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Thứ Tư, 18 tháng 6, 2014

Riding for Inspiration

(Vietnamese title: Đi xe máy như một cảm hứng, from the book "Xe máy tiếu ngạo")

The motorbike, more than just a means to travel and leisure, is a symbol of freedom, youth, and the inspiration of the open road. Of course, the big-engine bikers now roaming the vast highways of the world must appreciate those riders that came before them, who, through the ways they rode, and the reasons they rode, turned this machine into a cultural phenomenon.



Although it may not be the exact birth-point of this trend, one place to start is with Che Guevara, who at age 23 journeyed across Latin America accompanied by his friend Alberto Granado. Their trip, far from two South American boys on a joyride, became a journey through which they discovered their ideals. Over nine months, they covered a distance of some 8,000km, riding their 500cc Norton across a series of countries with a shared language and a continuum of cultures. After a first attempt in early 1950 on a motorized bicycle, the motorcycle voyage important here began in January of 1952, using a well-worn ‘39 model that they named La Poderosa (“The Mighty One”). From their experiences, Che would write the famous Motorcycle Diaries, recording what he saw and heard, as well as his vision of a struggle for social equality. Che became a symbol of revolutionary youth, and his motorcycle journey came to be regarded as the wellspring of his universal dream, in which all young people might engage, provided they invest a bit of material and a great deal of heart. Granted, they were forced to abandon their bike in the middle of the trip after it broke down, but even so, the spirit of this most liberating of vehicles set the tone for the rest of their adventure. We still wonder at these committed revolutionaries, who resolved to set out on the road carrying little but themselves, and yet who managed to achieve great distances, and great things, out there on the road of history. Who knows how much of this destiny was inspired by their old rattletrap bike, so unlike the thundering legend born from the minds of historians and the weavings of our popular imagination.


Che on a his bike in 1950

Che's La Poderosa 

 The travels of Che and Alberto were meant to get them a firsthand look at the society of the mid-20th century, a corner of the world at the outset of the Cold War, when the US saw Latin America as their “backyard.” The pair gave medical treatment to patients with leprosy and tuberculosis, both considered incurable at the time. They did this without fear or care for their own suffering, treating the sick without gloves or quarantine, even playing soccer with them. Their revolutionary inspiration would go on to sweep the continent in the years to come. When their bike broke down, the patients that Che and Alberto treated fashioned them a simple raft to float down the Amazon River. Che had left behind a romance and the swell life of a future doctor in order to further his commitments. Che’s girlfriend sent him 15 dollars in order to buy a swimsuit for her should he happen to visit the US (and come to the US he did! Here is Miami, the end of the road)[1], but Che gave the cash to a poor farming family he came across. That is something truly too romantic, to imagine riding our motorbikes from Vietnam to Japan with money in our pocket to buy a kimono in Japan, but could we imagine ourselves giving away that cash on the street instead? Che and his friend were not aiming for urban luxury, but for “the people at the bottom of the city, the beggars. Our noses would breathe the same air as the miserable.” The motorbike was the first object of a roadtrip that was at once ecstatic and, in its time, as yet unaware that it bore early witness to the most important story of the twentieth century: people’s liberation.


The cover of Che's book


Che with Alberto on the raft Mambo-Tango

Verso, the publishing house that first brought out The Motorcycle Diaries, called it “Karl Marx’s Das Kapital meets Easy Rider.” At another time, in another sense, Easy Rider[2]— an American film made in 1969—also dealt with the subjects of youth and rebellion.  The final years of the Sixties marked a sharp change in the lives of  young Westerners, with its hippy movement, rock music, drug use, and protests against the war in Vietnam. Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper starred as the film’s two protagonists, clad in leather jackets, an American flag emblazoned across Fonda’s helmet and chopper as they travel across the Southwest and Deep South of the USA. The pair embody an “On the Road” generation a la Jack Kerouac, and they are looking to find something beyond the empty materialism which, to them, embodied the conventional American Dream of the era. The film seems merely to depict the misadventures of two drug dealers bound for the South, but it also affords us a look into America’s dark corners and insecurities. The tagline of the film expresses its spirit of hopelessness: “One man went looking for America and couldn’t find it anywhere.”

Audiences fell in love with this movie for the realism with which it treats these rebels’ lives outside the law, their hallucinations and shattered inspiration. This in the context of that simultaneous corruption of old values and explosion of new needs which defined the “baby boom” generation (the generation born after WWII, when the birthrate surged). More than that, this generation demanded acknowledgement and a confirmation of its own values in an era when America was bogged down in the quagmire of Vietnam and the escalation of the Cold War.

Che's journey map . The blue line was by motorcycles. The red was primarily by planes.
'
One scene from the movie in 2004 based on the book  Che's 'The motorcycle diaries'  with actor Gael García Bernal as Che and Rodrigo de la Serna as Alberto.

