising economic waters from the West. When my friend returns, he’ll know once again, his next stay in Vietnam would just like T.S. Elliot puts it, “in my end, my beginning”. No way around the inter-dependence and inter-connectedness of our 21st-century living.

Love sees differently

It’s half past five AM. Outside the Women Association of Ho Chi Minh City, I heard music. Not hip hop, not trance. Jut Gold music “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay”, blasted from a boom box . It’s dark, but the sidewalk hosted a group of women practicing Tai-Chi.  The music was about acceptance, about one wing drops after another. But here they stood, with graceful moves and fateful lives.

Their counterparts meanwhile distribute magazines, newspapers, meat, seafood etc.. for the city of 10 million. I struggled to find room on the sidewalk for the run, before hordes of scooters claiming their right of way.

Common city dwellers don’t seem to be able to afford living space. NUSKIN and new Life Insurance, big-box Fast Food and sugar-drink companies such as Coca Cola drove up commercial real estate prices.

As a result, the face of the city has changed, over the last six months (faster than in the US).

One can spot the need for women gyms, for skin care and cosmetic products.

But then, love sees it differently. Here were mothers of revolution . Of future leaders.

and of past glory. Still out there before dawn. Still guarding the age of romanticism (w/out make-ups or cosmetic surgery).

Still staying fit for the fight. Vietnam is synonymous with war. War against Chinese invaders, French colonialists,  American reluctant Imperialists, Cambodian “cap-duon” and now, in full circle, back to the Islands against the Chinese  industrialists.

Still “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay”, still with that cigarette-hoarse voice of Khanh Ly, the exile folk singer, muse of Trinh Cong Son (and Trinh Nam Son will be here for just one night) known as Vietnamese Bob Dylan.

Love sees it differently. The same song could be used to soothe the soul, comfort the afflicted, or to motivate the team . At any age, at any time.

I blogged about the resilience of the Vietnamese women (Mom’s Ao Dai).

Now I realized I did not know what I was talking about. I barely scratched the surface .

The Diary of Dang Thuy Tram spoke of a woman doctor who walked the Ho Chi Minh Trail, just to be near the war front where her lover had gone before. It spoke of the diary with “fire”. To others, war was hell. Love sees it differently (she died a martyr’s death, never to be reunited with her lover).

The irony did not escape me that, in contrast to Western sense of appropriateness,

here women could be warriors, housewives and heads of  firms, with no conflict.

Their ability to synthesize and compromise says a lot about how this society manage to gloss over enormous challenge.(see After Sorrow).

A city of 10 million or 1 million, it doesn’t matter.  What matter was how those women have taken over the education in public, and the management of the household in private. It’s they who make it happen. Just show up and see at 5 AM, the music and movement. Then you will see the tip of the iceberg. Often we don’t see those undercurrents. But love sees it differently. It got you up early and forced you to notice. I noticed. I learned.

Saigon alley

I left W Palm Beach where some called “paradise” for Saigon alley.

Going from beach to bunker, I got a bump up in  the Happiness index.

Costa Rica for example has led this chart for quite sometime.

Vietnam, according to latest survey, ranked behind Costa Rica. In fact, having moved up on the Happiness  Index, it is de-listed from Singaporean Hardship Index (expat executives are no longer granted extra compensation for coming to work here).

Saigon got seasonal fruits, sea foods and sunshine.

Its nearest beach, Vung Tau, is quite crowded over the big holidays.

People in the alley know one another. They hang out at the corner coffee and eat the same meal.

District 1 and its alleys are geared for backpackers and tourists.

I had ended up first at the outer skirt then moved closer to city ‘s center.

Landlords are nice and respectful.

Neighbors are caring. Strangers leave you alone, although gossip behind your back.

Once in a while, a white-face is seen on scooters, with helmet and all.

A Viet Kieu from Australia told me after more than two decades, he could barely crack the culture code.

