South East Asia – Part 6: The heat is on in Saigon

The heat is on in Saigon (with apologies to Andrew Lloyd Webber) as I seek refuge in a drafty bar over a big bottle of BGI (beer gut inducing) beer. Just got in two days ago after an eye-opening 2 weeks in Cambodia (stories soon to come) in which several days were spent on an uninhabited island with just 3 other people. Intrigued? Indeed, but today we stick to more pedestrian fare I’m afraid as I wind up my Thai portion of the trip. Shall we then? 

Following the elephant trek, I bonked for a few hours and, having been earlier informed that tonight was one of four of Chiang Mai’s Big Sunday Markets(!!!!!) I set out to explore and blend in with the locals. What a freakshow! If ever you wanted to buy a big piece of crap or a piece of crap of any size this was the place for you. Stuff that I wouldn’t even give to my Alzheimer’s ridden, oversized underpants-hoarding great-grandmother was being touted as the buy of the century. Example? How about this…a bat…in a box…with a glass front…pinned up Christ-like for all the world to be thouroughly disgusted and taken aback by. 

Yeah, I know what each and every one of you is thinking, “Fucker! Why the hell didn’t he get that bat for me?” It’s because none of you deserved it and I mean that in the sense that none of you has offended me enough to warrant such a hideous testament to man’s undending contempt for nature. 

I hung for a bit, watched some sick-ass BMX punks turning tricks and headed for home, intent on having a big next day. This turned out not to be quite as big as anticipated as I could only manage to peel my sweat-soaked bloated, white carcass off my equally sticky mattress at about noon. I high-tailed it to the local zoo (being a big zoo fan) to bask in humanity’s unparalleled ability to tranquilize, capture, tag, cage and rob of all dignity all of God’s (if you believe in that sort of thing) creatures. 

Now the taxi driver warned me, “This zoo big, you not walk, rent bike.” 

“Whatever, dude, look at me…do I look to be in substandard shape? I like walking, I can handle it.” 

Good Lord Christ I’m an ass. Now the zoo was a good one and by good I mean the animals had a fair (well, nothing’s fair that involves being confined and stared at all day) amount of space to roam around in. Of course the more space the animals have, the farther Ryan has to walk. It’s forty degrees, about one in the afternoon, I’m entirely without water and some of these animals are literally a kilometer apart. Death couln’t have been more welcome at this stage but I pulled a Man With No Name and perservered through the heat, hoping to catch a glimpse of some fauna only a Northern Thailand zoo would have to offer. 

The high-light? Turtles. Really. I just think they’re cool, especially the big’uns. For the life of me I can’t understand how something so awkward and borderline immobile could have clung to life all these years while the dinosaur, he of unprecedented might and intelligence (well, at least according to Jurassic Park) could have been so summarily wiped out by the likes of a mere asteroid. Maybe I’m just simple. 

I did stop to stare at the gibbons (a type of monkey indiginous to Thailand) for a while in hope of a 2001-style showdown between opposing tribes. Such a battle never took place so I was forced to fall back on frequent pooing and scrathing of their own balls for entertainment. Whatever, monkeys still rule!! 

I left the zoo for the heights of Doi Suthep which, despite being wildly heralded, was just another temple. Bear in in mind that by this point the prospect of gawking at another temple is about as exciting to me as “Facts of Life: The Movie” starring a digitally-rendered Aaliyah as Tootie, so I booked it and hit up this huge jade factory next door. Having been to many a jewellry shop in BKK and endured many a tout, I actually enjoy toying with these people. 

After being taken to the back room to marvel at the magic of the jade carver’s craft, I was lead around to the showroom. Now the items I’m generally shown are light years out of my price range but these people seem to think that if you have white skin, money comes out of your actual ass so they persist. I’m shown a fair amount of stuff, earrings, necklaces and such and then I start in with “Yeah, this is all great but what about the body-piercing stuff?” 

“Scuse me?” 

“You know, nipple rings, where are the jade nipple rings?” 

“Wha?” 

Then I pointed to and proceeded to rub and pinch my evolutionary aberrations in an effort to gain her comprehension. “Oh, I see” she said with a blush as she directed me to a small display case, previously concealed beneath the counter. This had various nose, eyebrow and belly button jade ornaments but I still wasnt’ satisfied. “No, no!” I mock rant, “my nipples are much too big for these tiny things. Whatever, it’s okay, just show my the cockrings.” I accompanied this with the familiar pointing and gesticulations. 

“ahhhh, no have.” 

“Well, isn’t that just the sweetest plum!” I declare and storm off, barely containing my juvenile mirth. Truly, I have no life. 