It was not random that the motorcycle became a defining feature of this youthful generation’s way of life. From Jack London’s ragged “iron heeled” shoes[3]  at the beginning of the 20th Century, to the automobiles of Jack Kerouac and the other Beat authors in the years 1947-1950, to the motorcycles of the new generation, all were chosen on a shoestring budget, but with more than enough passion. Now, admittedly, the Harley-Davidson chopper featured in Easy Rider was by no means cheap. In fact, it was a top-of-the-line model, a rare species of machine in the same class as a yacht or a sports car… After the commercial and artistic success of Easy Rider (which grossed 42 million dollars), there were countless movies, songs and lifestyle products inspired by the film. All of them, however, partook of a common denominator: the imagine of a lone outlaw riding his bike into the distance. All of this, however, remains difficult for Vietnamese audiences to interpret, given the fact that for nearly all of us, the motorbike is the main vehicle for everyday, routine getting-around.



Above all, out of all our means of transport, the motorbike remains the cheapest and most mobile. Try to imagine how it would have been if Che had used a car instead: perhaps his rendezvous with destiny out there on the road would not have been quite the same as what took place when he rode that rusty motorcycle. The look of a rider exposed to dust and fumes, wind and fog, rain and snow, is absolutely different from that of one who sits behind a steering wheel. The motorbike’s route also weaves more readily through the curving narrow streets and sharp corners of life, from the indigenous villages of the high Andes to the vice-filled backlots of Lousiana, places that a four-wheeled car restricted to highways just cannot access. For the real-life motorcycle journey which inspired revolutionary ideals, as much as for the purposeless joyride in the movie, it was the longing for free horizons that first inspired their youthful protagonists. The changes they experienced on the road were just what they were expecting. Their lack of concern for accidents and risks stands in exact opposition to our modern consumer society, which strives to sell its members the very latest solutions for safety and convenience. The funny thing is that both Che and Easy Rider would become highly commercialized icons, exactly the opposite of what launched either onto the road. Today we can see Che everywhere, on posters, t-shirts, and coffee mugs. Easy Rider became shorthand for a style of life and fashion similar to that of the English rock stars splashed across the era’s entertainment pages. The idea of finding life’s values somewhere “out there,” and of a life that asks people to confront notions of their own dignity, freedom and happiness, faded beneath all of that beautifully-branded printing and display.

Even Barbie becomes a easy rider.

In Vietnam, there’s still one form of seeking inspiration through the motorbike ride, and that’s the phượt, i.e., the far-ranging camping trip. You can still find them wandering the mountain roads, the youths of Hanoi or Saigon who have veered away from the 6 million other bike riders piled into their respective cities, joining together in small groups for a few days of exile. Sharing in the same global-culture symbolism of the motorbike discussed above, they head out in search of vast landscapes, wild and unclaimed, things that the big cities of Vietnam don’t have.

Many Western tourists, appropriately enough, are introduced to Vietnam in the manner of Easy Rider, according to the old Vietnamese traveler’s maxim, “Wherever you stop is your home, wherever you fall is your bed.” Of course, every traveler seeks out the truly extraordinary, but some of them do so with pen in hand, checking off the bullet points of a “must-see,” list, the so-called “Bucket List” having become a familiar concept in today’s society. Clever tourists also embrace this practice in order to efficiently ply the roads of Vietnam as highlighted by the Easy Rider touring brand in Sapa and Dalat[4]. For Westerners, one of the good things about this kind of travel is that they don’t need to fuss over the Vietnamese repair manual for their ride. There is no need to communicate; the Vietnamese mechanics who handle the vehicles take care of everything. Truly an “easy” motorbike for cross-cultural exchange!





Let us return to the urban youth of Vietnam. They also want to try out their ability to conquer nature, of course at a very “modern” level, something that city-dwellers have lost. Those very beautiful, bright and swanky bikes, often custom built, costing hundreds of thousands or a million dollars and sold to actors Tom Cruise or Jet Li to ride, seem incapable of sharing in those legendary bike journeys past through this dusty world of life. Among the crowds of motorbike riders, often frantic, often flaunting the laws of traffic and the code of civilized conduct, dragged into a chronic fatigue day after day, month after month, on their ordinary commuter’s motorbike: how many of these people think of the two wheels beneath them as a source of inspiration?