One dollar is still equal roughly 20,000 VND.

But aside from that, nothing seems easy. I miss the cinemas. Those old facilities have been turned into textile factory, print shop or opera school.

Valuable real estate.

Live shows here could be heard from the street. Some even stood on their scooters to take a peak (coi cop).

Karaoke houses still make money.

On summer nights, lovers  just ride around for ventilation .

They do that year-round, since it’s hot, flat and crowded here.

Neighbors would ask me to come over for tea.

Children run around, and young parents struggle to contain them.

Raising a family on two-wheelers is of course hard.

Worker bees know they have to show up on time, rain or shine.

Wages barely cover the essentials.

So coffee, coffee and occasional “ken” (Heineken) is a treat.

Birthday celebrations have become more prevalent. This is to show Vietnam’s transition from the old (memorial for the dead -a collectivistic and clanish event) to the new (futuristic and individual-oriented occasion).

Young students are catching on with overseas peers, at least in appearance (T-shirt and jeans).

IT workers at software parks also try to catch up : LTE, 4-G and IPV6.

The best about Vietnam is that it rides on two horses: the venerable and heroic tradition ; and the insatiable desire to integrate globally.

No where explains this better than Saigon’s latest tourism expo.

It’s held in the city’s water park, to show case local cuisine and at the same time, destination exotic.

Individual cubicle at work blends perfectly with shared rice cooker.

Saigon, the city, and its alleys, home to many extended families.

Pax Saigonese. It’s peace time, so don’t send war journalists here.

Just move about, and enjoy the counter-intuitive trends that co-exist.

Saigon alley, my home for half a year. Paradise or purgatory? Hardship or Happiness? Or just Peace inside out.

Mua Saigon (rain on tin roof)

Out of hundreds, emerged one. Winner of the throne. Winner of brand simple. Vua Hung Vuong, Vietnam‘s first King. His campaign? Neither communication skill, nor combating skill. But culinary skill. Simple dishes yet full of meaning: square bean cake representing the Earth, round one the Moon.

Harmony without and symmetry within.

Bingo!

The throne is yours. May the gods bless your descendants. Expand and guard the territory now known as Vietnam.

Big and small, wave after wave.

Rain and tears.

Falling on tin roof and tile roof.

Musical- sounding and melodramatic.

Separation and reunion.

Hatred and healing, forgiveness and forgetfulness.

It’s easier to take revenge than to win the enemy over.

Whatever the motive, the results are the rewards.

Mua Saigon mua HaNoi.

Love those wet feet that stand deep in the mud. The agrarian culture.

Back bent over to harvest rice in the bowl.

Um. An di con. Eat so you can grow up and may your future be better than mine. Broken back and broken heart.

Go some place and don’t come back. How can I?

How do you expect me to turn my back to the buffalo in the field or the bean cake on the table?

Brand simple.

Square for Earth and round for Moon.

Incense for the altar and candle for the grave.

Noi chon nhau cat run (birth place and burial-place).

The apple cannot fall far from the tree.

You can take a boy out of Saigon but you can’t take Saigon out of the man.

District 1 to District 10, and any number in between.

Crooks and intelligentsia, fake and real (vang thau lan lon). Who cares!

Keep bragging. It’s your fate to be born here and die here, in whatever style you choose . The lucky ones went overseas. Are they “saved?” Don’t they know, it’s the end of the world, it ended when you said Goodbye.

Mua Saigon Mua Hanoi.

The rain keeps pounding on neighbors’ tin roof. And I feel jolted, by caffeine and endorphin, nicotine and nostalgia. It is so weird that I miss Saigon while already in it. Perhaps I miss what Saigon itself is missing: the longing for things past. Shared poverty and joy. Shared human fate. Bonjour Tristesse. Makes me teary. Makes me want to reach out and pull someone in my arms and say “it’s going to be OK”, you and I, fellow human being. After the rain the sky always clears up. Cry with me and for me, for now, rain and tears. No one will laugh at us. For everyone is doing the same but too ashmed to admit. Mua Saigon. You cannot understand it until you are in way deep.

