Sorry for all of the posts being out of order, but I guess it’s a side effect of traveling — unreliable internet. Currently I am in Viet Nam in Rex Hotel enjoying the Wi-Fi. Ashley and I spent the day climbing through the Cu Chi tunnels created by the Vietcong in the Vietnam War or American War, as they refer to it. A war tactic that helped them win the war against the Americans.
Viet Nam is a lively place. I have never seen so many motorcycles on the road or cars in general. The streets are jam packed and crossing it on foot is a sport. As the cars, motorcycles and bicycles speed by we have to walk directly into traffic at a turtle's pace. This speed is apparently easier for to see us and avoid us. It surprisingly works really well despite the heart attack halfway through.
The first day in Saigon a.k.a. Ho Chi Minh City we traveled to the Ben Thanh market. It is a large complex jam packed with thousands of vendors. The alleyways to walk through is almost as tiny as the Cu Chi tunnels, which we had to crawl through. They are selling North Face everything, designer handbags, and much more at a heavily discounted price. For instance, a Prada handbag that looks and feels real is $30. All the Semester at Sea students were buying up the back packs and getting dresses made.
And the shoes, well they are a completely different thing. There are mountains of them, stacks upon stacks, rows, bins, drawers, boxes and are even hanging. It is a site to be had for a shoe lover. It could take someone a day just to go through one alleyway of shoes. They are selling designer ones to traditional.
On my adventure in the market a stall with intricate designed sandals caught my eye. As I picked up a white beaded pair the woman grabbed it and asked the other woman behind the tiny counter to get me my size. The woman promptly disappeared, where I have no idea because the space we were standing in was smaller than a closet. I sat down and tried to squeeze my swollen sweaty foot, from the sticky humidity, into the shoe. The woman smiled and said “No good!” She grabbed the next size and again “No good! Big feet.” We both laughed as a said “Yes” shamefully. The next size up was their largest and it fit. The Vietnamese people in general are very tiny, slender and short. The shoe seller, when she stood upright, came only to my shoulder. The rest of the day shopping for clothes went the same way.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Shoes from India
While there are many beautiful and hand made shoes in India, I got to wear bright red elastic hold ones. They are actually the shoe covers for those who don’t want to take off their shoes to go inside the Taj Mahal.
The traditional shoes worn with sarees and other traditional wear were sold in the open-air markets. The sparkles and beautiful vibrant colors had faded with the dust and pollution off the busy streets. Apparently they sit for a while on the shelves, not many women wear traditional clothing like sarees anymore in large cities of India. More women were sandals and high heel sandals. The traditional shoes are slippers with a pointed or rounded top. They are made out of strung beads and colorful backgrounds.
Images from India
Guards in Jaipur
Ganesh
Women working
The Taj Mahal
With an elephant at Amber Fort
Amber Fort
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saree Shopping
India is a complex chaotic place consumed by traditions and religious conviction. Our tour guide said the secret to driving through the madness of the streets is to have “a good horn, good brakes, and above all good luck.”
Choosing a saree — the traditional Indian dress for women — is not an easy process and I was ready to jump into it with the two hours I had left in Mumbai, India. Earlier in the day I flew with Ashley and my friends who are on Semester at Sea, but live in Mumbai, India, Anjali and Aman, to Mumbai. I had four hours till my return flight to Chennai, India and I wanted to utilize every minute of it.
After visiting Anjali’s house, meeting her family and eating homemade, traditional Indian cuisine we went down the street to Brahma Sarees to buy a saree. To be honest, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
The store was filled from the bottom up with stacks of fabric. They had every color and then some. Sales women and men lined the counter vying for each customer’s attention. It was 6:00 p.m. and we needed to leave Anjali’s house at 7 p.m. Anjali, Ashley and I sat down and the event began. Anjali asked me the color I wanted, the price range, and the fabric and then translated to the sales people. It was great to have a native speaker with us. It made the process that much easier and faster.
Choosing a saree can be an all day process that involves choosing the right colors for the saree piece or what is basically a long piece of fabric about 6 yards. Then having to find a tailor to make an undershirt, a small shirt that exposes the belly, and buying the underskirt. For a more modernized urban inhabitants like Anjali and her mother they would only wear a saree to very formal events like a wedding. Not even Anjali’s sister Radhika, who was getting ready for her 16th birthday party that night was going to wear a saree. She had chosen a tight fitting dress that fell above the knee for her party. But in more rural areas sarees are all they wear.
In the store yards and yards of fabric was yanked from their homes on the shelves and placed in front of me. They were all so beautiful which made the selection even harder. It wasn’t like I was buying a dress or something I was familiar too. This was a garment I had never even worn. There were light purple ones, dark purple ones, pink, red, and every other color in the purple red spectrum. I was looking for purple one. The clock was ticking 6:20p.m. I needed to make a decision and find someone to sew the shirt. The temperature was rising and my throat was getting dry. It is so hard to tell what will look best when you have been immersed in the culture less than three hours. It came down to a vote and the deep purple/pink with the green trim won. I purchased the saree and they cut off a yard at the bottom for the top. Running out of the store we all were looking for the tailors hoping they had not already closed. I thought we were looking for a store, but as we turned the corner there were men with their sewing machines on the sides of alleyways sewing away.
“Huh … could this really be legitimate?”
But Anjali knew what she was doing and I trust her. She was talking in Hindi with the tailors. The first one shook his head and pointed further down the street. The next one said yes, took the material and took my measurements. It was 6:40 p.m. I wasn’t going to get the shirt in 20 minutes so Anjali said she would bring it to Chennai later. With the remaining time we bought some bangles to go with the saree and chips for the plane ride. I still can’t believe we made it.
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