(c) Nguyen Truong Quy
Translated by Jacob O. Gold



[1] Che’s final stop on his grand tour was a stint as a dishwasher at a Miami hotel, in order to raise money for a return ticket to Buenos Aires. This detail of Che’s biography closely mirror’s Ho Chi Minh’s own brief sojourns in Boston and New York City.
[2] In the original Vietnamese, the author follows the English with his own loose translation of the film’s title in parentheses:  “tay lái dễ chơi”; loosely rendered back into English “easy-playing handlebars”
[3] This is a reference to Jack London’s socialist-dystopian novel of 1908, The Iron Heel.
[4] Established in 1994, Easy Rider Motorbike Tours allows tourists to travel various popular routes through Vietnam, alone or in groups, on the back of a motorbike piloted by a tour guide. Since its popularity has grown, many imitators have sprung up (often started by former employees of the original), leading to bitter rivalries among various “Easy Riders.”

The "life" of a motorbike (Đời xe máy)

Up to this point in my life, I’ve been through four motorbikes. I’m certain I won’t be stopping there; nor do I want to stop! Motorbikes these days are far more affordable than they used to be. With the globalized production of consumer goods, things aren’t made to last, and bikes don’t run well for very long, because the faster they break down, the faster people go buy new ones, and the faster that producers can turn around their inventory. And so, your new bike will only chug along for a few years before breaking down and “asking for some cash.” Inevitably at this point, every time you look down at the street, it will seem to be filled with an endless parade of beautiful people, gliding past your window on the latest models.

The word-of-mouth when talking about a rich person, though, is, “he’s already bought one.” “One” here refers to a car, but never to a motorbike. Too bad for the motorbike, which was also worth a fortune back in the day. To tell the truth, where I’m concerned, a motorbike is still worth a fortune. Should I happen to lose a bike, heaven forbid, I would really be shocked. To lose a bike is to lose money, to lose something that has stuck with you for some time, but also, it foretells the succession of days to be spent finding enough money to buy a new bike, and then fretting over which type of bike to buy. And many are the lengthy stories about legal procedure: you have to report the loss to the police, worry over the registration papers, and depending on which district you live in, you’ll have to go out to Hà Đông, or up to Lý Thường Kiệt, or across the bridge to Gia Lâm[1] (in Hanoi, vehicle registration is assigned according to your area, and at different locations)…

I am also like many of my acquaintances, who’ve a mind to buy a bike that’s inexpensive, safe and doesn’t guzzle gas. Although it’s not necessary that the bike be super-durable, frugality is clearly the order of the day. The only time I’ve deviated from this thinking was two years ago, when in a fit of inspired spontaneity I bought a Vespa PX150. This was the most advanced of the “classic” Vespas. I call it a “classic,” but in fact it was manufactured between the years 1980-1990. And I call it “advanced,” but at that time they were basically loud, heavy boxes of metal.

Why I bought that bike I no longer remember, I only know that it looked fun-loving, like a sign of good taste. The only drawback was that the bike’s hand-clutch bike caused me no end of fear and misery, whether from near-deaths on the road or the impossibility of getting the thing started. This bike also needed constant paint touchups to look nice and new, otherwise it would start to get scratched and dusty until it looked like nothing short of scrap iron on wheels. I also remember that first day when I drove it from the place where I bought it back home; I had to sweat over the machine for half an hour in order to re-start it after once stopping in the street. I felt helpless before this dead hunk of metal, the reason being I did not yet know the machine’s tricks. I felt as frustrated as a boy whose girl has suddenly gone all sulky on him, and when he asks why, she says, “you of all people should know!”

But the bike did have some strong points. First of all, it was very elegantly designed, manly and modest. Driving it wasn’t as zippy as a newer bike, but you had to hand it to them, they knew just how to arrange the seat and handlebars so that your back didn’t hurt every time you sat down. You’ll notice the Honda motorbike, for example, with its seat sloping to the front; whenever you hit a bump in the road, it always throws your body forward as though you were planning to leap from the bike at any moment. The Vespa seat was always flat, horizontal, allowing the driver to sit up as straight as an English nobleman taking tea. Secondly, it made the owner stand out, for better or worse. Thirdly, one didn’t have to register it[2], and thus avoided wasting three days going to apply for a license plate. Fourth, it was cheap. I spent less than twenty million but I still owned a bike from Italy—the country of motorbike prestige. And yet I could throw the motorbike on the sidewalk without locking it up and come back later to find it intact. Thieves also couldn’t carry it off because it was too heavy!

The person who sold me this bike was also a mechanic familiar with the Vespa PX. He told me that I could expect to ride it for up to a year; if I kept it past that and continued to maintain it through the years to come, then I might as well become a member of the Vespa fan club. Driving a very... “vintage” bike like this, the clatter of the engine starting might deafen the neighbors, and one is never sure whether bystanders are looking on in hate or pity, admiration or derision. All the same, those who love the special music of the vintage motor are a class unto themselves. Just like the kind of people who go nuts for pre-war music, a vintage bike suggests a sense of the past recreated, of black-and-white movies like Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck driving Audrey Hepburn through the cobblestone streets. The motorbike is a site of time past, both a preserved cultural space and a means of dwelling there. Vintage bike lovers still preserve their machines, even if they only retain the outer shell with a new or reprocessed engine. Maintaining a vintage bike may invite a million headaches, but it is not without its mechanical pleasures: removing this, grinding down that, feeling out the calibrations of various metal components from the pre-digital era. Just looking at how the entire structure comes together is a thing of beauty.

