I just posted on a friend's blog with photos from China, of a near-empty village where many people have moved to Brazil and the United States. I've posted there mainly because the readership of Mauricio's blog is largely Brazilian (Mauricio is from Sao Paulo), and I haven't figured out how to cross-post it onto my blog.
The link is here:
Aqui e Acola: Things they left behind
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The snake
Today I witnessed the slaughter of a snake and its subsequent consumption in Saigon. I have only seen a slaughter a few times in my life -- I witnessed the slaughter of huge pig in Cuba on Christmas eve, some fish, chickens with their heads plucked off, and that's about it. In a way, if you are going to eat an animal, I think you should be able to see where it comes from, how it ends up on your plate.
I had deep fried snake once before, in China. This snake was served in a stew. Snake meat is kind of like a cross between tough fish and chicken.
Those with snake phobia (Annalisa), you might want to skip this post.
The snake out of the bag.
Gutting the snake.
Squeezing the blood out to mix with rice wine.
Amazingly, the snake -- gutted, head cut off -- still wrestles with itself.
Removing the innards of the snake
This guy ate the raw gall bladder of the snake.
Snake soup. THese are snake eggs that the slaughtered female snake carried inside itself. They kind of just taste like egg yoke.
Rice wine mixed with snake blood and bile. Down it as fast as possible.
I had deep fried snake once before, in China. This snake was served in a stew. Snake meat is kind of like a cross between tough fish and chicken.
Those with snake phobia (Annalisa), you might want to skip this post.
The snake out of the bag.
Gutting the snake.
Squeezing the blood out to mix with rice wine.
Amazingly, the snake -- gutted, head cut off -- still wrestles with itself.
Removing the innards of the snake
This guy ate the raw gall bladder of the snake.
Snake soup. THese are snake eggs that the slaughtered female snake carried inside itself. They kind of just taste like egg yoke.
Rice wine mixed with snake blood and bile. Down it as fast as possible.
Cholon, Ho Chi Minh City
Cholon is the historical "Chinatown district" in Saigon, now officially known as Ho Chi Minh City.
In case you hadn't realized already, most Chinese immigrants are good entrepreneurs. Hence, when the Communists came smashing through and closed all the free markets, many Chinese people fled Vietnam. With markets opening up once again, the Chinese people are once more beginning to show off their entrepreneurial talent.
Funny thing. After arriving in Vietnam from China, I've been making many comparisons between the two. I've been surprised how tolerant most Vietnamese people are with having their photo taken, at least in comparison to their Chinese counterparts. Most don't seem to mind, and there are rarely angry security guards that make up arbitrary rules prohibiting photography in public places.
Nevertheless, when I got to Cholon, I noticed immediately how much more camera-shy the Chinese there were. Originally, I would have liked to take a portrait of this trio, apparently grandparents and their grandchild. But the man and woman casually covered their faces while allowing me to photograph their child, with little protest. The result seems somewhat funny to me.
Since I'm travelling alone I don't get many photos taken of me. My college photography professor required us to take at least three self-portraits on each roll of film (remember those?), and I've gotten in the habit of taking them. Here I am wearing my new blazer and shirt I got tailor-made in Vietnam, because apparently that's what you do when you go to Vietnam. It's quite incredible, really, little shops can spit out an entire suit in less than 12 hours of you walking into the store.
In case you hadn't realized already, most Chinese immigrants are good entrepreneurs. Hence, when the Communists came smashing through and closed all the free markets, many Chinese people fled Vietnam. With markets opening up once again, the Chinese people are once more beginning to show off their entrepreneurial talent.
Funny thing. After arriving in Vietnam from China, I've been making many comparisons between the two. I've been surprised how tolerant most Vietnamese people are with having their photo taken, at least in comparison to their Chinese counterparts. Most don't seem to mind, and there are rarely angry security guards that make up arbitrary rules prohibiting photography in public places.