Long’s last laugh

My friend had a square jaw. When he laughed, his features became more pronounced. Already taller than most, he carried himself above the fold.

Not all kids in my school went to the Conservatory. You had to have talent. For that brief year in 7th grade, he joined us at music practice. “Can you play bass?” I did not know better, nor did I know what would become of us years later.

Long went on to play keyboard for the Crazy Dogs (w/wig and all). Power Trio.

In Senior High, when we each had gone our separate way, I went to the zoo for our version of Woodstock, not knowing he was up there on stage.

I would have been proud. Then years later, in California, we got to meet again, I found Long’s head all shaved (cancer). He had a career in music teaching and performing, most recently at the Hyatt lobby in Ho Chi Minh City.

Top of the line. Last Christmas for Long, as I woke up this morning thinking.

Requiem for a dying friend. Mozart’s style.

Last month, we had a long talk over the  phone before I boarded the plane for Saigon.

Like the story of the Last Leaf (to cheer up a dying man, the boy climbed up the opposite wall to paint a leaf on the tree to give the illusion that only when that last leaf fell that our infirmed person is allowed to die), I challenged Long to see who was going to die first.

That got him a huge laugh over the phone (I used reverse psychology).

Suicidal, like a song goes.

Vietnam‘s favorite English song, according to a study, is “Yesterday”.

In fact, in English class, we used that to illustrate Simple Past.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.

Now, kids are into “I am on the Edge of Glory” Gaga, Gaga, Gaga.

Ah Jude, Ah Jude, Ah Jude.

The anthem of youth has always been some refrains such as “Wild Thing, you make my heart sing”, or “We will rock you”.

Something to unite the crowd or to ignite a revolution.

Long taught me one thing: sit back, relax, and let the energy loop from the problem in your hand to your subconscious, then you may find calm in the storm.

Our Western world in crisis can use this very simple advice.

France is now ranked the most pessimistic country as it comes to economic outlooks.

What happened to the innocence of the 60’s, of “Belle de jours”.

Bonjour Tristesse then.

To think of next Christmas when at the mention of my friend, whoever are left in our group will look back in sorrow and sadness.

But from that last conversation with him, I did not feel that way.

He seemed to take it with an air on the G-string.

He even told me “not to eat all that is placed in front of me” when in Vietnam.

I heeded his advice a couple of times when greasy food suddenly appeared in my bowl, at a wedding reception for instance.

I will probably go to the zoo today. The last time I set foot there, Long was on stage without my knowing it. We were rocking, with various bands competing for the same song “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”.

I hope somewhere in time, I will hear “Goodbye to you my trusted friend, we ‘ve known each other since we were nine or ten”.

I told Long I would be fearless against the wind, when it comes to conspicuous consumption for instance: spending the money one doesn’t have, to buy things one doesn’t need, to impress people one doesn’t like (Black Fridays? Yew! Walmart guard got trampled over in Long Island, or shoppers got pepper-sprayed?).

Even when Long began his quiet withdrawal to a hospice, I know he would pull up a chair, place his fingers on the key board just as I am now, albeit his covers the 7 notes, and mine the Alphabet, then he would inhale and let go.

The loop from fingers to feelings and back. The circle of life, his and ours.

Long’s last Christmas? Yes. But then next year, perhaps yours or mine.

That square jaw of my bass guitarist (sitting down, short sleeves) though seemed so far away, yet as near as Yesterday. I will never forget Long’s last laugh before my long flight East.

P.S. I am very saddened that Long has passed away and will be cremated in New Jersey (I hope his last Tet gave him ample time for closure). R.I.P. Long.

Death-affirming culture

During lunch time at my first job (Child Welfare Bureau at Indian Town Gap, PA), we threw a football, my first.