 But my temperament was not patient enough to stick with the upkeep. I panicked as the frequency of repairs began to mount, so as the deadline of my “challenge” approached I started planning the resale. The guy who bought my bike was none other than the guy who sold it to me. And my only mementos are a few photographs and the original ignition key that I forgot to return with the bike.

After all, only one’s earliest bikes, or one’s most bizarre, are significant enough to remember. Now, however, one scooter follows the next, each carrying us quietly, safely onward (just as we would have it; uneventful transit being our greatest wish), leaving us truly unabsorbed by those aggressively tricked-out bikes, whose custom exhaust pipes scream like they’re trying to burst the eardrums of everyone in town. Today’s bikes idle meekly in the shadow of the automobile; there’s a single playboy about town who wants to ride on a mere $7,000, cheek-and-jowl with the two-wheeling masses flooding the streets in an endless congestion. The life of a motorbike is no longer the measure of “social mobility” that it once was.

Nguyen Truong Quy
Translated by Jacob O. Gold



[1] These are various locations across Hanoi: the western districts, the center of town, and east of the Red River, respectively.
[2] This is because motorbikes with engines under a certain size do not require registration. 

The Wandering Motorbike (Preface)




Title: Xe máy tiếu ngạo (The Wandering Motorbike)
Author: Nguyễn Trương Quý
Translator: Jacob O. Gold
Center for Southeast Asian Studies
University of Michigan Ann Arbor, MI 48104

Translator’s Preface

            Nguyễn Trương Quý was born in Hanoi in 1977. A graduate of the Hanoi University of Architecture, Trương Quý’s successes as an essayist and, most recently, an author of short fiction, seem to derive from his application of an architect’s sensibility to the pages of his prose. Each essay seems a guided tour through spaces of nostalgic memory, social description, wide-ranging cultural references, and bitingly humorous invention. A true architect, his decorative motifs, as much as his supporting thematic columns, stand in service to a balanced whole. And just as an architect designs buildings that will join the living fabric of the cities in which they are built, Trương Quý’s works are inimtately bound up in the life of the rapidly-evolving city that inspires them: Hanoi.
            Trương Quý began to make a name for himself by publishing essays in various online and print publications, and his first essay collection, Tự nhiên như người Hà Nội (“As Natural as a Hanoian”— a half-joking reference to Hanoi’s sense of its own culutral refinements), was released in 2004. This was followed by Ăn phở rất khó thấy ngon (“It’s hard to find a good bowl of ph”—that is, Vietnam’s famous beef noodle soup) in 2008, and Hà Nội là Hà Nội (Hanoi is Hanoi) in 2010. Xe máy tiếu ngạo was published in 2012. This translation project is the first time that any of Trương Quý works have appeared in English, or any other language outside of Vietnamese. Trương Quý has also translated several English-language works into Vietnamese, most notably, Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire in 2011. The author’s first collection of short fiction is slated for publication sometime in 2013.
            The concept behind The Wandering Motorbike is simple yet effective: use the motorbike as a guiding theme through which to explore the changes that have taken place in Hanoi, and in the lives of its residents, over the past thirty years. It must be mentioned here that the motorbike is perhaps the most iconic feature of Vietnamese modernity. There are over 2 million registered motorbikes in Hanoi, and more than twice that number in Ho Chi Minh City (also known as Saigon). Before the economic and, to some extent, social liberalizations of the Dổi Mới (Renewal) Policy were launched in 1986 (paralleling Deng Xiaoping’s similarly sweeping reforms in China), Hanoi was a city of bicycles, streetcars, and oxcarts on the road, dispensaries and ration books in place of grocery stores, and little if any access to consumer goods. Trương Quý belongs to the generation that came of age just at the cusp of Vietnam’s massive socioeconomic transformation. He is old enough to remember what came before, and young enough to be excited about what the future holds for Hanoi (he seems particularly fascinated with the projected completion of Hanoi’s first subway line several years from now). Trương Quý’s intermediate historical perspective means that he can more impartially weigh and compare the past and the present: on the one hand, savoring the simple pleasures that stood out among yesteryear’s material deprivation, while on the other, jabbing at the frivolity and conspicious consumption that seem endemic to today’s new wealthy classes. At the same time, this is not a collection of charicatured social types. Trương Quý is a master at conveying the compact, yet acute, daily dramas of children and parents, husbands and wives, boyfriend and girlfriends, office workers and their bosses. He also takes advantage of the inflows of global media now available in Vietnam. In addition to quoting from Vietnamese novels, poetry, and cinema, Trương Quý muses upon Easy Rider, Roman Holiday, The Wild Ones, and, interestingly, The Motorcycle Diaries, whose protagonist, Che Guevara—as Trương Quý reminds us— has become as much a fixture of Western t-shirts as the pages of Marxist hagiography. And of course, the super-protagonist of Trương Quý’s work is the city of Hanoi itself: its famous boulevards and twisting mazelike alleyways, its famous cafes and scenic lakes, its Old Quarter and its nouveau riche proto-suburbs.
            Bringing this book into English has a second layer of significance for me, the translator. I came to Hanoi for the first time in 2007, working for a year at the official English-language newspaper, The Việt Nam News, through a fellowship organized by the university from which I had graduated the previous year. At that time, my only knowledge of Vietnamese came from the Pimsleur language-learning discs that I had listened to before heading overseas. After my fellowship posting ended, I did not return to Hanoi for four years, although I did work as a journalist elsewhere in Southeast Asia. This past summer (after having completed the Advanced Vietnamese course sequence here at Michigan), I finally had the chance to return to Hanoi, expressly in order to initiate this translation project. The introduction between the author and myself was made by Michigan’s stellar Vietnamese instructor, Nguyễn Thủy-Anh, who is also my advisor on the independent course dimension of the project. My first sojourn in Hanoi had been absolutely wonderful, and for those four years I had honestly been pining for a city that I fell in love with (the fragrance of milk-flowers, described in the sample chapter, was a particular sensory touchpoint for these emotions), yet never knew if I would see again. It was doubly thrilling, then, both to return to Hanoi and be able to speak Vietnamese with everyone there. I was not just returning to the city, I was rediscovering it on a deeper level. With every chapter that I translate here in Ann Arbor, that process of rediscovery advances that much further. My hope is to transition this project from a purely academic and personal challenge into actual matter for publication in Vietnam.

