Every sandwich tells a story: a sociological study of the Subway sandwich (and various other fast food outlets)

As I was flipping through Cluj-Napoca’s local rag Zile si Nopti I came across an advertisement for Subway sandwiches that really stopped me in my tracks. Despite the fact Zile si Nopti is approximately 75% adverts, there was something about this one that was curiously weird.

I mean, just look at it. That’s not the Subway sandwich we know and love. The excessive amount of cold meats, the weird dry-looking shredded up lettuce, the droopy melted cheese, this is clearly a Romanian persons idea of a good sandwich. God knows how Subway manages to tap into the subconscious sandwich desire of a nation, but considering there are Subway outlets in over 100 countries worldwide, they must have the best handle on global sandwich research ever seen before on this planet.

It all came clear when I saw the breaking news section of the above said magazine. For a leading headline the went with ‘Subway: Sandwiches true king.’ It seems that Subway has recently broken ground in Romania, tentatively placing restaurants in the capital Bucharest and Cluj-Napoca. This is incredibly big news. As Zile si Nopte puts it, ‘if we were a doubt as to the positioning of our city on the map of major European urban agglomerations, well, with the opening of the first Subway restaurant in Cluj, you can be sure of the importance and the growing economic power of city in which we live.’

The whole incident put me in mind of my experience backpacking as a fresh-faced 18-year-old, hoping to discover the mysteries of the world and my inner self whilst also being ironic. I hung out with monks in Angkor Wat, I swam with dolphins in Bali, I climbed in the foothills of the Himalayas. But somehow it was the fast food restaurants that stuck most vividly in my mind. They were also probably the closest I came to discovering the true mysteries of the world.

For example, I though Ronald McDonald had been firmly buried due to the fact the a grinning paedophile clown is now considered an unwholesome element in a place of eating. But no, he is in fact alive and well, living in exile in other countries.

Here he is seen lounging with the locals in Singapore:

And here he is making the traditional ‘wai’ sign and wishing a pleasant “Sawadee ka’ in Bangkok:


He is even seen hitting the surf in Bali. Totally tubular:


However these Ronald’s are primarily for the benefit of gurning backpacker photographs. They are merely the tip of the iceberg. On the whole, fast food chains find they can export the American Dream in its purest form: the BigMac, Coke and fries. But during their quest for absolute world domination they found that even this winning formula occasionally needs a little tweak.

Hence, the falafel BigMac in Egypt drenched in a ‘secret sauce’ (tahini and garlic.) Sounds infinatly more tasty.


 ‘The Nürnburger’ from Germany, served with a healthy dosage of mustard.


 The vegetarian ‘McCurry Pan’ in India where beef burgers just don’t fly.


Rather than let weird religious or cultural dietary restrictions stand in their way, fast food chains embrace them wholeheartedly to their bosoms. You can get a kosher subway sandwich, a halal BigMac, a soy milk Starbucks. Whatever your race, creed or food intolerance, there is a place for you in their happy global family.

Take this Subway Ramadan offer for example. Ramadan should be an unmitigated disaster for Subway; the Islamic month of fasting in which participating Muslims refrain from eating and drinking during daylight hours to practice patience, spirituality, humility and submissiveness to God. Instead, customers in Lahore are invited to stuff their faces with Subway sandwiches as soon as night falls. What better way to keep those food cravings at bay during the day, knowing you can settle in for an epic Subway session later on after a quick thanks to Allah for the bountiful plenty.

However, food is, at most, 40% of the reason for going to a fast food restaurant. In fact, it could be -40% considering the food is usually revolting. What mostly attracts people to fast food restaurants is brand draw, or in other words ‘the dining experience.’

I remember eating at a Pizza Hut in Delhi (perhaps a shameful thing to admit, but there are only so many samosas you can eat.) In Delhi Pizza Hut is an upmarket establishment. Expensively dressed couples hold hands in private booths while suited waiters whisk pizza’s around with a flourish. Compare that to the Pizza Hut of Bristol city center: kids gone manic on unlimited ice-cream factory usage, spotty teenage waiters and pumping Kiss FM. It’s hell on earth and obviously no place to take your potential Indian wife on a date.

As Vietnam have only recently opened their doors to rape and pillage there are, as of yet, no McDonalds. A probable reason is that when McDonalds did their initial customer research in Vietnam, the Big Mac was consistently viewed as a monstrosity. There are, however, many KFC’s as deep-fried chickeny bits are totally culturally acceptable in Vietnamese cuisine. KFC’s in Vietnam are magnificent 5 floored affairs, with floor to ceiling plate-glass and moody low-lighting making it a popular hangout spot for the young, rich and beautiful of Hanoi. The food is exactly as shit and incredibly inexpensive by Vietnamese standards, only adding to its prestige value.

Unfortunately I’ve never been to China, because it is a whole new dimension of weird take away restaurants. I won’t hazard a guess as to what this says about Chinese society.