That was supposed to be my induction into the Penn State culture the following Fall.

Here in Vietnam, at lunch time, I walk by a casket store. As equally shocking for foreigners as my first introduction to the football back then.

One culture fights every inch toward touchdown (winning is the only thing) while  the other prepared to accept human fate.

In the country side people even pre-purchase caskets to be stored  in the house like furniture, very much like Pre-paid Legal in the US (just in case).

I know this barely scratches the surface of a culture, because cosmetic-surgery is on the rise here (death denying), as modernity starts to eclipse Vietnam’s tradition( age = respect). In addition to this, people also fight for every centimeter in the street and  on the side-walk. There lies the paradox of  resigning to fate and fighting for the future. No offense, but I happened to read an USA Today Blog this morning, describing the author’s arrival to Ho Chi Minh City, and checking in to the Hyatt downtown.  She promised more adventure in Vietnam, but her first installment did not entice me . Too insulated (we checked in, traffic in all directions – has she watched the time-lapse video of traffic here before coming).

I might have noticed the same thing from that vantage point on my first trip (having lunched with a Hyatt’s Boardman out in the terrace), but now that I decide to zoom in, to satisfy my cultural curiosity .

Death is big business here: casket, candle and cremation.

(The other night, I saw a traffic accident  which confirmed this observation besides huge percentage of  male smokers). Most families have ancestor’s photos on the altar (my parents used to have theirs on the altar and now I have my parents’ on mine).

Insurance companies are prospering here. It’s interesting to see the objections people raise when buying life insurance.

Will it cover my casket?

Enough for cremation or a plot of land near the border of Cambodia?

How do my kids prove that I was dead by accident?

At lunch, I also saw a baby napping on a hammock near the casket store.

Life flows continuously here, just like anywhere else.

Except that, at lunch time, I can hardly find anyone to throw a football with. Back then, the sight of co-workers opted for sweats over siesta was a culture shock to me. Just as scooter traffic must be to the USA Today blogger.

Welcome to Vietnam. Cross the street safely. And write something worthy of your stay and your Gold-Card Reward!

Traffic turns attraction

Crunch time in Ho chi Minh City. A nuisance for many yet a photo-op for tourists.

Millions in ponchos, helmets, dust masks, sunglasses fighting for every inch (centimeter here) to get  home in the pouring rain, while tourists leisurely strolled the colonial side walks in shorts, sandals and Sony cameras trying to record their trips. Who is looking at whom?

These skinny people all wrapped up to protect their skin?

Or these fat people are not afraid of getting sun-burn?

Three years ago, I switched role by playing expat in Hanoi, studying among other expats

from US, UK, Canada, Australia and Ireland. I got a glimpse of how the natives were viewed, perceived and more often than not, judged: English school across from a dog-meat stance, ballroom-dancing in the park and to top it all, a 60’s Berkeley-style stripper family on the streets begging for money to cover health care costs (per recent Yahoo news).

One of our lessons for teachers of English as a foreign language that morning happened to be “soliciting money online from friends to cover shopping debt”.

It struck me that the Western girl in the lesson and the lady out there on the street were doing the same, one with wireless, the other voiceless.

Three years have passed since that morning.

A lot of bank bail outs are now behind us.

Bank buildings got renamed, CEO’s booted.

During the upturn,  people drink and smoke their lives away.

During the downturn, people drink and smoke their lives away even faster.

Always a vicious cycle, a race to the bottom. Vietnam spends 38% of its income on food, Mexico 23%, France 13% while the US a mere 7% (subsidized infrastructure).

I found myself in sudden tears at lunch. This was after I had heard that a friend with cancer would have only six months to live.

What would I do in his shoes?

Dzo (down) the Ken (Heineken)? Visit Yellow Stone Park? Eiffel tower?

My grandmother’s grave? (we’ll meet again soon anyway).

What would you do?

Fighting for another inch in traffic?