Notes on the Translation Itself

            The essay form employed by Trương Quý is known as the tản văn, or “meandering writing.” The essay form in general has a long history within the greater tradition of Vietnamese letters, and its sub-genres are varied and eclectic. Even before mass print culture exploded with the adoption of Quốc ngữ (Romanized) script during the French colonial period, Vietnamese authors were composing travelogues, religious works, poetic anthologies, and so on. Even today, a newsstand in a major Vietnamese city will carry dozens of daily broasheets, literary journals, and the newer Western-inflected glossy magazines. The tản văn form in particular has its roots in the journal culture that arose early in the last century, when Vietnamese intellectuals were grappling with how to define their identity, and their sense of nationhood, under the paradoxical effects of French domination, which wounded national pride and yet helped forge, and only in part through opposition, a modernized, unified concept of “Vietnam”.
            True to its “meandering” name, a tản văn essay stems from a long-held Vietnamese aesthetic sensbility in which the units of expression, be they paragraphs or phrases, are valued as much for their individual poetry as for their service to the continuous whole. To the active reader, these become like movements in an orchestral work—it soon becomes easy for the mind to establish its own connections. This form is also perfect for the narrative “vehicle” of the motorbike, which, as Trương Quý often mentioned, allows the rider to zoom freely, and with unprecedented speed, from one part of the city to another. What is especially fun about translating, and hopefully, reading Trương Quý’s tản văn is that, in their playful stream-of-consciousness unfoldings, they also reveal a great deal about the author himself. In this book, one is transported to Hanoi, and has enjoys the opportunity of becoming well-acquainted with one of its sharpest citizen-observers, Trương Quý.
            There are several features of the Vietnamese language that present special difficulties for the English-language translator. The toughest of these to handle, but also the most interesting for an American student of Vietnamese, are the instaces of what linguists call “reduplication.” The basic forms of these simply involve following a word with an appended, similar-sounding attachment, to emphasize meaning or for euphonious effect. For example, if mạnh means “strong,” then mạnh mẽ means “very strong.” However, there is a more unique form of reduplication in Vietnamese that could be called “abstract onomatopoeia”. This is where word-pairs don’t “mean” anything in themselves, but can describe objects, actions, sounds, conditions, or feelings, to name a few, all with a multi-shaded range of meanings. These are a class of terms that a fluent speaker understands implicitly, but requires a careful process of internalization for the foreign language learner. Some of the many examples in Trương Quý’s work: Lănh nhăng means that something is vague, unspecified, but also subject to manipulation or avoidance. Chễm chệ can refer to a swaggering, even teetering motion, but also with shaded meanings of haughtiness, or the rocking of a royal palanquin. Uể oải connotes reluctance or boredom, absent-mindedly doing something. Chênh vênh means that something is slightly protruding, or creating an edge of some kind. Here are some more examples from Wikipedia that have not occured so far in Trương Quý’s work:

       loảng xoảng — sound of glass breaking to pieces or metallic objects falling to the ground
       hớt hơ hớt hải- (also hớt ha hớt hải) — hard gasps -> in extreme hurry, in panic, panic-stricken
       lục đục — the sound of hard, blunt (and likely wooden) objects hitting against each other -> disagreements and conflicts inside a group or an organization
       