Chinese Fast-Food Rip-Offs

Chinese Fast-Food Rip-Offs

Chinese Fast-Food Rip-Offs

There are over 3,000 legitimate KFC’s in China, but this seems to have just spurred on the rip-off market. KLG is immensely popular and even has its own dour Colonel Sanders-inspired figurehead.

Chinese Fast-Food Rip-Offs

But best of all are the fast food restaurants that only exist in that country. They are the epicenter’s of cultural weirdness, the flavour of a nation condensed and made digestible. Take Greggs for example, a twisted idea of old English bakery with their staunch old lady staff policy and hair nets, plus the weird retro food, iced fingers buns and oozing yellow custard eclairs, the soggy grey meat of the pork pies and the ominously named ‘meat and potato pasty.’ It’s a horrificly fascinating insight into Englishness, saying so much about our culture, our heritage and our own sad present.


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Dog Myths: Busted

Since we moved to Cluj-Napoca in Transylvania I have noticed that there is a man who rides around town on a unicycle (there’s always one.) Yesterday, as I was walking down a pedastrianised alley near my house that houses the craft market, he came skidding round the corner and hurtled up through the alley from the opposite direction, his legs pumping up and down in a ludicrous manner. A dog that was lazing under one of the stalls started to go absolutely mental, bounding around on the spot and barking in a totally crazy way. To make things worse, the unicyclist whipped his head round and began barking back at the dog over his shoulder whilst still tearing along at full speed. To the dogs crazed mind, the man was some kind of super-fast gliding human that could speak dog language.

The scene was over almost as quickly as it had started. We all stared at each other in amazement. Despite the language barrier, there was obviously one thought running through all our minds: Dogs are scared of unicycles.

Before I began to spread this fact as common knowledge, I happened to come across this video on youtube called ‘Uni-Dog: unicorns do exist, but Uni-Dogs never resist’ The theme and purpose of the video is somewhat confusing but it clearly depicts a man taking his dog for a walk on a unicycle. True, the dog does look reluctant at first. It could also be that the dog has become accustomed to unicycles through repeat exposure. Nevertheless, it clearly proves that my so-called dog fact is wrong. In fact taking dogs for walk on a unicycle and uploading the footage onto youtube seems to be quite a popular past time. Luckily for me, I checked the story out before I began circulating it amongst friends, but it made me wonder how many other dog facts are spread by less scrupulous purveyors of conversation. So I began to look into it.

Dog Myth #1: If you lure a dog onto a mirror and get it to look down, it will leap into the air with shock.

I think I might have got this from a Charlie Brown comic strip. I suppose the idea is to give your dogs the really trippy experience of standing on or under a parallel world of your own sitting room. I actually tried this one with my old family dog Edie. Pretty much nothing happened. The hardest bit was getting her to look down, allowing me to inadvertently prove the dog myth that when you point at something dogs just stare at your finger stupidly. After a while she got bored and wandered off.

However, dogs have been known to get scared and bark at their own reflections in mirrors, shop windows, shiny doors, etc, so there is obviously some truth in this. Charles Darwin’s mirror test offers some insight into animals and mirrors. To measure the different levels of self-awareness in animals, he went around a zoo with a mirror and showed animals their reflections. Over time scientists have proved that monkeys are particularly at handling mirrors, and after getting used to their reflection can use the mirror to pluck their nosehairs and strike sexy monkeys poses. Dolphins and humans are also pretty good (although it takes humans until 18 months to get the hang of it.) Even magpies, pigs and trained pigeons are pretty good at handling mirrors. But dogs just freak out or ignore them. One possible argument it that dogs use smells more than sight to navigate their world. Another argument is dogs are too stupid. Either way, this issue obviously needs a lot more scientific research.

Dog myth #2: Dogs look like their owners.

This obviously cannot be true across the board. For one thing there are a lot more sausage dogs than sausage-shaped humans in the world. But from personal investigations I would have to say this is true in some instances. For example, really old, blind dogs that piss themselves are often owned by the corresponding human. I have never seen a young person dragging round a depressingly ancient dog for a walk, and it seems only old people can bear to put up with them (or, who knows, perhaps even prefer crippled, arthritic dogs.)

A test by Bath Spa University (as ever on the cutting edge of raging scientific debate) proved that this myth is ‘a little bit true’ According to tests on volunteer dog owners, muscley steroid freaks like breeds that inspire terror into other pedestrians, and small, unfit people like miniature dogs that get their excercise by running in tiny circles.

However, the main finding was that there is a terrifying rise in the rate of dog owner prejudice in the UK. Overall, the test demonstrated that owners of bull terriers where generally perceived as ‘thickos’ while owners of labradors were considered ‘dull.’ Dr Workman, (who previously carried out a study which showed that the Birmingham accent was the most hated in Britain), added: “What this study shows is that you shouldn’t judge a person by their dog, but we all do.”