Every moment is precious especially towards the end .

“There is a pause in between life and death,” said my friend.

I saw it once with the burning monk. The rising flame was both his baptism by fire and his cremation.

To enter that next ring of eternity, he must and did leave all things behind.

To dance to another drummer’s beat.

After two weeks in country, I have learned to cross the streets without the usual reflex which I found counter-productive. And I definitely resist any impulse to take pictures, because someone else’s stress was not going to be my sensation. Not just Vegas, but also Vietnam, where what happened here, stays here. Traffic is to me, a distraction not attraction.

The General Temple

When my mom, a teacher, took me there, I was 5.

This time, I  went there by myself.

Happy Teacher’s Day!

The Temple has always opened to seekers .

On New Year‘s Eve, it’s the equivalent of Times Square .

The crowd, the smell of incense burning and the long line at fortune teller’s dispensary.

It could last till morning.

But then, it’s not surprising to see less traffic here on New Year’s day.

People hesitate to be the first visitor (uninvited) for fear of initiating a chain of  bad luck.

I noticed how spacious the court-yard was, as compared to New Year’s day in my memory.

It’s a 20/80 use of space: 20 percent of the Temple were occupied by 80 percent of worshippers.

According to history, the General went down, like a Captain of the ship, after having set the castle on fire instead of letting it fall into the hands of  advancing French army.

Where once a ruin now an attraction at a busy intersection.

Art students whose school was nearby, sat in groups, in front of their canvasses, and sketched.

Upon entering its gate, I felt small again as memories of boyhood rushing back.

“Hang close to Mom, you don’t want to get lost”.

If I had a wish here at the General Temple, it would be to do my mom proud.

It is undisputed here in Vietnam that education is a lever to a better future.

Unfortunately for many, time in the classroom is perceived as time away from earnings.

Worse off, educational loan has reached 1 Trillion dollars in the US.

With no end in sight.

No one wants to Occupy the school.

Although their parent’s couch is still available, no one wants to occupy it either.

Although the lack of education limits one’s career choices , too much educational debt leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

Not until their golden years will students come to appreciate the value of education (life enrichment, art appreciation, in-depth sense of history and personal fulfillment).

For now, what society wants is productivity at the least cost.

In short, harnessed knowledge and repetitive actions (to the point of auto-piloting) are preferred over a contemplative mind.

Charlie Chaplin all over (Un temp modern).

Think not of tomorrow.

Spin the wheel today.

Worry not about the past.

What is the value of a heroic figure who went down for his nation and neighborhood?

What is the value of human intervention and interaction?

What is the value of an educator, a trainer, a mother?

What can’t be monetized, quantified and duplicated , is set aside. Park it.

In Seven Habits of Effective People, we learn that our society values quadrant number 1 (Urgent and unimportant) over quadrant number 2 (Urgent and Important) e.g. environment, worker’s training, infrastructure investment and community development. In short, no commons. Just Ego over Eco.

No wonder on Teacher’s Day, I found the Temple absolutely quiet except for those Art Students.

Outside, the city was bustling with commerce. Perhaps quadrant 1 will continue to occupy everyone’s mind , until New Year’s Eve.

That’s when the wheel pauses, the workers (cogs) can then get off. The soul gets tended to. Incense burned next to fruit offerings on the altar. Just in those few days, the General spirit will be extolled, his legacy affirmed. I can’t even image being there on New Year’s Day. I hope his spirit doesn’t discriminate any one or any day, like today, Teacher’s Day. Seek not the crowd, for they know not what they are doing. At a fork in the wood, I chose the road less travel. Quiet and safe, though not popular or prosperous. Sometimes you have to let the soul have its quiet whispers. Mine got a small dose of stimuli at Lang Ong (the General Temple) and a flashback to those moments with Mom, a dedicated teacher and educator of Vietnam‘s previous generation. Happy Teacher’s Day.

Grace Jones, Jim Jones, Terry Jones

All with a “view to a kill”.