        As a translator, one realizes that the Vietnamese language has created incredibly compact, richly descriptive terms that English, for all of its extensive vocabulary, cannot easily convey, especially because each of these terms calls up an entire bundle of physical, kinetic, affective and associative properties. The best that one can do is to find the mot juste based upon the context in which the reduplicative phrase is used, or provide an explanatory footnote.
      As a translator, I have made the decision to use footnotes extensively in my work. In this world of hypertext websites and multi-tasking media players, I felt that my readers could handle, and would ultimately appreciate, a bit of non-linearity. This is especially so because I am at the service of the author, Trương Quý, and it is my foremost responsibility to deliver his thoughts, and as best as possible, his style, to an English-language readership. There are many references to Vietnamese artists and writers, cultural features, locations in Hanoi, as well as Vietnamese idioms, the understandings of which are all crucial to the fullest appreciation of these chapters. Also, I couldn’t help but want to share some of the author’s wordplay and his neologisms with my readers.
      Another interesting feature of written Vietnamese what I would call its range of grammatical personalities. Between the 1st and 11th centuries BCE, Vietnam fell directly under Chinese imperial rule. Over the subsequent centuries, Chinese culture— especially the written culture of statecraft, religion, and the literary arts—continued to exert a profound influence on the culture of Vietnam. Under French colonization (as well as Vietnam’s subsequent participation in the Communist bloc of nations), the patterns of written Vietnamese took on a more “westernized” grammatical structure. What this means from a practical standpoint is that written Vietnamese is like an accordion. Depending on the effects that one is aiming for, the language can contract into the ideographic style of literary Chinese, or expand into what is almost a calque of Western grammatical parts. Classic Chinese also provided Vietnam with a high-literary, or more formal, register, especially in terms of vocabulary, known as Hán-Việt  (Sino-Vietnamese). Sino-Vietnamese and “common” Vietnamese can, often do, exist side by side in the same sentence. On average, Vietnamese sentences remain more compact than English ones, requiring fewer “in-between” connector words in order to deftly express equivalent ideas in English. This also presents something of a challenge for the translator in terms of finding the proper balance and tone of the author’s phrasing.

      Finally, there are the cultural barriers between Trương Quý and myself. I am not from Vietnam, or a Vietnamese-American, but I have spent time in Vietnam, and have continued to assiduously study Vietnamese culture and history here in the US, especially in the context of my work here at Michigan. Thanks to my interactions with the author, the advising of Vietnamese lecturer Nguyễn Thủy-Anh, and my own experiences, readings, media consumption, and inner contemplation, I am try my best to create a genuinely Vietnamese space in my mind through which to engage this author’s work. I hope you enjoy my efforts so far!

Thứ Sáu, 29 tháng 4, 2011

THE REPLACEMENT FOR A TASTE OF HANOI

Nguyen Truong Quy

This essay would like to find a connection between the urban environment and the cultural environment of Hanoi. Hanoi today has been developed on the structure of an old city during many centuries, mainly 20th century. Its cultural definitions, which go tightly with economic-social development, are in the battle of old and new parts.

People usually consider Hanoi as a subject has a specific aesthetic school. So that school, the ‘taste’ of Hanoians, how changing in the biggest urbanization and enlargement in Hanoi history?

This essay is extracted from my latest book Hanoi is Hanoi, Tre Publishing House, 2010.

PRELUDE OF A MODERN CITY

… “Today morning, I got cold at the street at 6 am! The sky was bright and pale, the city got up cheerfully while a plenty of trees seemed waved by the exciting voice of thousand birds. Wrapping my body by a warm coat, I thought I still was in Paris… in a sunny morning.” The short lines look like picked up from a French romantic novel which full of happiness and longing for the discovery. That lovely city is Hanoi in a November day of 1928, under the eyes of Jean Tardieu, the son of the first head principal of Indochina College of Fine Arts (Hanoi Letter, send Jacques Heurgon). Of course, when cite here, we beware that he is a position of colonial class to write those nice words. But we have to admit that since a very long time, we don’t have a Hanoi where birds are singing in a bright sky like before.

A Hanoi girl, oil painting by Victor Tardieu (1870-1937)

Painting of Victor Tardieu in University of Indochina, now is Hanoi National University

Continue reading the words of that “colonial man” – a bachelor in French literature – we find Hanoi as a heavenly resort in this world, with streets have shady green tree lines, colorful regional quartier, the cheerful noise of clogs that girls wear make when they walk on the stone pavement as a symphony in ascending and descending sol. In this charming landscape, the Red River – the main river in Hanoi and the North of Vietnam – opens a wide horizon like a backdrop, just few sailings of some boats surf over it or the Long Bien Bridge, the only bridge at that time.

