We were on the bus waiting to pick up additional passengers to take on the same tour as us (because heaven forbid that we should leave on a bus not completely packed to the gills). We were parked next to the public park where there was ample to look at during our wait - ballroom dancing lessons in the gazebo, Christmas decorations going up, kids playing games, adult playing sports.
My eyes fell upon an older lady who was the poster-woman for back-pain; bent over double, she had her elbows on her knees propping herself up as she stood still and watched the scene around her. Her unfortunate proximity to the bush behind her made me laugh.
"Hey, doesn't that lady look like she's peeing in the bush?"
There was a shared chuckle until the next moment when the woman straightened up, pulled up her pants and walked off.
Showing posts with label Ho Chi Minh City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ho Chi Minh City. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Nailing it
It's a North American stereotype that nail salons are staffed by Asian manicurists/pedicurists, typically Korean or Vietnamese - and stereotype or not, they're good at what they do. With Vietnam on our itinerary, you can bet your ass I was going to get a mani/pedi straight from the source.
Now, for the uninitiated, North American standards for nail salons are as follows:
Hygiene:
NA is HUGE on this. All instruments involved in the process are sterilized before each use, if they're not brand new to begin with. Surfaces and sinks are disinfected between each client's use. Floors are constantly being swept and towels come freshly bleached and laundered from an unending supply as is mandatory.
The process:
Now, while this varies from salon to salon or spa to spa, the typical procedure usually begins with the hands/feet being soaked in tubs of warm water for some time. Then the hands/feet are washed and a quick application of moisturizer ensues which sometimes includes a hand/foot massage. Nails are clipped and shaped, dead skin/cuticles are removed, and polish is applied. You'd then go and sit for ten minutes with your nails under a dryer and voilà - there is your typical mani/pedi.
Needing a bit of de-stressing in Ho Chi Minh City, I figured a pedicure would not only be a perfect option, but it was my chance to put the Asian mani/pedi talent/stereotype to the test. While I left my selected salon with perfectly soft feet and prettily polished toes, it was a tale to tell in itself.
After pointing assertively at my choice of JUST a pedicure on their menu of services, I was directed to my seat in a row of other in-progress pedicure clients. It wasn't the giant massage chair with an attached foot spa in front, but it wasn't NA afterall - it was a back alley in HCMC. A moment later, my soaker tub appeared; it was a stainless steel mixing bowl (like the ones I use for making salads in), filled with lukewarm water. Okay, fine - hot water seemed to come at a premium in South East Asia, and what's a container? Mom soaked dad's feet in a plastic bucket at home - why judge?
When I'd been thoroughly soaked, my pedicurist came by and dried my feet with a towel that she tossed on the floor after. She started looking for something, and after not finding it, she picked up that same towel again and spread it over her lap to begin on my nails - I gathered she'd been looking for a new towel, but not finding one, just re-used my original one. Okay, fine - five second rule, right?
Feet dry and perched on the slightly used towel on her lap, it was time to get my nails clipped. But we didn't start right away - we were waiting for something. After watching my girl wait a while, chatting with her other salonist friends, it became apparent what we were waiting for. We were waiting for her friend two seats down to finish with the one set of nail clippers on another client before they could be slide down across the floor to be passed to my pedicurist to be used immediately on me, as was their process with the cuticle trimmers, nail files, heel files, and skin scrapers (which cost me extra, btw). Oooooookay, fine - it's not like I sterilize my stuff at home and I share it all with Malcolm or family anyway...
An (embarrassingly long) hour later, my feet were clean, my toenails clipped, and my heels were smooth again - after some extensive travelling in the wrong flipflops, I'd acquired myself some epically dirty, scaly, and cracked heels - it was gross. Then it was time for my foot massage. While the woman went at it vigorously enough, the only thing I could think of was how when she went to massage my calves, she rested my feet right up against her boobs - sometimes inadvertently (I hope) manoeuvring a toe inside her shirt as she massaged - as she rubbed me, I was rubbing her...I was mortified, while she didn't even seem to notice.
