War of the Jaw

Meanwhile in Gotham.

VietKrink (Alt Take)

VietKrink

Makes The World Taste Good

Mobile Mart

Patrol

Lush

Tetanus

Fifer, Fiddler, and Practical

The Year of Dehydration

Flow

The Deep

Unity on the Mekong.  They sell various tropical fruits and root vegetables from their small motorboat in the Mekong's Floating Market.  Planted deep in the Mekong, they float each day.  Deep in happiness.  

Fortune

The Booty (Alt Take)

The Booty (Version: Greyscale)

The Booty

Jack Dawkins on the Mekong (Alt Take II)

Jack Dawkins on the Mekong (Alt Take I)

Jack Dawkins on the Mekong

A small swindler just off the docks near the Mekong Delta Floating Market. 

Period 3 (Alt Take)

At first scan of this photo I thought, Hmmm... it works fine enough for a post.  Then I realized I accidentally captured an ancient Asian tradition.  Nose picking.  My photo was unintentionally booger bombed by the young lad in the upper right hand corner. This lad is a natural picker. With a clearly gifted technique I'd say his nasal passages are squeaky clean. Probably so clean that snout smells new car clean. And I guarantee he's the proud owner of an extended pinkie fignernail for ear-polishing.  

Dear Asia,  please stop the nose picking. Please.  You know who you are.  

Thank you. 

Period 3

At a morning market off the waters of the Mekong Delta. 

VNREM

We did a home-stay on the Mekong Delta.  We slept in semi-open-bungalows on the rivers edge.  So peaceful.  As we pulled the mosquito canopy over the bed and lied down for the day I looked into the glow of our amber nightlight. And I listened to the gentle brush of the murk as motorboats gently trolled the night. The locust swarming in harmony. The roosters waiting for sunset.  The gill-man wading in the water. And I looked into the glow of our amber night light. And before I faded I thought, we're in Vietnam.  We're in Vietnam. So far away from our everyday.  

Ichthyus Sapiens

On the Delta Mekong.

A New World Order

Outside a room with a toilet near the Delta Mekong. 

Rita in Technicolor

Rita

The Mekong.  In the jagged murk, the gill-man lurks.  Chuga-chugga-chugga-chuga-chuga-chuga-chugga-chug... down the Mekong Delta.  The engine heat. The suns relentless beat.  Waiting for something warm. Yearning for a softer storm.  Chuga-chugga-chugga-chug-chugga-chugga-chuga chug... In the jagged murk.  The creature lurks.    

Chuga-chugga, chuggachuggachug, chug, chug, chug-chuga-chug. Down the Mekong Delta. 

Ong Cock: Vietnamese Feathered Warrior

           

AWKKKKKK! 

 

WHAMM!!

               Z-Z-Z-ZWAP!

KAPOW!

AIEEE!

WHACK!

AWK!

                                OOOOFF!

Flourish

A post for the Saint's day. 

Delta Vogue

Fresh Direct

Floating in Space

A boat on the Mekong River. 

Enter Vietnam... First stop Ho Chi Minh. The city of Uncle Ho.  The city of Saigon.  We landed in the late afternoon and I was swooned by the stampede of motobikes; the bebop rhythmic beeps and honks. Motobike scat if you will.  The exhaust of the trolling bikes... oh the exhaust. It flashed me back to a time deeply etched in the early 70s, when my father worked at a printing plant in Warwick RI:  Jay Printing.  On an occasion my mother would take us to the plant to meet my father at the end of his shift or deliver him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he'd left on the counter at home.  Walking through those doors was a gassy gateway to an assortment of beautifully pungent wet inks waiting to be huffed out of small brown paper bags.  If it were up to me, as a child I'd huff and puff until the presses were bone dry. But visits were brief, and my mind was only mildly altered to a permanent state of abstract and avant garde quirkiness.  Of all places to think of old Jay Printing... Saigon.  

Saigon... the place that makes New York City sound mausoleum quiet.  Where the vibe is so definitively positive you just begin to smile and don't even know why you're smiling.  Watching the faces of Saigon shine under the glow of the warm sunny diesel haze is so oddly serene.  Amidst all the chaos and aural assault of the thousands and thousands of motobikes nearly everyone is smiling.  This bike honks at that bike, and that bike honks at that one, and that one and that one... and all it means is coming through.  No hostility of ferocious fingers or sloppy slobbering slurs being exchanged at directed honks.  Just a smile and gentle adjustment of the line.  A surreal peacefulness.  

So my first photos of Vietnam come not from Ho Chi Minh, but from the Mekong Delta (see above).  Why no early shots of Saigon?  Well, I've come to the conclusion that in the first 12 hours of dropping into a new zone, I am smitten with a crippling culture shock.   I swallow awe. And photographically I freeze.  My lens floats into one of those mobile phone dead zones.  This is a moment of absolute bliss and frustration.  I have the camera with me.  The camera is out of it's case.  The battery is fully charged. Bubbling with various charged chemistries. I'm bubbling with the expected jet lag awe.  However it's as though someone jammed an Elizabethan collar around my neck and filled it with a bottle of 18 year Glenmorangie.   Result:  No photo in the first 12 hours. 

Asia with Soul

Vietnam.  Entry No. 001. Vietnam is Asia with Soul.

Counselor! Come out, come out, wherever your are!

Photo taken in the sublevel of the Hong Kong Museum of Art where we were supposed to see a short film on the new movements in Mexican art.  However, we watched a short one on India because the wrong disc was inserted. With a total of four people in the theater I couldn't help but picture Max Cady in the room, lurking in the darkest corner... laughing at nothing and smoking his cheap pungent cigar.   

(438) Vanguard

Somewhere near the sands of HKG. 

Where's Bruce?

"Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it went right to my head (or it's gone straight to my head)Where ever I may roam
On land or sea or foam
You will always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home"

HKG Orb

The Heights

Hong Kong.  Across the street from a multi-floored food complex.

Cerebral Cortex

Hong Kong.  In a multi-floored food complex.

Las Kowloon

The urban island of Kowloon. 

Our friend Jean Claude guided us through the streets of Kowloon or  tried his best to do so. Perhaps we guided together.  Of one thing I'm certain.  Kowloon is a place where one may be hounded by relentless Street-Rolex propositions. The best way to defend against the Mickey Mouse Rolex solicitors, most of whom are predominantly South Asian sharks, is to repel them with a Swatch-shield.  The Swatch appears to be a forcefield of sorts. Imagine Wonder Woman's magical bracelets deflecting

 speeding bullets.  Now picture the Swatch doing the same thing to the Rolex Replica salesforce.  

Neo-Hong Kong

A view from The Peak.

White Elephant

400 Meters or so up the Mid-Level Escalators of Hong Kong.  Rare Kong graffiti.

The Hunger Industry

The Chinese have been hot potting for over 1,000 years. 

H to the K to the G

HKG. 8 Jan 2010. After finding our hotel I decided to get a lone late night eat and walk in.  This is the first connection for me since we've landed. We're in Vietnam now.  We're on another planet now.  More soon.