Hanoi was gentle or charming, perhaps due to a clean atmosphere like above description. Hanoi became the dreamland to come and love as the suddenly thought of below poet:

…Go, go, I’ll take you to the pub

There has a bit Paris to make me be a poet

Or Hanoi midnight

I am a crazy guy

Holding you in my arms but remember you the next days…

(Serenade, Thanh Tâm Tuyền)

West Lake, the largest lake in Hanoi, circa 1954, from Life magazine.

Hanoi was competed with Paris; Hanoi had a midnight to remember when the poet was sad. But that is Hanoi of last century, Hanoi in the mind of expats and exodus ones. In 1954, when French has lost the Dien Bien Phu Battle and had to retreat from Indochina, Hanoi has only 530,000 people on an area of 123km2. Hanoi now has a population of 6.5 mil., including an old province – Ha Tay, large 27 times the area in 1954, become the most crowded ever in its history. On one hand, this event proves the advance of urbanization in a developing country which pours invested capital in a top head center. On the other hand, it strongly shows the attraction of a historical city.

The change of Hanoi, if say big words, means the rising; but with someone, it contains the disorderly, messy and inconsistent problems. There is a hot atmosphere in mind of community: How is tomorrow of Hanoi? Historical heritage of this city has a power let people usually look back. They are afraid of Hanoi will become any ugly city, so in the way they love Hanoi nowadays has an extreme of “Hanoi-style thinking”. But does that extreme is enough to keep Hanoi will beautiful like some previous period when at least has the fact to count, not the in an amorphous future? What still exist from poetry years that mentioned above, gradually become some quite surfaces of Hanoi’s lakes and play the role that turn down any fury. Could they turn off the fury that is affecting Hanoi’s mind this early 21st century?

A SUPER EXPENSIVE MATERIAL PLATFORM

If we see back the urban plan for the capital since 1990s, we will see many big plans were made, but the most difficult and also weren’t done point, is define a CBD (Central Business District) to keep balance with historical center which built by French and sooner. With the ‘big head’ city like Hanoi, building a new big CBD that including many skyscrapers seems acceptable for community, and furthermore, offloading for old center is too narrow and not suitable for radically growing traffic. Building the administrative center is not difficult because it quite separates with life in the downtown; meanwhile CBD requires good transportation system and tight connection to downtown. Lacking of capital and many economic depressions in neighbour area as well as whole world let these ambitious plans collapse. Like Saigon, Hanoi return the method that put trading skyscrapers into old French quartier, where has coherently squared streets, but sequel make traffic jams as well as damage the infrastructure, i.e. cable and drain system.

Planning for traffic system of Hanoi, 1981, with the consulting of USSR experts but was not deployed.

Nowadays, after leaving the idea which use West Lake (the biggest lake in Hanoi, around 5km2) as the core, the new trend is develop the front layout of Hanoi in two directions: along the banks of the Red River and the highway to the West of Hanoi. In fact, building new urban plan in these areas is easier than improving the messy ghettos in some old bad-structure districts. For example, the cost for opening a new road (Xa Dan Street in Dong Da district) is around one billion US dollars may score a Guinness record! The unimaginably expensive result of opening new roads in old areas is one of reasons made investor, in this case is state, be so afraid and move the target into other ways. We can see the evidence through the cost system that the state declared is always lower than the cost in free market. So it means much more attractive when choosing not so far places which are cheap, easy to deploy new infrastructure. But as every new urban area in developing countries, there are majority high apartment buildings that have neither different nor interesting.

Xa Dan street – costs one billion US dollars, includes small narrow houses like the matchboxes.

We can go to a point seems very absurd: the value of living environment in Hanoi is very expensive for lame traffic system and backward infrastructure. But this environment still feed a massive population in a quite risky condition. Although the forecasters are afraid of the corruption in the future, no one could promise a really good plan.

See what we did with nature environment in Hanoi. Before 1954, Hanoi had no industrial zone except some single factories located in the boundary of old city. In process of industrialization in Soviet and China subsidy and heavy industrial models in 1960s, the industrial zones were built into ring. However, surrounding ring of Hanoi includes farm lands, handicraft villages as well as water system (rivers and lakes). The obvious result came: these heavy industrial areas with backward technology and wrong economic ideas polluted the large areas when let the waste water come directly to rivers and make many lakes dry.

We don’t know if the investing money during many decades and the benefit could pay well for the price need to clean these rivers. At the present, they are dying. Everyday, two main rivers in the West of Hanoi receive over 800,000 m3 of waste water, mainly from 150,000 factories. A project by Ministry of Resource & Environment says need amount of 3,335 billion VND (250 million USD) to rescue these two rivers.