Dog myth #3: One day a human will get bitten by a rabid dog and turn into a zombie.

When former page 3 model and I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here contestant Sam Fox was bitten by a stray rabid cat in Thailand (known locally as ‘crazy cat’), rabies was once again thrust into the public consciousness. Rabies (from the Latin word ‘to rage’)  travels through the central nervous system, and depending on the location of the infection can result in either ‘paralytic’ or ‘furious’ rabies. Paralytic rabies is basically what it says on the tin. If I were to get rabies I’d be hoping for paralytic rabies.

Early symptoms of furious rabies includes migraines and fever, progressing to acute pain, violent movements, uncontrolled excitement and intense fear of water. Finally the victim experiences periods of mania and aggression eventually leading to coma and death. Victims are tied to their bed to prevent them from attacking others or themselves.

Around 97% of human rabies cases result from dog bites, although there have been reports of rabid bats in Scotland (band name alert!) It is the most lethal of all infectious diseases and has been feared by mankind since time immemorial. If the virus is not treated before symptoms begin to show (which involves repeated injections into the stomach), it is usually fatal within days. One person dies of rabies every 10 minutes. truly, rabies is no laughing matter.

But this is besides the point. Can rabies morph into a zombie virus that will spread across the world causing some kind of apocalyptic scenario? A report by zombiehub.com warns that the rabies virus could be modified and used as a weapon in viral warfare is a serious concern. ‘It is not farfetched that modified viruses could be used as a weapon…The infected would loose their gift of freewill, in other words a form of ‘zombification’. Viruses have the devastating ability to spread very rapidly and can easily cause a human epidemic or zombie apocalypse.’ However, National Geographic documentary The Truth Behind Zombies argues biting is far too labour intensive to trigger a zombie pandemic : ‘Combine rabies with the ability of a flu virus to spread quickly through the air, and you might have the makings of a zombie apocalypse.’

Looming global disaster or paranoid conspiracy theory, you decide. For more information on surviving a global zombie outbreak (and the chance to win a bleeding zombie target retailing for $90!) you can visit the Zombie Research Society website.

Dog fact #4: Dogs often commit suicide after their owners die.

Dogs were the first animal domesticated by humans. They are a man’s best friend. According to the National Literary Trust ‘dog’ is the most popular first word for babies other than mummy or daddy. There are over double as many dog people than cat people in the world. They are mentioned 14 times in the Bible. We love dogs. But how do they feel about us?

A Skye Terrior named Greyfriars Bobby loved his owner John Gray (aka Old Jock) so much that after he popped it the pup spent the remaining 14 years of his life pining by his grave, thereafter becoming the epitome of pup loyalty and can even boast his own monument and Disney spinoff. Some cynics might say ‘wait a mo, how did he track down Old Jock’s grave? He obviously cant read the tombstone, and dogs presumably can’t identify rotting human remains from 6 feet under the ground?’ Well those cynics would be right; the Greyfriars Bobby was a money-making hoax made up by Victorian entrepreneurs to milk tourists in their nearby restaurant. ‘Greyfriars Bobby’ was actually TWO random stray dogs that they paid in dog munchies to put on a teary eyed show. However, Jan Bondeson, the historian who uncovered this myth, states “It won’t ever be possible to debunk the story of Greyfriars Bobby – he’s a living legend, the most faithful dog in the world, and bigger than all of us.” – which is ironic as Greyfriars Bobby was actually incredibly tiny.

The Daily Mail launched their own investigation into this burning issue: ‘Can a dog really die of a broken heart?’ Animal physiologist Roger Mugfor, who adevises the Queen on her ‘quarrelsome corgies’, knows a number of cases in which pets have starved themselves to death in greif after their owners die. Take, for example, the faithful Brazilian mut Leao whose owner was one of 630 dead in a mudslide catastrophe. The photo went viral in a brief spell of Leaomania until a bemused Brazilian gravedigger revealed that ‘Leao’ is actually called Caramelo and often accompanies him to work to snooze on graves.

These stories perhaps say more about humans insecurities than they do about dog loyalty. The dog-on-grave symbol seems to really unlock some deep part of human suffering (and, whats more, makes for a great quick awwwwww article.) In actual fact, if you died you dog would be much more likely to rip your face off for food like Isabelle Dinoire’s labrador who need a face transplant after trying to commit suicide. Or the 7 Canadian Shelties that fed of their aged owners remains after 2 weeks without food or water. Or the German Shepherd that ate his ancient and lonely owners in Kent. In fact you don’t even need to be dead to get eaten by your dog; Jerry Douthett had his infected toes chewed of by his dog while passed out from a deadly mix of diabetes and margaritas.


So folks, until next time, this has been dog myths….

