Uncle Ho and other things

Five bullet points for easy reading:

1. In Thailand, it was all about the King. In Hanoi, it was all about Ho Chi Minh, or "Uncle Ho" as he's called affectionately.

Our Hanoi guide told us so much about Ho: How modest he was, and how he lived in a house on stilts in the city instead of a presidential palace. (Complete with photos of Marx and Lenin above his desk. His books were there, too, but we couldn't see the titles. It would have been great if the Vietnamese version of "Thin Thighs in 30 Days" was among them.)How smart he was, speaking many languages. How much he cared about the people and how everything he did was for them. How he loved children and, since he had none of his own, all of the Vietnamese people are considered "Ho's children." (I had read something about Ho having a few girlfriends and possible illegitimate kids so, being that hard hitting journalist that I am, I asked Tuon, our guide. He actually blushed and seemed very put on the spot, then said there was no evidence that Ho had babies. Later, Jordo and I started speculating about a possible Ho relationship with J. Edgar Hoover, and then we heard the Gates to Hell creak open a small bit so we stopped.)

Tuon told us how his 5th grade son does well in school and each year wins the honor of being named one of "Ho's grandchildren." He described how every house has a shrine to Ho in a quiet place, much like the shrines they keep for their ancestors. Jordo and I were wondering if this is just rote memorization, like Tim in Thailand said she loved the king because she had to, and Tuon in Hanoi said he loved Ho or else he'd be killed. "Think about visitors to Monticello," Jordo pointed out. "They'll like, 'Woo hoo! Jefferson rocks! He's the best!' And then the Hemmings family shows up and they get all quiet."

Only Ho knows. We'll know more when we get to Ho Chi Minh city, which people here still call Saigon.

2. Some of you already know that when I was in Iraq, I was haunted by the music of Lionel Richie. It was everywhere, particularly the song "Hello." My translator would hear it, get all misty eyed, and start singing along. I wanted to kill both him and myself as well as L. Richie. (Years later, the AP or someone like that did a story that said Lionel Richie is HUGE in Iraq, no one's sure why, and Lionel was told and said he was very excited. Probably made him want to dance all night long.)

On this trip, other odd songs keep popping up.

In Thailand, at the musical showcase we went to, they played, "Dixie" and "When the Saints Go Marching In" --- on traditional Thai instruments. So they sounded just crazy and Jordo was like, "Um, should we be discussing repression people right now?" (Still, we sung along.) Our first night in Hanoi, we went to a bar that promised live music -- and it pretty much turned out to be a piano student playing from the Simon and Garfunkel songbook. (Painful.) On another evening, we enjoyed a bottle of wine in our hotel bar -- where the Thai singer was doing "Summertime" with thick accent and odd instrumental accompaniments. It was ... brilliant. I could have stayed there all night.

Last night, we went to a bar in Hue. They were playing the Monkees so I was all jazzed up and telling Jordo stories of my childhood love for them, particularly Davy Jones. (When, as a teenager, I met him at the all-happening Middlesex Mall in South Plainfield, NJ, I was like, "WE HAVE THE SAME BIRTHDAY! AAAAAA! I LOVE YOU EVEN THOUGH YOU'RE 2,000 YEARS OLD!" And he was so kind. He smiled and said, "God bless you." Probably thought I was escaped from somewhere.)

Earlier today, we stopped at same Hue bar and guess what they were playing? The Monkees. Same song, too. The internet cafe where I am writing this is playing "I'm all out of love" but not the Air Supply version. A special remix for the Asian market, I'll wager.

3. Honeymooning rocks. You tell people you're on your honeymoon, and next thing you know you get free wine and cookies and stuff. I think we're going to be pulling this honeymoon trick well into our 80s. When we got to our hotel room in Hue, there was a heart made out of rose petals on the bed, which was on the verge of cheesy, but still kinda sweet, and I was already inclined to like the place since they called us "Mr and Mrs. Pompilio."

4. We really like our guide here in Hue. His name is Nham. He's very friendly and eager to learn American idioms: "Piece of cake, right?" he'll say, smiling broadly. One of the first things he did was show us a picture of his 2-year-old son, who he sometimes calls "My Little Buddha" and other times "Tonic." Why "Tonic"? Two reasons: 1) He has a cousin named "Jin," so "Jin and Tonic." 2) Tonic was also very much a wanted baby -- and came like a soothing tonic to his parents' marriage.

How they got Tonic was another story: Nham and his wife had been married for 8 years and always wanted a baby but couldn't have one. Nham told us that they'd gone to doctors and had tests and been told that everything was normal but they were just missing somehow. It was odd, Nham said, because he has 7 brothers and sisters and only two of them had children but they all wanted them.

So Nham and his wife consulted a Feng Shui expert, who looked into their lives and eventually went to visit the graves of Nham's father's parents. There's the problem, he said. Your grandparents are facing the northeast, where the storms come in. It's bad. The Feng Shui guy told them to dig up the grandparents and move them to another cemetery so they could face the mountains in the west.

Nham thought this was crack-tastic, so he consulted another Feng Shui guy -- and got the same advice. So he and his siblings dug up their grandparents' graves -- in Hue, they generally don't cremate -- and he personally helped carry his grandfather's coffin to a new resting place, where it could face west.

Within two months, Tonic was on the way. And all of Nham's other siblings have kids now, too. Coincidence? You decide.

5. Most terrifying conversation ever that we had today during a delicious lunch: I asked Jordo if he would eat dog if it were offered to him. (Our guide book said we'd find that on the menu here but we haven't yet, thank God, although there is the word "Chien" everywhere but it means something else.) Jordo said he would try it. Then I asked him if he would try cat. He said yes, he would. Then I asked if he would eat human. He paused and said, "Well, not if that means killing the human for food, because that's wrong." I asked what he would do if there was some crazy cult of people who sacrificed themselves for consumption by fellow humans. Would he eat one of those people? Again, he paused, and said, "Nah, there might be diseases and that might push my gross out level. " MIGHT, ladies and gentlemen. I told him I was now scared to share a bed with him lest he feel an urge to snack in the middle of the night. (It's bad enough he argues with judges in his sleep. The other night, it was, "He's still in custody, Your Honor.")

I also think I'm going to have to keep a closer eye on him around the cats. "I'm not going to eat our cats!" he protested, a bit too loudly. Whatever. Rocky already likes to sit on pans on the stove. If I come into the kitchen one day and see Jordo rubbing her down with Cajun spices, we are out of there.