In 2005, the research showed that Hanoi had 4 times of the legal level of dust in some serious traffic roads in the entrance into the center. For year later, the number is 11 times in these roads and 2-5 times in almost city. Dust comes from industrial activities as well as constructing, cars, motorbikes and garbage which are rapidly growth. In 2007, Hanoi has 270,000 cars and increase 2,000 cars per months, while the number of 2.5 million motorbikes will increase more and more.

With the huge quantity of gas that vehicles spend and the area of street surface is only 2m2 for one car, Hanoi streets soon become a bad environment for people – where fossil fuel is used only for moving very slowly in a short distance and people are stuck on stressful condition of overpopulation.

SOUND OF CLOGS, SOUND OF HORN

In Hanoi Letter, Jean Tardieu wrote about a sound enjoying: He enter a shop of clogs in old native quartier, knock 40 pairs of clogs on the pavement to hear the different sounds. The Western man and Vietnamese people laugh, the native children and old grandmothers are happy when saw the excitement of a white ‘colonial’ man about the sound came from the knocking between wood and brick. The sound of clogs became symbol of peaceful, slow pace of life. It last nearly 30 years, when this sound acted like a memory of a refuge composer. He wrote: ‘how cheerful the peaceful sound of clogs’ (Longing for Hanoi – Hoang Duong, 1954).

Dong Xuan market, the biggest old market of Hanoi, in 1960s. The rhythm of architecture silhouette of the market place built in late 19th century is the landmark of Hanoi urban trade.

Early 21st century, the air of Hanoi sinks in the sound of cars and motorbikes horn and the noise of concrete-made machines in construction site. So people won’t feel strange when some sound artists use the noise as a source. For example, they make ‘noise music’ base on the noise above. This work art is a reflection of a sound life; include level of pollution, habit and the way of communication of modern urban residents. The level of noise in Hanoi streets is approximate 90-100dB, is ironically the level could make you deaf if hear for a long time.

One part of motorbike is the horn which becomes a product sell independently. There is a short street in Hanoi sell horns specifically. If someone wants to add an alarm horn into his motorbike, he can buy very easily! The sound of motorbike and car horns, the noise of engines, ringtones of mobile, nowadays is normal sounds of a ‘peaceful’ life. The loud sound of horns has change the behavior of residents when replace for voices.

In the recipe build the colonial, Indochina became a model of colorful Union and Hanoi became a beautiful experiment to re-create a Paris. When we see the planning map of architect Ernest Hébrard in 1924 and Louis Pigneau in 1943, we will find from the East to the West of city there are chains of boulevard which join to each others by ‘etoile-style’ squares, parallel avenues go together in pairs fairly.

One map of planning for the uptown of Hanoi by E. Hébrard, 1924

Map of urban planning 1943 by Louis Pigneau

Photo: Đỗ Huân. This photo captures a landscape of Hoan Kiem Lake, the heart and symbol of Hanoi.

The nice postcard has two sides about old Hanoi, one side is old native quartier and relics, and other side is the French quartier, framed and is framing an aesthetic school or taste of Hanoians. The break of these images is also the break of that aesthetic school. The sound of clogs is replaced by the noise of horns, the brick tile street houses is replaced by steel and glass block houses, French style villas by kiosque, bicycles by motorbikes… as well as the old images in paintings of Bui Xuan Phai who is the most famous painter about Hanoi become history; these changes are material disappearances. From that material changes, a new spirit was born.

Bibliography

Jean Tardieu.

Hanoi Letter, Phu Nu Publishing House, Hanoi 2006.

Pierre Clément and Nathalie Lancret (chef in editor)

Hanoi – Cycle du Changement, Translators: Mac Thu Huong, Truong Quoc Toan, Khoa hoc and Ky thuat Publishing House, Hanoi, 2003

Nguyen Truong Quy.

Hanoi is Hanoi, prose, Tre Publishing House, 2010.

Vietnam Student, newspaper.

Hanoians breathe the dust 4 times of legal level, 9.2005.

Family and Social, newspaper.

Ring roads of Hanoi have dust at over 11 times of standard level, 18.1.2010.

Vietnamnet.

River Nhue, river Day at the brink of the death, 25.4.2007. (recite http://www.khoahoc.com.vn/doisong/moi-truong/tham-hoa/14505_Song-Nhue-song-Day-co-nguy-co-bi-khai-tu.aspx)

Capital Security, newspaper.

River Nhue, river Day have strong polluted, 25.7.2008.

Planning Capital Hanoi: The lessons from the past, 19.8.2010

Sport & Culture, newspaper.

Review Planning of Hanoi over 100 years ago, 17.8.2010