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Worshipping the Mother Goddess: Pure Heart, Beauty, Joy

Dressed exquisitely in elaborately embroidered silk robes, heavy hooped necklaces and flashing hair adornments, Mrs Nguyen Ngoc Dan steps gracefully into the center of the room. Around her cross-legged believers watch her every movement, their eyes wide and bright in anticipation. Suddenly the musicians strike up and the crowd cheers in delight as Mrs Nguyen Ngoc Dan throws her arms open wide to begin the dance of the Second Dame. Onlookers thrust bundles of paper money into her hands and she throws them into the air like confetti. The crowd scrambles eagerly to collect as much as they can.

This is ‘Hau Dong’, an ancient, theatrical ritual that is at the heart of Mother Goddess worship. This uniquely Vietnamese folk belief is currently the subject of the Vietnamese Women’s Museum’s special exhibition ‘Worshipping Mother Goddesses: Pure Heart – Beauty – Joy.’ As the exhibition explains, worshippers believe that the Mother Goddess is the mother of all things and rules over four palaces; Heaven, Earth, Water and Mountains and Forests. Underneath her is a complex pantheon of nearly 60 deities, both male and female, who are thought to provide good health and prosperity for those who request it.

In recent years, Mother Goddess worship has gone from strength to strength, with the annual festival in Nam Dinh attracting tens of thousands of followers a year. Staff at the Vietnamese Women’s  Museum conducted hundreds of interviews with followers from Hanoi and the Northern provinces to provide answers as to why the cult attracts such a widespread and devoted following. One follower Mr Bui Dac Truong, a 23 year old student, explains that followers find great emotional support from Mother Goddess worship; ‘The Mother Goddess is our spiritual mother. Whenever we are happy and joyful, we come to Her and whenever we feel sad, we talk and share with Her. Whenever we face difficulties, we look for Her and find Her support and protection. The Mother Goddess means everything.’

Recognising the importance of ancestor worship in Vietnamese culture is essential in understanding the Mother Goddess cult. Many of the figures in the Mother Goddess pantheon are deified historical figures, such as the Trung Sisters who led a rebellion against the Chinese in about 39 AD and the heroic female warrior Lady Trieu (3rd century AD.) Spirit mediums such as Mrs Nguyen Ngoc Dan evoke these figures using ritualized dances and gestures accompanied by traditional music and singing from the ‘Chau Van’ musicians. As each deity has his or her own story and appearance the medium must be able to change costumes and movements flexibly. By channeling these figures, the medium allows worshippers to make a connection between the past and their hopes and desires of everyday life.

Followers believe an atmosphere of beauty and joy help evoke the deities and attract their good favour. Followers spend large sums of money on decoration and offerings, such as elaborate votive papers styled into representations of the goddess or symbols connected to them. As Ms Nguyen Thi Ngai, an 80 year old spirit medium and temple keeper from Hanoi explains, ‘if the votive paper is beautiful, the Goddess will stay with us longer.’ However, there are concerns that followers have put too much emphasis on extravagant and ostentatious offerings and there have been cases of followers bankrupting themselves in the process. Purity of heart, says Ms Mai Thuy Vinh, 60, spirit medium, is the only thing that really matters. ‘A rich follower can offer a bundle of things; a humble follower can offer a stick of incense. ‘

Nevertheless, supporting the needs of worshippers is big business for many of the craft villages around Hanoi. As plastic products became more widespread, the wicker-work industry in Phuc Am village began to die out. However, after switching to votive paper making workshops which supply the Hanoi market, village income has been on the increase. Similarly, the Son Dong carving village benefits from the Mother Goddess cult. Mr Nguyen Van Thang, 37, owner of one of the many statue carving workshops in the village, says that they show their respect for the Mother Goddess through well-made and honest trade; ‘If (a follower) orders a statue worth 5 mil dong then the final product must be worthy of the price. We must not deceive our customers.’

However, the exhibition highlights aspects of the booming Mother Goddess market that do not preserve the ideals of ‘pure heart.’ Some spirit mediums have been known to exploit followers who have fallen into misfortune. They put pressure on the follower to hold expensive and unnecessary initiation ceremonies and out of fear and desperation they accept. Followers spend a great deal of money to meet the master medium’s demands which can be two or three times more than the real cost.

Despite the difficulties of a growing market, followers insist that Mother Goddess worship offers them something unique. Ms Nguyen Thi Thoa, a 70 year old farmer describes her feelings after attending a ‘Hau Dong’ ritual; ‘I feel very happy, spiritually refreshed, and have a sense of pleasure which cannot be described in words.’ The exhibition, which took museum staff 4 years of extensive research and development, aims to express this. ‘We wanted to recreate this meaningful and sacred experience, both for worshippers and for visitors who have no previous knowledge of Mother Goddess worship’ says museum director Ms Bich Van. The exhibition offers a fascinating insight into the contemporary worship of the Mother Goddess; a growing belief with ancient roots that shows no sign of slowing in an increasingly modernized Viet Nam.

The exhibition was officially launched on January 5th, 2012 at the Vietnamese Women’s Museum on 36 Ly Thuong Kiet Street, Hanoi.