Polish (their home brand was no OPI by far) and I was finally good to go. Well, after she personally sat and fanned my nails dry in lieu of any electric dryers.
The prices?
50,000 VND for the pedicure (nail clipping)
50,000 VND for the heel scraping
20,000 for painting my nails
for a whopping total of 120,000 VND.
As I originally walked in for the 50,000 pedicure which turned out to not include all that I expected from a pedicure at home, I was ready to squawk. But then the conversion of VND to CAD in my head convinced me otherwise and I tipped my girl generously (I'd thought my feet would never be smooth again) and left.
For what I'd usually pay $35 for at home, I'd just paid $6. Sure I had to give up a few things (massage chair, hot water, sterilized/new equipment, all inclusive pricing, un-molesting massages, quality nail polish, electric dryers), but for $6, it was pretty damned worth it.
Now, for the uninitiated, North American standards for nail salons are as follows:
Hygiene:
NA is HUGE on this. All instruments involved in the process are sterilized before each use, if they're not brand new to begin with. Surfaces and sinks are disinfected between each client's use. Floors are constantly being swept and towels come freshly bleached and laundered from an unending supply as is mandatory.
The process:
Now, while this varies from salon to salon or spa to spa, the typical procedure usually begins with the hands/feet being soaked in tubs of warm water for some time. Then the hands/feet are washed and a quick application of moisturizer ensues which sometimes includes a hand/foot massage. Nails are clipped and shaped, dead skin/cuticles are removed, and polish is applied. You'd then go and sit for ten minutes with your nails under a dryer and voilà - there is your typical mani/pedi.
Needing a bit of de-stressing in Ho Chi Minh City, I figured a pedicure would not only be a perfect option, but it was my chance to put the Asian mani/pedi talent/stereotype to the test. While I left my selected salon with perfectly soft feet and prettily polished toes, it was a tale to tell in itself.
After pointing assertively at my choice of JUST a pedicure on their menu of services, I was directed to my seat in a row of other in-progress pedicure clients. It wasn't the giant massage chair with an attached foot spa in front, but it wasn't NA afterall - it was a back alley in HCMC. A moment later, my soaker tub appeared; it was a stainless steel mixing bowl (like the ones I use for making salads in), filled with lukewarm water. Okay, fine - hot water seemed to come at a premium in South East Asia, and what's a container? Mom soaked dad's feet in a plastic bucket at home - why judge?
When I'd been thoroughly soaked, my pedicurist came by and dried my feet with a towel that she tossed on the floor after. She started looking for something, and after not finding it, she picked up that same towel again and spread it over her lap to begin on my nails - I gathered she'd been looking for a new towel, but not finding one, just re-used my original one. Okay, fine - five second rule, right?
Feet dry and perched on the slightly used towel on her lap, it was time to get my nails clipped. But we didn't start right away - we were waiting for something. After watching my girl wait a while, chatting with her other salonist friends, it became apparent what we were waiting for. We were waiting for her friend two seats down to finish with the one set of nail clippers on another client before they could be slide down across the floor to be passed to my pedicurist to be used immediately on me, as was their process with the cuticle trimmers, nail files, heel files, and skin scrapers (which cost me extra, btw). Oooooookay, fine - it's not like I sterilize my stuff at home and I share it all with Malcolm or family anyway...
An (embarrassingly long) hour later, my feet were clean, my toenails clipped, and my heels were smooth again - after some extensive travelling in the wrong flipflops, I'd acquired myself some epically dirty, scaly, and cracked heels - it was gross. Then it was time for my foot massage. While the woman went at it vigorously enough, the only thing I could think of was how when she went to massage my calves, she rested my feet right up against her boobs - sometimes inadvertently (I hope) manoeuvring a toe inside her shirt as she massaged - as she rubbed me, I was rubbing her...I was mortified, while she didn't even seem to notice.