Jim Jones at least took the cool-aid himself.

Terry Jones, after delaying the Quran-burning date for a few months, gave in to his arsenic urge (or attention-getting disorder).

I am all for learning, from book lessons, and life lessons.

Life teaches us lessons from the doing and wrongdoing of others (this is the basis of Good vs Evil struggle in movie themes).

Eventually, consequences of an individual’s aggression will catch up with him.

For now, just as the young, educated middle class in Egypt and neighboring countries wanted a piece of the democratic dream, we got the worst exhibited here (in Netherlands, the comment from a mall-shooting witness was “we heard this sort of things happened in American schools, but little did we know, it’s here – the Netherlands-where we live”).

So, this is how the world perceives America, land of the free.

A few years back, in Little Saigon (Orange County, CA), a pirated-video shop owner exhibited a Ho Chi Minh portrait knowing full well his action would cause distress to his patrons and community he served. Westminster police had to protect him against demonstrators  while the FBI eventually moved in to confiscate his stocks (FBI warning at the beginning of every video came in handy). If they hadn’t he would eventually have joined Blockbuster Video in bankruptcy court anyway (karma-coded video).

The case was nowhere as huge as the Gainesville church’s sponsored Quran-burning.

In his burning, he dampens world’s enthusiasm for what America stood for.

We sent out mixed signals: follow us, we are the good guys/burn us down, we are the bad guys.

Which is which? 007 or Death Angel?.

When Malcolm X advocated separate-but-equal, he was shot down too.

Now, times have changed. While the desecration of others’ sacredness is constitutionally protected, it should not be encouraged (because it incites hatred and polarizes an already hate-filled world in need of healing and soft-power diplomacy).

There is another higher law: love your neighbor (and what they believe as sacred) as yourself (and what you consider as sacred.)

The Gideons better get hurried because a lot of Motel 6 bibles might be collected and shipped back to the Mid East to be burned in retaliation.

It’s tit for tat, and the best-case scenario. I hope the worst already happened last week.

From sleigh to moped

http://www.economist.com/blogs/asiaview/2010/12/christmas_vietnam

Ho, Ho, Ho in Ho Chi Minh City. Toys for tots, delivered by Santa on moped.

When the US pulled out of Vietnam, it played “White Christmas” on Armed Forces radio.

Now, it’s peace-time Vietnam, where people enjoy every bit of cotton and confetti used to decorate the city’s manger.

I was there two years ago at that same spot just to witness my friend’s got pick pocketed.

Posing for a picture might cost you dearly.

But people in Vietnam do seem to enjoy the crowd and festivities.

Here in the US, on Christmas Day, all the stores, including fast food chains, are closed (except for liquor stores).

What a contrast!

Yet, both seem to move up one notch on the extended families scale: the atomized US culture makes allowance for families reunion, while the extended family culture in Vietnam  joins the whole city in celebration. Whatever the reason for the season, people feel a need to embrace, to be appreciated (gifting) and to loosen their purses (hopefully giving to charity).

French cultural residue still shows, when people say “Joyeux  Noel“.

As if on cue, I have a Facebook friend who decided to post Francois Hardy’s C’est Le Temps de L’Amour.  People are seen to hang out in front of Notre Dame Cathedral in Saigon, taking pictures and taking in the scene.

When I was in Cote d’Ivoire, I sensed a deja vu. It turned out that former Saigon is not too culturally distant from Abidjan. We all read about refugees began to pour over to neighboring Liberia (which some years back had its own instability) in anticipation of a military intervention there to enforce election results.

If you ask the people there, chances are they would say they celebrate Christmas as well, but not in the form you would recognize (longer church service for one). So Santa has to adapt, from one country to the next, and in Vietnam, from one District to another on mopeds.

It must be very hot in that bright red suit in Ho Chi Minh City, Ho Ho Ho, Hot, Hot, Hot.