Tag: Hyatt

Haiyan and Hyatt

The world’s poor seem to bear the brunt of typhoon destruction more than the  world’s rich.

They live in The Ring of Fire. Can’t afford to move anywhere and now can’t go home.

Disaster relief is needed. But long-term and sustained recovery takes time.

We have come up with pre-fab housing that can withstand heavy storm damage.

Made out of bamboo and steel.

Every crisis carries with it embedded opportunity.  For our human family to come closer together.

To show and share our humanity and hope.

Done my part too, for having spent a year in Bataan Refugee Center.

People were labeled “refugees”. But they later become Ph Ds in Physics at University of Chicago and Berkeley.

They might invent the next Twitter and Google ( one of the founder’s parents were Russian immigrants – Ph D in Math).

Between Haiyan and Hyatt, the journey is the same: climbing out of the heap, rebuild and move on.

Heart-breaking most of the time. But Hope never fails.

As long as we believe once again in the goodness of the human family.

People who share bread with strangers. Who chip in. Who started “Habitat for Humanity“.

10,000 lives lost, or millions (during the world wars), we march on.

Work our way back to normalcy and diplomacy.

Romance and rage.

From Haiyan back to Hyatt.

The good ness of life.

As long as we survive, there is still hope.

The challenge of natural disaster should draw out what’s best in us.

Not like a deer stands frozen facing the headlight.

But the Phoenix that rises again from the ash.

It’s like two sides of the coin: death and life, destruction and reconstruction.

Now presents a challenge for designing sustainable and safe housing.

Architecture as if people matter. Economics as if people matter. Diplomacy as if people matter.

We could be among those 10,000 dead. Yet we are still here, the morning after disaster struck.

Go on and live out our lives as if people matter. Give nothing but the best if not all of yourself. That’s what it’s for.

Noel decoration

In front of Eden mall, Saigon, Christmas ornaments are on display. People here love to come and take pictures. It’s a tradition.

It’s their annual pilgrim, blending East and West (Noel decorationas prelude to Tet’s celebration).

Sidewalks still uneven. Tourists still trip over loosed bricks.  Yet they keep coming.

The other boulevard (Ham Nghi) with Old Market (Cho Cu) steps up to the plate, serving as a de facto alley to Le Loi, now upscaled.

Ham Nghi see all the buses, the technical school and retail shops for the natives. Le Loi, tourists.

The tale of two boulevards, born of the same period, but serving two different constituencies.

If I were a backpacker, Saigon to me would be a maze of alleys, of cheap beer and beds, knock-off goods at Ben Thanh Market and pirated CD copies. Backpackers would go on day tours to Cu Chi and Mekong Delta. Then I would never know how the rest of Saigon live and love.

A stone throw away, people hang out along the stinky canal (Nhieu Loc).

Exercise crowd early morning, and beer crowd late afternoon.

Both backpackers and natives could live on a few dollars a day. But the two shall never meet.

Different expectations, different outcomes.

One just passes through (taking in the smell and sensation), the other stays put (dropping off and picking kids up at school).

Then somehow, the week before Noel and Tet, they both conjoin, in front of a Nativity display, those pine trees and ornaments, with empty boxes underneath, but more guarded than bank vaults.

Then both tourists and natives would smile for the cameras.  Smile to record the worried faces (will next year be a better one).

The Sad Hymn is played on air, and the line sticks in one’s head “Noel nam nao chung minh co nhau” (Last Christmas we were together, but not this year).

I had a friend who died last year right after Christmas. I still remember that Noel was his last.

Sad Hymn. He used to play in the lobby of the Hyatt, just around the corner from those bustling decoration. This year, some pianist is taking up that spot, that gig, to blanket the place with classy “ambience”. Outside, throngs of tourists and natives continue to burn gasoline, cruising by to see those flashing lights. And Sad Hymn is played again and again (just like Silent Night in the States), but no one pauses to remember an old friend.

Funny how the same decoration could trigger different responses from people, regardless where they are from. We are all passing by year after year after circling the Colonial French Round-about in front of Eden Mall.

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!

Jazzy Saigon

I attended Quyen Thien Dac and the Nilsson Trio (Jazz) performance a while ago.

Cultural exchange. But “fant” or on-the-dime invention is not new here.  Saigon traffic has already been jazzy, zigzagging at every turn.

I was with friends. He himself brought an ensemble of jazz men to Vietnam a while back.

Mighty proud of my friend who is multi-talented and multi-tasking.

I also noticed an “order in chaos” pattern here in Vietnam.

You might visit  Nha Tho Duc Ba (Notre Dame de Saigon) and  a taxi hop later, visit Lang Ong (the Grand General Temple). In one jazzy move, you embrace both a Church that glorifies the Maternal side of divinity, and a temple that honors a local patriarch who died a martyr death defending the city (of Gia Dinh) against invaders. Yin and yang, zigzagging at the highest level, both East and West. Young people are into Hospitality Management (to capitalize on booming tourism and the lack of service mentality, taken for granted  in Thailand . Four-star price demands four-star service.

Thus, at the service level, we still have room for improvement.

But not to take away credits. Young Vietnamese, having completed their studies abroad are coming back. Reverse brain drain; just like their Indian and Chinese counterparts (my housemate was toasting a US-bound relative last night. She will be attend US College this Fall).

Marriott is here. So are Inter-Continental, Hyatt and Hilton. Chinese building boom (latest horse-shoe Sheraton for one) echoes here as well, since constructors need work.

Everyone is snapping up valuable real estate and talent.

Need a musician? Done. Hair and make up? Done.

Even M&A. Things might have slow down due to the Recession, but many are seeing opportunity in crisis (young expat filmmakers have given it a try).

This paradox has traditionally been a Vietnamese trademark: thriving in chaos. So Thien Dac personifies what everyone already knew: the positive spirit needed to rise above one’s humble circumstances.

It’s weather perfect last night. And I knew I was sitting in the middle of change, and perhaps, might be swept away by whatever comes with it.