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This Way for Sightseeing – A Meandering Tale of the Hanoi Citadel

When I first came to Hanoi as a timid eighteen year old backpacker, I headed straight towards the old quarter and didn’t leave for the duration of my stay, like almost every other backpacker in the history of backpackers. The old quarter was and is a frenetic maze of alleyways, choked with motorbikes and overpriced silk shops, temporary street restaurants made up of tiny plastic stools and tree shaded courtyards serving thick treacly Vietnamese coffee. It sounds exotic, romantic even, and was for the first few days of my stay, until I ran out of money, got robbed, kicked out of my hotel, and stranded in the city for far too long. Hanoi suddenly seemed nightmarish, and I navigated the old quarter with my head down, making a daily beeline for a boulangerie were I spent my measly $5 a day budget on an overpriced croque monsieur pretending I was in France and slipping into semi-starvation.

Thinking back on it, I was incredibly stupid. I could have spent my $5 a day on three hearty street meals a day, never eating the same dish twice, which would have given me the energy required to escape the old quarter. I could have wandered south, where the city opens up into wide, grid-planned boulevards and architecture left over by the French. I could have wandered north, where the tangled, honking streets come to an abrupt end at Tay Ho lake where the sky stretches ahead indefinitely. These are the areas where most expats go to make peace with Hanoi. Tay Ho has the organic bakeries, fancy international schools and yummy mummy cafes needed for families to settle down, and the French quarter has enough opera, string quartets, French cuisine and cafe culture to make it sufficiently bohemian. Unfortunately, like many travelers, I believed Hanoi ended with the limits of my guide book map.

The simple fact is, Hanoi is huge. And it’s hoping to get bigger. As well as the expat infested north and south, the large majority of Hanoi’s massively expanding population opt for the west. Here Hanoi sprawls out into a grim expanse of super highways and flyovers, shopping malls and mega marts, which seems to blend imperceptibly into countryside. Here you will find My Dinh, a new district dominated by huge glass skyscrapers, clouds of dust from countless building sites and weird luxury, American-style gated communities built for the lucky few. There is also talk of a sky rail, a subway system and five star hotels. My Dinh features heavily in the ‘Great Hanoi Project‘, a redevelopment plan modeled on other successful Asian mega-cities and it’s southern sister, Ho Chi Minh City. In addition, there are five further satellite cities in the pipeline to be built before 2050 , each representing a different function including science, industry and culture (read: shopping for ethnic clothes.) Foreign investors seem optimistic, but anyone with a passing knowledge in economic trends (and Vietnamese corruption) feels the ‘Great Hanoi Project’ is a dream that will never be realised.

They say there was a time when Hanoi was full of tinkling bicycles. Looking at a map of Hanoi from 1873 you can see that the above mentioned areas were then labelled simply ‘rizières’ (rice fields) and little dots indicate villages that have since been eaten up by a ravenously expanding city. The ‘Ville de Hanoi’ in 1873 barely touches the Hoan Kiem lake (then a stinking swamp) where tourists now flock to take photos of themselves wearing conical hats and is considered Hanoi’s official center on google maps. .

Compare this with the map of Hanoi present and there is one striking similarity. The mysterious grey square that makes up a huge part of the Ba Dinh district and what is known as ‘The Hanoi Citadel Complex.’ Despite the enormous changes on all sides, the historic center of Hanoi remains seemingly untouched.

I first became interested in this area when I drove through it every day to get to work. Despite the roads that intersect it, the buildings behind the high walls are closely guarded by soldiers. When the gates would occasionally open, sleek cars with black-tinted windows would slide out accompanied by police on motorbikes. These cars had red license plates indicating that they were above the law, and by no means could be stopped by any traffic warden but would be waved ahead of the motorbike driving hoards. The young soldiers who guard these gates day and night, in freezing rain and blistering heat look chronically bored and would salute me as a waved at them from my motorbike. I later learnt that they paid for the privileged position of guarding these gates.

There were talks of uprooting governmental offices from their 1000 year old home, suggesting (you’ve guessed it) My Dinh as a potential administrative area of Hanoi. As of yet, party offices will remain in and around the Hanoi Citadel. The argument that there would be more space for public areas such as parks in the evacuated citadel is a fair point. The army has allowed access to two buildings, and excavations of the site have uncovered interesting artifacts and ruins of the old Thang Long Imperial City. But uprooting this ancient heart of Hanoi could eradicate the last vestige of ancient Hanoi, turning the entire central area over to tourism.  In Vietnam’s drive for modernisation, the term ‘sustainable tourism’ is bandied around as the answer in uniting the conflicting elements of fast development whilst maintaining ancient cultural heritage, and alongside the tower block and skyscrapers there has been a museum building drive and even a whole satellite city devoted to the cause. unfortunately tourists do not come to Hanoi to visit museums. Street venders crying their wares supporting baskets of steaming soup vats on a shoulder pole, alleys stuffed with noodle seller stalls who compete with each other using distinctive recipes inherited from their grandmothers, crowds of young  Vietnamese friends sitting out on plastic stools by the square of the old French cathedral sipping sweet ice tea at dusk, the chaotic and sprawling shack of the  fruit market under Long Bien bridge which is a throbbing hive of activity that peaks at 4am when the trucks arrive from China. This is the ‘Hanoi’ we read about in guide books, which in museum speak is called ‘intangible culture’: the kind of culture that, by its very nature, cannot be labeled and displayed in a museum exhibition. And it is precisely this kind of ‘culture’ that is under threat of modernisation plans that want to banish or curb these practices within the city center on the grounds that it is unhygienic, chaotic and messy looking.