Nevertheless, when I got to Cholon, I noticed immediately how much more camera-shy the Chinese there were. Originally, I would have liked to take a portrait of this trio, apparently grandparents and their grandchild. But the man and woman casually covered their faces while allowing me to photograph their child, with little protest. The result seems somewhat funny to me.
Since I'm travelling alone I don't get many photos taken of me. My college photography professor required us to take at least three self-portraits on each roll of film (remember those?), and I've gotten in the habit of taking them. Here I am wearing my new blazer and shirt I got tailor-made in Vietnam, because apparently that's what you do when you go to Vietnam. It's quite incredible, really, little shops can spit out an entire suit in less than 12 hours of you walking into the store.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Vietnam
I am in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon. I have been in Vietnam for more than a week now, having traveled southwards from the Chinese border.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A map of the Chinese diaspora
My friend Julian sent me this link, a world map of the Chinese diaspora. I met Julian nearly a year ago in Lima, Peru -- incidentally, Julian is also a Chinese-American.
http://www.wallpaper.com/madeinchina/diaspora
The map shows the major Chinese settlements of around the world. What seems to be missing is a more updated version showing Chinese immigration in Africa. Nigeria has upwards of 100,000 Chinese people, and Ethiopia has between 40,000-50,000.
http://www.wallpaper.com/madeinchina/diaspora
The map shows the major Chinese settlements of around the world. What seems to be missing is a more updated version showing Chinese immigration in Africa. Nigeria has upwards of 100,000 Chinese people, and Ethiopia has between 40,000-50,000.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mannequins
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
Birmingham, EnglandI've actually taken quite a few photos of mannequins on this trip, starting with my very first stop in Peru. Some street near the Barrio Chino in Lima specialized in suits and had a bunch of scary looking mannequins. Mannequins are strange; large, idealized figures meant to represent humans in an odd, overgrown barbie-like fashion.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Two from Ethiopia
Arat Kilo (near Addis Ababa University), Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
B&W photos from Taishan
Black and White photos from Taishan county.
Women sort through a pile of mud in order to find baby crabs, which they then sell to a man at 100 crabs/20 RMB (a little less than $3 USD). The guy then either sells the crabs or raises them until they are big and he sells them for a crabload. We got our full-size crabs for 45 RMB, about $7 USD.
For two nights, I stayed in Sha-Lan village, which has recently seen a large emigration to Brazil. Indeed, two of the families I met in Brazil hailed from this village, and I was able to contact their families to see their homes they left behind.
The family I stayed with had a son who was 19, and was quite severely mentally retarded. He acted like a 3 or 4 year old, crying when he didn't get something, pouting to his mom, and woke up everyone at 5 am for no reason. He seemed to love photography; I allowed him to take my photo and he loved it when I took his. At one point, he ran to his older sister's room and grabbed her Hello Kitty. I like the picture for some reason.
Sha-Lan village.
Sha-Lan village
Women sort through a pile of mud in order to find baby crabs, which they then sell to a man at 100 crabs/20 RMB (a little less than $3 USD). The guy then either sells the crabs or raises them until they are big and he sells them for a crabload. We got our full-size crabs for 45 RMB, about $7 USD.For two nights, I stayed in Sha-Lan village, which has recently seen a large emigration to Brazil. Indeed, two of the families I met in Brazil hailed from this village, and I was able to contact their families to see their homes they left behind.
The family I stayed with had a son who was 19, and was quite severely mentally retarded. He acted like a 3 or 4 year old, crying when he didn't get something, pouting to his mom, and woke up everyone at 5 am for no reason. He seemed to love photography; I allowed him to take my photo and he loved it when I took his. At one point, he ran to his older sister's room and grabbed her Hello Kitty. I like the picture for some reason.
Sha-Lan village.
Sha-Lan village
Taishan, the roots of the diaspora
The above photo is of my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan, literally "Sea Banquet." We had seafood everyday. One meal I counted a total of eight different kinds of fish.Side note: Blogger has a somewhat annoying format in that it seems to post photos backwards in the order in which I upload them.
