Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn motorcycle. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng
Hiển thị các bài đăng có nhãn motorcycle. Hiển thị tất cả bài đăng

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. 

Thứ Năm, 26 tháng 4, 2012

Xe máy tiếu ngạo - Joking rider

It's such a long time to come back to you here.

This month I have a new book which names "Xe máy tiếu ngạo" - in English means "Anecdotes about riding motorcycles" or just simply, "Joking rider". In fact, its name is a kind of parody of a very famous Hong Kong wuxi novel of Jin Yong (Kim Dung). Jin Yong novel's name in Vietnamese is "Tiếu ngạo giang hồ". The Chinese title of the novel, Xiao Ao Jiang Hu, literally means to live a carefree life in a mundane world of strife. Alternate English translations of the title include State of Divinity and Laughing in the Wind.


Of course, my book includes almost funny proses to express the state of "smiling". Half of the book contains proses about motorcycles, about the lifetime of some motorcycles I used to ride. I still choose the way or writing which is lightly humorous so bring the readers a fresh angle on some very familiar topic like motorcycles, city lifestyle, street food, and ridiculous matrix of Hanoi streets and alleys.

Underneath those funny lines is my quest for explaining the transform the behavior of urban people under the impact of traffic and living environment. I also bring to the readers a survey to depict during near 100 years since motorcycles appeared in Vietnam, how they has made effect to Vietnamese society, and whether their destiny will end soon or not. We are just the weird culprit of a reluctantly speedy life!

Number of pages: 176.
Size: 13cm x 20cm.
Publisher: Tre Publishing House.
Price: 45,000VND.