But the foreign students
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But the foreign students
by lynk2510 Sat Jun 25, 2011 2:02 am
The blare of slogans like the "Vietnamese Communist Party Will Live Forever!" may inspire you to learn more about Ho Chi Minh, the revered revolutionary leader who died in 1969 but who lives on through ubiquitous admonitions like "Live, Fight, Work, Study." A massive museum west of the Old Quarter features Ho's biography in a series of displays that are Cold War-archaic and mildly informative. Despite sometimes bizarre exhibits (one display compares the cave where Ho hid during World War II to a human brain), the respect and admiration the Vietnamese people express toward Ho is genuine. Just a block away is another structure you could easily find in Moscow's Red Square: Uncle Ho's mausoleum, where his body is embalmed for public veneration. Like his comrade Lenin, Ho had no interest in being turned into museum display, but party leaders spurned his request. For older Vietnamese, the mausoleum is a site for honoring Ho, and visitors are expected to behave respectfully, as if visiting a funeral parlor.
If the Old Quarter din gets overwhelming, stroll down to the edge of the quarter until you see Hoan Kiem, the Lake of the Restored or Returned Sword, and marvel at the smallish 19th-century pagoda called Thap Rua (Turtle Tower), which appears to float on the water when illuminated at dusk. Mind you, the crowds will be thicker at the lake's north end, walking over the Sunbeam Bridge (The Huc), a red pedestrian bridge that leads to an island where the ornate Jade Mountain Temple (Den Ngoc Son) stands. Just across the street from The Huc is the epicenter for another of Vietnam's most authentic art forms: water puppetry. Accompanied by live music performed on traditional instruments, the puppeteers at the Thang Long Water Puppet Theater stand in the water, behind a bamboo curtain, using poles to move wooden dragons, farmers, long boats, kings and other figures through the water. During some festivals, the dragons will breathe smoke and fireworks, as well.
During the millennium celebration last fall, the government spent a fortune on festivals, fireworks, concerts and propaganda — all aimed at bolstering Vietnamese pride and showcasing the renewal of a city that was bombed repeatedly during the 1960s and '70s. While the Old Quarter connects to Hanoi's past, it is otherwise a city that's soaring into the future. Some would say it's about time.
Letter from Fukushima: A Vietnamese-Japanese Police Officer’s Account
Translated by Adrew Lam. Read the original (in Vietnamese).
Brother,
How are you and your family? These last few days, everything was in chaos. When I close my eyes, I see dead bodies. When I open my eyes, I also see dead bodies. Each one of us must work 20 hours a day, yet I wish there were 48 hours in the day, so that we could continue helping and rescuing folks. We are without water and electricity, and food rations are near zero. We barely manage to move refugees before there are new orders to move them elsewhere. I am currently in Fukushima, about 25 kilometers away from the nuclear power plant. I have so much to tell you that if I could write it all down, it would surely turn into a novel about human relationships and behaviors during times of crisis.
The other day I ran into a Vietnamese-American. His name is Toan. He is an engineer working at the Fukushima 1 nuclear plant, and he was wounded right at the beginning, when the earthquake struck. With the chaos that ensued, no one helped him communicate with his family. When I ran into him I contacted the US embassy, and I have to admit that I admire the Americans’ swift action: They sent a helicopter immediately to the hospital and took him to their military base.
But the foreign students from Vietnam are not so lucky. I still haven't received news of them. If there were exact names and addresses of where they work and so on, it would be easier to discover their fate. In Japan, the police do not keep accurate residential information the way they do in Vietnam, and privacy law here makes it even more difficult to find. I met a Japanese woman who was working with seven Vietnamese women, all here as foreign students. Their work place is only 3 kilometers from the ocean and she said that they don’t really understand Japanese. When she fled, the students followed her, but when she checked back they were gone. Now she doesn't know if they managed to survive. She remembers one woman’s name: Nguyen thi Huyen (or Hien).
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If the Old Quarter din gets overwhelming, stroll down to the edge of the quarter until you see Hoan Kiem, the Lake of the Restored or Returned Sword, and marvel at the smallish 19th-century pagoda called Thap Rua (Turtle Tower), which appears to float on the water when illuminated at dusk. Mind you, the crowds will be thicker at the lake's north end, walking over the Sunbeam Bridge (The Huc), a red pedestrian bridge that leads to an island where the ornate Jade Mountain Temple (Den Ngoc Son) stands. Just across the street from The Huc is the epicenter for another of Vietnam's most authentic art forms: water puppetry. Accompanied by live music performed on traditional instruments, the puppeteers at the Thang Long Water Puppet Theater stand in the water, behind a bamboo curtain, using poles to move wooden dragons, farmers, long boats, kings and other figures through the water. During some festivals, the dragons will breathe smoke and fireworks, as well.
During the millennium celebration last fall, the government spent a fortune on festivals, fireworks, concerts and propaganda — all aimed at bolstering Vietnamese pride and showcasing the renewal of a city that was bombed repeatedly during the 1960s and '70s. While the Old Quarter connects to Hanoi's past, it is otherwise a city that's soaring into the future. Some would say it's about time.
Letter from Fukushima: A Vietnamese-Japanese Police Officer’s Account
Translated by Adrew Lam. Read the original (in Vietnamese).
Brother,
How are you and your family? These last few days, everything was in chaos. When I close my eyes, I see dead bodies. When I open my eyes, I also see dead bodies. Each one of us must work 20 hours a day, yet I wish there were 48 hours in the day, so that we could continue helping and rescuing folks. We are without water and electricity, and food rations are near zero. We barely manage to move refugees before there are new orders to move them elsewhere. I am currently in Fukushima, about 25 kilometers away from the nuclear power plant. I have so much to tell you that if I could write it all down, it would surely turn into a novel about human relationships and behaviors during times of crisis.
The other day I ran into a Vietnamese-American. His name is Toan. He is an engineer working at the Fukushima 1 nuclear plant, and he was wounded right at the beginning, when the earthquake struck. With the chaos that ensued, no one helped him communicate with his family. When I ran into him I contacted the US embassy, and I have to admit that I admire the Americans’ swift action: They sent a helicopter immediately to the hospital and took him to their military base.
But the foreign students from Vietnam are not so lucky. I still haven't received news of them. If there were exact names and addresses of where they work and so on, it would be easier to discover their fate. In Japan, the police do not keep accurate residential information the way they do in Vietnam, and privacy law here makes it even more difficult to find. I met a Japanese woman who was working with seven Vietnamese women, all here as foreign students. Their work place is only 3 kilometers from the ocean and she said that they don’t really understand Japanese. When she fled, the students followed her, but when she checked back they were gone. Now she doesn't know if they managed to survive. She remembers one woman’s name: Nguyen thi Huyen (or Hien).
bathroom
internet website traffic
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» Foreign funds sought in Vietnam market
» ietnam has not granted foreign journalists or diplomats access to the area
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