Hanoi’s ’36 ancient guild streets’ now mostly tout fake ray-ban sunglasses, communist posters and ‘I love pho’ t-shirts. What would be the fate of the Thang Long Citadel? Opening up the site to tourists would mark the most decisive step in the relocation of ‘real’ Hanoi to My Dinh and break with 1000 years of tradition. Indeed, the age of city itself (formerly known as Thang Long) is marked from 1010 when Ly Thai To – the founder of the Ly dynasty – moved his court from Hoa Lu to the site of the Thang Long citadel, naming Hanoi as capital of Vietnam. The order was considered the first example of fine Vietnamese prose, and describes the high appreciation of the Ly Dynasty and it’s people of the value of the ancient citadel. Subsequent dynasties would occasionally move the capital to different regions, but the citadel would always reemerge as the best choice for the seat of their courts.

Vietnam’s 1,000 year history has been characterised with long resistance and brilliant defeats of mighty invaders; regular invasions from Chinese armies, the long French occupation and finally the Americans. The citadel was taken, retaken, abandoned and stormed many times over, and was renamed by numerous successors to reflect its fluctuating importance within Vietnam. In 1888 the Nguyen dynasty surrendered the citadel to the French colonialist, and by the time it was liberated in 1954 the occupation that caused huge damage to the site as they knocked down ancient buildings to make way for a large horse racing track. It was near the citadel that Ho Chi Minh directed the Northern Vietnamese army from a simply furnished stilted house next to a carp pond, having refused to move into the colonial presidential palace, favouring a modest lifestyle in keeping with the peasant farmers he was leading. Nearby is the imposing mausoleum containing Ho Chi Minh’s waxy embalmed body (contravening Ho Chi Minh’s dying wish to have his ashes scattered in the North and South of Vietnam) which is open to the public and has become somewhat of a pilgrimage for the Vietnamese.

A history of the city of Hanoi with its succession of dynasties can be charted around these changes and alterations of the Thang Long citadel, as well as serving as a powerful symbolic image of the sturdy heart of a nation beleaguered with waves of foreign invaders. Would it be too melodramatic to suggest that the latest wave of invaders are the hordes of tourists that annually sweep Hanoi each summer? Perhaps. But the combination of rapidly planned city planning due to a bulging population growth and a strong emphasis on the tourism industry to generate money within Vietnam could be what finally topples the ancient citadel.

I visited the Hanoi citadel one sunny afternoon, skipping out the Vietnamese Military History Museum with its rows of bomber jets and tanks captured from the American troops, and heading straight to the large grassy courtyard of the citadel with its old administration buildings painted the distinctive crumbling yellow used for all schools, police stations and government offices in Hanoi. The area distinctly lacked any Western tourists posing in the war room. There were none taking photos of Ho Chi Minh’s typewriter either. In fact I was probably the only Westerner in the whole place. There was a sleepy and peaceful atmosphere in the center of the dense city; happy Vietnamese family day trips lounging on the grass, ladies in conical quietly scrubbing flagstones, and  that ever so Vietnamese pursuit, couples posing for wedding photos dressed in the traditional Ao Dai and silk tunic, imitating a past time.

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Why we love ‘wordpressing’

When I play too much spider solitaire before bedtime my brain gets too buzzy so I often make up pub quiz style questions for myself to stop me seeing stacks of cards every time I close my eyes. Last night I started pondering on the whole brand name to verb phenomenon.

I only managed to come up with three before I fell asleep (as you can see it’s a very affective sleeping technique):

To google: e.g. ‘I can’t stop googling him.’

To hoover: e.g. ‘Fuck you, I hoovered last time.’

To fabreeze: ‘We had to fabreeze the car after we took the cats to the vet.’ (I have a feeling this is not as widespread outside of my family.)

After I searched for further information using the online search engine google (or ‘googled it’) I realised I had stupidly left out gems such as:

To skype: e.g. ‘Can you not hoover while I skype?’

To photoshop: e.g. ‘You should see what it looked like before we photoshopped it.’