Feeling experimental (if only slightly) I dined on frog that night thinking that anything good enough for French people is certainly good enough for me. I’ve always been under the impression that frog meant frog’s legs and eating these would not prove to be a challenge however I was presented with something very troublesome. From what I could glean by poking at this thing, the chefs must have picked up a whole frog, conked him on the noggin, thrown him on a cutting board, hacked him into little pieces, head, innards and all and served him up on a plate of rice to a naive Canadian. Man, I found more bones in this thing than the Leaky’s dug up at Olduvai. Granted, it was tasty but the actual amount of edible meat amidst the skull fragments and ribs could have been measure in nanograms. This is what I get for trying to be experimental I suppose. 

The next day (March 26th I think) was my scheduled Thai cooking class with Madame Vannee (pronounced one-knee) and it was a romp. The morning commenced with Vannee and her obsequious husband showing us around a ChiangMai market to shop for ingredients that would later be added to our Anglicized versions of Thai classics. Vannee explained the uses of many popular market tasties like red ant eggs (for omelettes) and live eels in a bucket (not for eating, just for putting in people’s ears, Wrath of Khan style) but it was tough to concentrate at times due to the fact that the whole place smelled like Jabba the Hutt’s large bowel. This Canadian dude from Ontario actually threw up, I kid you not. 

We progressed to the school which was, in fact, Vannee’s house although the setup was very cooking school-like. Over the course of the afternoon we whipped up seven (supposed to be six but changed to seven after I bitched about the lack of a noodle dish) super-delicious dynamite pepper-laden dishes, guaranteed to have you longing for a tall, cool glass of crab-juice to alleviate the napalm fire in your mouth. I spent most of the time teasing these cute Norwegians about how much A-HA licked ass when I found out the big summer event in Norway was an A-HA comeback tour (cringe). Supposedly they have about one of these every two years in a vain attempt to regain their early eighties popularity. How many damn times can they really play “The Sun Only Shines On TV” anyway? Needless to say these girls can’t wait. 

On the advice of the puking Canuck, I rounded up some people from the hostel to take in a free lady-boy/muay thai boxing show. Accompanying me were Damon, a laid-back, well-read Australian guy, Peter, a loquacious Dutch guy, two lovely ladies from the UK, Jodi and Allie and Maria, a Swede from my cooking class. 

Folks, there’s a reason this show was free. First off, the lady-boys were of poor-quality at best. Yeah, from a distance they were convincing but close up all the bulges and five o’clock (more like six-thirty) shadow were all too evident. Some of them actually had boobs as they were more than happy to display for us. I have to say that they were a lot nicer and fuller than some I’ve seen in my day. 

Now the boxers were the biggest joke yet. Real Muay Thai fighters are the fittest bad-asses you’ll ever come across. Not an inch of fat and muscles bulging in places that we only have loose, pasty skin. The tubs of goo that rolled into the arena were so flabby I thought maybe I was watching Akebono versus Yokozuna for the sumo championship of the world. What a riot! We watched them kick and hug in slow motion for about five minutes and then got the fuck out of Dodge, intent on ripping it up at the Rasta bar, a chill hangout full of dread-locked Thai dudes and their hangers-on girlfriends. 

I knocked back a few Singhas, chatted with the locals, swung on the swingset and left with the crowd I came in with only to decide upon arrival back at the hostel that I was still hungry (thirsty) for more action. I ripped back to the bar to find that the party was over as some of the people from our hostel had started a brawl and gotten beaten up. I tuk-tuked back to Nice Place to find Jodi trying to talk Fang, one of the guides involved in the brou-ha-ha out of going back to the bar and literally shooting people. Snap! Please no Thai gangland fights for Ryan tonight! 

She eventually calmed him down but by this point we were both fairly stressed so she’s all, “do you fancy we get a bottle of vodka?” 

“Hells, yeah, but it’s gonna be tough this time of night.” Thus the quest for booze was afoot with us ending up in some back alley, illegal liqour store ponying up 20 bucks for some Stoli. Jodes was pretty hungry so we picked up a bag of bread and some “chicken ham spread” which only furthured the stereotype that Brits love food that even Rita McNeil wouldn’t eat. At the hostel is was discovered that even the most hardy, intimidating (there you go, Jodi) Brit won’t eat mayonnaise infused with chicken and ham by-products. However, there was one soul drunk enough to choke back a good three quarters of the bottle, that being a Montrealer named Davy who, from all indications, had been at the hostel so long they didn’t make him pay for anything anymore. 

We stayed up late chatting and the next day I departed ChiangMai having made some good friends, cooked lots of Thai food and broken the hearts of many a lady-boy. All’s fair as they say. 

Sorry if this chapter was a little boring, not all that much really happened but by next time the story should finally reach Cambodia, home of land-mines, Angkor Wat, happy pizza and the pushiest people on the planet. YOU WANT BUY POSTCARD, MISTA!!!??? Snap! Take care, 

-dj-