Polish (their home brand was no OPI by far) and I was finally good to go. Well, after she personally sat and fanned my nails dry in lieu of any electric dryers.
The prices?
50,000 VND for the pedicure (nail clipping)
50,000 VND for the heel scraping
20,000 for painting my nails
for a whopping total of 120,000 VND.
As I originally walked in for the 50,000 pedicure which turned out to not include all that I expected from a pedicure at home, I was ready to squawk. But then the conversion of VND to CAD in my head convinced me otherwise and I tipped my girl generously (I'd thought my feet would never be smooth again) and left.
For what I'd usually pay $35 for at home, I'd just paid $6. Sure I had to give up a few things (massage chair, hot water, sterilized/new equipment, all inclusive pricing, un-molesting massages, quality nail polish, electric dryers), but for $6, it was pretty damned worth it.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Fine Finer print
***Author's note: I have nothing but respect for the late Ho Chi Minh and the edifice that is his mausoleum. My visit into and through the mausoleum was a very respectful and solemn experience. This story is about the people and procedures surrounding the mausoleum itself, and all that was lost in translation.***
Wanting to be able to cross the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum off the list of things to see, we made a beeline for it after checking out of our Hanoi Hotel. We were stopped outside of the gates and herded into a double file line.
"I guess this is the line-up before the line-up?"
When the appropriate number of us had spend the appropriate amount of time waiting in the appropriate double file line, we were allowed to enter the grounds. Having read up on the site in advance, I knew we were not allowed to take any belongings into the mausoleum and that there was a free baggage check to accommodate this, so as soon as I spotted the baggage check inside the gates, I headed straight for it and left others to wander towards the start of the next line-up to get in.
First at the baggage window, I could clearly see the sign that told me "NO CHARGE" to check my belongings. So why was it that the lady behind the counter was demanding 5000 VND from me? But at that moment, the rest of the crowd had caught on and were all pushing and shoving all around me. I guess by then they had all taken note of the giant notice sign just inside the gate:
and they realized they had weapons and/or "germstones" to check in. One lady in particular--holding onto the strap as a tether--THREW her purse over my shoulder so that it landed on the counter in front of my own bag. Headache forming amid the chaos, I threw the attendant the 5000 VND just so I could escape, but loudly questioned to myself,
"What part of 'NO CHARGE' exactly did I not understand? 5000 VND does not mean 'NO CHARGE.'"
Bags checked, we headed to the (real) line-up. This was a covered pathway while rails on either side that guided us to the x-ray machines and metal detectors. With the crowd rushing to catch-up behind us, we hurried down the pathway to secure our spot in the (again) double-file line.
Or so I thought.
Watching the line creep along ahead of us, I became aware of a person hovering close behind me to my right. A discreet glance told me it was the woman who had thrown her purse. I couldn't believe it. There was no way she'd managed to check her bag, pay her money, and beat the rest of the people to be in line right behind me. So I watched her. She was anxiously glancing over me to the front of the line, edging her way ever closer to me; I believed she was trying to edge her way past me. Defensive of my spot in line, I shifted my weight and took a wider stance with my legs, while putting my hands on my hips in an attempt to spread myself out as widely as possible. Now there was no way to get between me and the railing on my right, while my left side was protected by the presence of other people.
Satisfied with my efforts to block her, I turned to look directly at her. She didn't make eye contact with me - she was too busy hopping over the railing and scurrying up to the metal detectors. My hope that she would be caught and sent to the back of the line was dashed when the security guard who noticed her simply fed her back into the line-up--at the front of the line.
Incredulous, from then on I wouldn't shut up about how "no charge" wasn't "no charge" and a line-up wasn't a line-up. Another tourist (also Canadian) heard me and joined in on the laughter--until we were shushed by one of the guards. In a lower tone, she explained that she'd overheard my initial complaint about the 5000 VND back at the baggage window and had questioned it herself when it came to be her turn. Apparently, baggage check was indeed free of charge, but the site map/brochure was 5000 VND.