Unsurprisingly enough, branding experts are fully aware of this and go to lengthy pains to ‘verb up’ product names. Often it is an embarrassing flop. Attempts to get people ‘binging’ things and asking each other if we ‘yahoo?’ feel skin-crawlingly lame. Twitter’s attempt to continually ram their entire brand down our throats also involves the creating of an additional product-verb ‘to tweet.’ I have always had a strong but unexplainable dislike for Twitter, and I have yet to meet a real human being that has ever ‘tweeted.’ I have suspicion that my (previously unconscious) aversion to Twitter lurks in this patronising attempt to make ‘tweeting’ the latest groovy slang used by far-out hip cats, but as of yet only seems to be used by guardian journalists and politicians.

(Again) unsurprisingly enough, it seems Americans are especially susceptible to ‘verbing-up.’ Whereas we are content to photocopy something, Americans prefer to ‘xerox’ (pronounced in a heavily nasal accent.) The word xerox is only of use to English people as a particularly awesome triple word score in scrabble (despite the fact that scrabble only has contains one x.)

There is also a particularly American twang surrounding verbs such as ‘fed-exing’ or ‘blackberrying.’ Some totally flounder out of cultural context such as ‘swiffering’ (meaning mopping) or ‘krogering’ (meaning shopping in a supermarket called Kroger.) I guess you had to be there…

‘Verbed up’ English brand names sound a bit bizarre:. ‘I’ve Woolworthed the kid’s school uniforms.’ ‘I’m going to First Great Western it to Scarborough this weekend.’ ‘I got totally White Lightninged last night.’

What makes one product-verb catch on and another ‘bing’ (a.k.a depressingly and embarrassingly flop)? Obviously, branding experts have made it into a fine science which can be reduced to a few simple rules:

  • The product should already sound a bit like a verb (e.g. bing = sing, ring, ping) or, better yet, actually be a verb (e.g. twitter.)
  • The product should be an uber-new and unique experience, so much so that our pathetic human world hasn’t even got the vocabulary to describe it yet. (In fact, there usually are words to describe products but normal humans get confused by terms such as ‘contact me by VoIP telephony’ and prefer the jazzy ‘skype me honey!’)
  • You should casually slip the verb in to all promotional material/conversation with friends and family, relentlessly pretending it already is a verb.

After that it is all up to chance. Leave the hordes to decide if they will chew it up or spit it out. The product stands barely any chance of making it but bear in mind that ‘verbing delights our brains.’ We like using the comforting, fuddy-duddy medium of grammar to help us better understand and express exactly what is going on in our increasingly hectic and bewilderingly modern world. If we didn’t have product verbs our brains would melt into a puddle by the sheer disparity between the decades, and we would start worshiping Steve Jobs in tribalistic sacrifice ceremonies presided over by staff members of Apple Corps muttering incomprehensible html codes.

However, the overuse of brand-verbs tends to make you sound like a human telegram or some mad, overworked career woman that gets a buzz of tight deadlines:

A: Hello?

B: Hey, it’s Dave. Just wondering if you are up for a barbeque at ours this weekend?

A: No can do Dave. I’m Megabussing it to London Saturday because I’ve got to Ryan Air it to Dublin and Powerpoint to HQ and I’ll probably be Travel Inning there Saturday night. But I’ll give you a Nokia Sunday. Look, sorry Dave but I’ve got to go, I’m in the middle of an Asda. CLICK

Despite being mind-numbingly huge, Facebook has (at least as far as I am aware) not caught on as a verb. Perhaps as Facebook has a bewildering range of functions and uses, the verb ‘facebooking’ would be too vague to make any sense. Instead, we have invented some more specific (and disturbing) spin off verbs such as ‘to facebook stalk’ and ‘to facebook rape/frape.’ Similarly, you can ‘google earth’, ‘google map’, ‘google translate’, and apparently ‘google bomb’ and ‘google whack’ although the later sound geek-specific.

Facebook also ingeniously highjacked the verb ‘to like’ so successfully that conversation such as ‘Did you see that link on Dave’s wall?’ “Yeah, I liked it’ have become totally ambiguous unless you are able to read the subtle inflections on the word. Perhaps as Facebook expands to fill every nook and cranny of modern life there will no reason to distinguish between the two like’s.

Mega brands have a bit of love/hate relationship with the ‘brand up’ phenomenon. If they are not trying to desperately get us to use their products in daily use, they are desperately trying to stop us using it as a generic across the board term for similar products. After getting Webster’s Dictionaried, Google have been rapidly losing control of the term which has started to be applied to using any and type of search engine, putting ‘googling’ in danger of going the same way as rollerblading, zipping, videotaping and jet-skiing. Lack of control over your product-verb is commonly referred to as ‘genericide.’ However, some brands that are ahead of the curve like the smug tweets at Twitter have announced that they will not seek legal injunctions against those using the term for third party Twitter-related services and applications as long as it not used in a manner that is “confusing or damaging to our project … to protect both users and our brand.” At the risk of receiving a legal injunction FUCK YOU THOUGHT POLICE!Q

A subject for further exploration would be the product-adjective phenomenon which works brilliantly in day to day conversation. For example, whole streams of personality description and background information can be simply shortened to ‘she’s a bit…Boden.’