Anyways, I've spent the past few days in the countryside, in the Guangdong county of Taishan, a major exporter of fine Chinese products. I mean immigrants. In many of the countries I've been to so far, a large number of the immigrants have come from this single county, Taishan. I think I read somewhere that over half of the population that is "Taishanese" is actually living abroad.
Apparently I am 75% Taishanese, which I had no idea about until recently, when I found out that my paternal grandmother's family was originally from a village in Taishan. Going back to my "old home" in China is an incredible experience; an auntie who helped guide me around the villages pointed out villages in the distance, commenting, "that village went to England. That village went to Brazil."
Brazil.
Everyone was talking about Brazil. Brazil is the new America, by the way. Seriously, everybody was talking about Brazil, and everybody is going to Brazil. I guess people have started realizing that America isn't America anymore.
Old ladies in my maternal grandfather's village in Haiyan. They have just been given 100 RMB (about $14 USD) by a successful entrepreneur who made it out of the village.
The ancestral temple in Haiyan. The first character on the temple reads my mother's last name, "Rong," or "Yung" in Cantonese.
The house that my maternal grandfather built. He was a "Lao Hua Qiao" (overseas Chinese) who went to America, and apparently South America as well. He died when my mom was five and she has no recollection of him. Apparently he suffered prejudice in America. Surprise.
The ancestral shrine in the house my grandfather built.Now we can move on to my paternal grandmother's village, or at least what I believe is my paternal grandmother's village. She was born in California, but her parents were from Taishan. She even has the same last name as my maternal grandmother, Wu, or "Ng" in Cantonese. Yes, nnnnnngggggggggg. It's not missing at consonants. Try it.
Actually, the village wasn't that remote.
That's me in front of my paternal grandmother's village.The final village is my maternal grandmother's. I had an "American returning to his roots" moment in which I jumped on the back of a motorcycle to get to this village, because it was inaccessible by car. It was deeply romantic, and I wish I had a film crew on hand.
The driver checks to see if it's the right village. I take photos. This is the ancestral temple.
The Communist ancestral temple. No, just kidding, but I think it used to be the party headquarters, see the faded star?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
One more step back in time
I am now in Guangzhou, China... made it here for May Day. One of my mom's best friends from middle school, Zhang JunHe, showed me these photos of my mom from the early part of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), before both of them were "sent down" to the countryside.
Zhang JunHe has shared with me fascinating stories about those times and their classmates, and stories about my mom I had no idea about. The stories themselves are so long, so epic, and so full of heroes and villains (guess who the heroes are) that I'm not going to share them here, at least for now.
I really like the photo of my mom and Zhang JunHe, both smiling with their hands on their hips. I am often surprised when I realize that my mom was just a teenager, younger than me.
The photo in front of Tiananmen square, in the upper left, is also striking to me. Perhaps its that for Chinese, having your photo taken in Tiananmen is like a pilgrimage to Mecca. Everyone has one. And that particular time, during the Cultural Revolution, when everyone was wearing the same clothes and holding Mao's little red book. It's strange to actually see my mom in that historical context -- looking stonefaced at the camera -- in contrast to every other photo, where she's smiling.
Zhang JunHe has shared with me fascinating stories about those times and their classmates, and stories about my mom I had no idea about. The stories themselves are so long, so epic, and so full of heroes and villains (guess who the heroes are) that I'm not going to share them here, at least for now.
I really like the photo of my mom and Zhang JunHe, both smiling with their hands on their hips. I am often surprised when I realize that my mom was just a teenager, younger than me.
The photo in front of Tiananmen square, in the upper left, is also striking to me. Perhaps its that for Chinese, having your photo taken in Tiananmen is like a pilgrimage to Mecca. Everyone has one. And that particular time, during the Cultural Revolution, when everyone was wearing the same clothes and holding Mao's little red book. It's strange to actually see my mom in that historical context -- looking stonefaced at the camera -- in contrast to every other photo, where she's smiling.
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