"But I didn't even get a brochure!"
We were promptly shushed again.
After we'd proceeded through the serious part of the reason we were there in the first place (though the other tourist had to be told three times to keep her hands out of her pockets), introductions were made and more laughs were had.
"Canadians are really funny, aren't they?"
While I never saw the purse lady again (probably because there were no more line-up for her to skip), we managed to get our 5000 VND back for not having received the crappy brochure in the first place. So NO CHARGE really does mean NO CHARGE afterall--we'd just failed to read the invisible print.
Wanting to be able to cross the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum off the list of things to see, we made a beeline for it after checking out of our Hanoi Hotel. We were stopped outside of the gates and herded into a double file line.
"I guess this is the line-up before the line-up?"
When the appropriate number of us had spend the appropriate amount of time waiting in the appropriate double file line, we were allowed to enter the grounds. Having read up on the site in advance, I knew we were not allowed to take any belongings into the mausoleum and that there was a free baggage check to accommodate this, so as soon as I spotted the baggage check inside the gates, I headed straight for it and left others to wander towards the start of the next line-up to get in.
First at the baggage window, I could clearly see the sign that told me "NO CHARGE" to check my belongings. So why was it that the lady behind the counter was demanding 5000 VND from me? But at that moment, the rest of the crowd had caught on and were all pushing and shoving all around me. I guess by then they had all taken note of the giant notice sign just inside the gate:
and they realized they had weapons and/or "germstones" to check in. One lady in particular--holding onto the strap as a tether--THREW her purse over my shoulder so that it landed on the counter in front of my own bag. Headache forming amid the chaos, I threw the attendant the 5000 VND just so I could escape, but loudly questioned to myself,
"What part of 'NO CHARGE' exactly did I not understand? 5000 VND does not mean 'NO CHARGE.'"
Bags checked, we headed to the (real) line-up. This was a covered pathway while rails on either side that guided us to the x-ray machines and metal detectors. With the crowd rushing to catch-up behind us, we hurried down the pathway to secure our spot in the (again) double-file line.
Or so I thought.
Watching the line creep along ahead of us, I became aware of a person hovering close behind me to my right. A discreet glance told me it was the woman who had thrown her purse. I couldn't believe it. There was no way she'd managed to check her bag, pay her money, and beat the rest of the people to be in line right behind me. So I watched her. She was anxiously glancing over me to the front of the line, edging her way ever closer to me; I believed she was trying to edge her way past me. Defensive of my spot in line, I shifted my weight and took a wider stance with my legs, while putting my hands on my hips in an attempt to spread myself out as widely as possible. Now there was no way to get between me and the railing on my right, while my left side was protected by the presence of other people.
Satisfied with my efforts to block her, I turned to look directly at her. She didn't make eye contact with me - she was too busy hopping over the railing and scurrying up to the metal detectors. My hope that she would be caught and sent to the back of the line was dashed when the security guard who noticed her simply fed her back into the line-up--at the front of the line.
Incredulous, from then on I wouldn't shut up about how "no charge" wasn't "no charge" and a line-up wasn't a line-up. Another tourist (also Canadian) heard me and joined in on the laughter--until we were shushed by one of the guards. In a lower tone, she explained that she'd overheard my initial complaint about the 5000 VND back at the baggage window and had questioned it herself when it came to be her turn. Apparently, baggage check was indeed free of charge, but the site map/brochure was 5000 VND.
"But I didn't even get a brochure!"
We were promptly shushed again.
After we'd proceeded through the serious part of the reason we were there in the first place (though the other tourist had to be told three times to keep her hands out of her pockets), introductions were made and more laughs were had.
"Canadians are really funny, aren't they?"
While I never saw the purse lady again (probably because there were no more line-up for her to skip), we managed to get our 5000 VND back for not having received the crappy brochure in the first place. So NO CHARGE really does mean NO CHARGE afterall--we'd just failed to read the invisible print.
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