Brands are not as keen on the product-adjective as the product-verb as adjectives tend to involve negative preconceptions dictated by snootiness and/or bitchiness. It would not be very kind to say someone’s new house as really ‘DFS’ or to describe someone as being ‘Daily Mail.’ However, brands have only got themselves to blame for that Frankenstein’s Monster.


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Leaving Vietnam

We left Vietnam about a month ago in a bit of frenzy, which is possibly the best way to leave a country that you have grown attached to. Vietnam is not an easy place to leave, so luckily for us we spent the last day a mad panic trying to close our bank accounts, get our money changed into something that isn’t ‘dong’ (Vietnam’s closed currency is just totally useless bits of paper outside of the country), and standing in long queues to get emergency passports/visas. So in reality we didn’t get a chance to spare a thought for our last glimpses of our temporary homecity until the evening for one last, reflective bia hoi dinner.

One of my friends asked me, ‘How are you feeling?’ I said, ‘I don’t know…weird.’

She told me an interesting fact. The chemical brain processes and physical reactions of nervousness and excitement are exactly the same, and it is just our perspective that decides which one we are feeling. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all the next day: when we driving up in the taxi along the dike road that I drove up almost every day on my motorbike and especially when we took off on the aeroplane to Moscow.

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The Christmas market challenge

Christmas is……….. 78 days, 20 hours and 2 minutes away.

78 days seems like a fair while, but as everyone knows, Christmas warps time. It’s a sort of annual vortex which sucks time into an expanding black hole of merriment.

This year I have given myself a Christmas challenge to add to the general feeling of panic and disorientation of the festive season. As if it wasn’t bad enough finding presents for my family and friends and posting them all to England, I will also undertake the production of sell-able items for the Hanoi Craft Club Christmas Market. In fact this plan is rather ingenious as I will be able to post any unsold items to my family who will be none the wiser.

As Christmas markets don’t actually happen on Christmas day, I probably have about 60ish days to get my wares together. I’m planning on choosing three different patterns/designs/items, and going into hard core production of each at 3 week intervals. For the sake of suspense, I call it ‘The Christmas Market Challenge!’

If all goes well, I might go professional and get myself a regular stall at Chau Long market, in between the lady who sells rat traps and the lady who sells semi-stunned frogs. I’m sure crocheted mary-jane slippers and 50’s style retro aprons will fit in a treat.

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Crochet mary-jane slippers

I have been working on some mary-jane slippers since the weather got cold. I got a pattern from the little house by the sea which was incredibly easy to use after I worked out some alterations for my huge feet.  Now they just need edging with a different colour, but it’s too rainy to go wool shopping today.

I get really cold hands and feet in winter and I can feel them ice-cubing already. These slippers are made out of really soft and warm cotton wool, but to make them a bit warmer I was thinking of lining them and maybe putting some leather soles on so they last longer.  I might go the whole hog and add crochet flowers on the toes, but that might be going too far.


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Jumping in the blogsphere

Having kept a diary from the age of seven, I sometimes miss having a little book under my pillow to keep the very important secrets of my life. Long before I gave up writing a diary, I began to get confused as to the purpose of these entries. Who was I writing too? Why? Was it important? I still don’t really know the answers to these questions.

Now, I read back my diaries and laugh a lot. I am obsessed with documenting mundane events at seven, and keep three diaries simultaneously on different themes to make sure I have every aspect covered. I become increasingly secretive at ten after receiving a padlocked diary, and write about James Bond kissing scenes and risqué jokes. From fourteen onwards I am increasingly ridiculous, to the point where it is quite painful to read. It was an especially awkward age for me, but I don’t think many people would choose to relive those years. At 18 I am confused, at 20 I get vague. I can’t write anything down due to the fear that my mind will be changed in a month. This is the point when I stop.

I am hoping writing a blog will answer a few questions I had about my original diaries. This blog is for myself, or more specifically, to spur me into action. It is also for strangers on the internet who appreciate the things I write and do and want to share their lives in return. It is also an experiment in the way people live their lives in this modern age.

I am glad I kept diaries, they give me strange insights into my past. The internet seems to me to be a constant present: updating, posting, commenting, connecting. Retrospect is not a concept that has value. A blog is a diary where you categorise your thoughts under different headings, store what you have learnt in life with instructions, provide photographic evidence of your actions. The term ‘privacy’ is redefined under an array of settings. After all, what would be the point of a blog if no one could see it?

I think I will rename this blog as a ‘log’ (which I have just realised is probably the connection the inventors of the blog intended.) It gives it a purposeful, captain-like air as if I am charting my journey in some kind of life-ship. For me, the diary is just not suited to cyber space. They should be mouldering away in the attic in a box of old things, the exact whereabouts known only by one person.

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