Duty Free

After a long hiatus from the Akihabara scene, I returned to my former stamping ground today, to buy some beats at Tower Records inside Yodobashi Camera's cavernous new complex. It was a public holiday, and as soon as I stepped out of the subway station into the crowds and warm sun, I knew I had been away too long. So much energy, so much potential... Akihabara is truly an international city, the multicultural heart of Japan. In particular there seem to be a lot of Indians in the quarter these days, buying entire electronic outfits for their homes, and hunting for bargains in duty free stores. A few years ago I once spotted a Papuan looking family strolling magnificently along Chuo Dori. Not the sort of folk you pass by every day, at least in this part of the world! Akihabara has definitely become the biggest electronics market in Asia, and Yodobashi Camera is large enough to be a city in its own right, with everything you could ever need inside. 

German tourist in Akihabara, as captured by Crowded World (Japan, 2007)

Anyway, I found a CD, and careened home courtesy of my Toei monthly pass, feeling somewhat wistful that I didn't live downtown any longer. The Toei card will help, though. Before too long, I will be back in Akihabara again.

That's a given.

Islands in the Stream

There was a unique alignment of the planets yesterday presenting me a rare treat, and an entirely free Saturday with no classes to teach at either Ichinoe or Taito Ward. I had known already that Riki-kun and his mother would be on holiday in Okinawa (沖縄), so when I received an early phonecall from Kobayashi-sensei informing me that the lessons at Kidea were also cancelled, I felt pretty pleased. I fell back into my futon, savoring the opportunity to sleep in. An hour or two later, Nonomura-san called too, to say that her students were unable to study. I jumped out of bed, eager to seize the day (What should I do? what should I do?) Hang out with Maniac High, or explore my new 'hood, which I am slowly beginning to appreciate, and accept. I opted to go for a walk, and return to the river which had enchanted me a few weeks' previous, on my last totally all day off. Maniac High could wait, I reasoned. I needed time off, to get in touch with some of my older habits.

Edo River (江戸川) is one of the most storied waterways of the city, and it passes within half a kilometer from my apartment on its voyage to Tokyo Bay. It is the river which gives my ward its name, and its banks are pocked with baseball fields, baseball being of course the most popular sport in Japan. As it was a Saturday many of those fields were in use, young kids swinging their bats or fooling around on their bicycles, or driving remote controlled cars. I tramped past them all, following the floodplain (江戸川病院前野球場) roughly north, before ducking under the tracks of the Chuo-Sobu Line, to cross the Ichikawa Bridge into Chiba Prefecture. It was a long walk, and it allowed to me to contemplate all my recent adventures, moving house and my detention with Maniac High, the girl I had kissed in the whirlpool at Yomiuri Land after my release, my porn debut. I estimated that (based on current data) if I continued consorting with Maniac at the present rate, I might spontaneously kiss 20 girls over the next 5 years. How many kisses does it take to advance to the next breakthrough? I wondered, fingering my keitai's calculator. One could liken it to climbing a steep hill, each step becoming progressively more difficult, from mindsex to rapport, and then all the way to penetration. Or perhaps, the journey that spermatzoa take in their battle to fertilize the ova; a million souls might join in the challenge, but only one will hit their target, and achieve incarnation...

Traversing the Edogawa Riverbed Green Space, I noticed the Wayo Womens' University (和洋女子大学) ascending to the north-west. On my previous expedition on the river I had mistaken it for a shopping mall, and I imagined that I might find social stimulation there. Now it looked more like a Tuscan basilica. Whatever the case, there were no bitches to be seen in the vicinity of the school. I guess they were on holiday.

The Womens' University dropping behind me, as I ventured north (Japan, 2007)

Beyond the university the river, which until now had been bearing north-east, bent back to the west. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the landscape seemed to grow more rural too, more idyllic and abandoned. Houses and factories were thinning, with fields beginning to appear, many of them overgrown with weeds. Looking west through the summer haze, I could barely make out the skyscrapers of Shinjuku.

The towers of Shinjuku, visible to the west (Japan, 2007)

While I was getting tired, this contact with nature energized me... it amazed me to realize that such pastoral beauty could be found in walking distance of my apartment. 

Fishing in the Edo... in this island of nature in the city (Japan, 2007)

I came upon fields sprouting spring onions and other vegetables. Chiba is supposed to be the number one prefecture in Japan when it comes to spring onions, and they are a mainstay of Japanese cuisine.

Vegetable lots, in Chiba Prefecture (Japan, 2007)

Entering Matsudo City (松戸市) I encountered some kind of waterworks, an immense water treatment plant in fact, appearing to block my way. I swerved right, navigating a narrow path to a quaint village called Kuriyama, a short distance from the bank. I call Kuriyama a village because that is it appeared to me -- a lost village in the middle of the megalopolis. An island in the stream you might consider it, a pocket of Old Harmony that had been spared Virilio's mad urban rush, and his dromological doom.  Near the top of the hill there was a rustic temple, which is named Honkyuji (本久寺).

Honkyuji, in Matsudo (Japan, 2007)

Sometime later, Manic High sent me an MMS, inviting me to go see the fireworks with his family out at Setagaya. Much as I would have liked to chill at Shinozaki, watching The OC and Colombo on TV, I knew I was too young to retire so early. I found a train station at Konodai (国府台), on a line which I never knew existed, and began the laborious trip crosstown. I could sit down at least, and rest my aching legs. On a whim, I decided to rename Maniac "Dennis the Menace". It is what Meth calls him, and it has a nice ring to it. There is another Maniac High out there, and one day I might meet him.

The Tower of Babble

I surfaced early this stormtossed Sunday, eagerly welcoming my reconnection to the wired world. The man from Mediatti (Edogawa Cable Television -- phone 0120-281641) did indeed arrive at 11am, as the sky thundered; my contract was finally signed, 2.5 months after the first attempt. However, contrary to my expectations, the guy who handles the hardware side of the equation couldn't make it on account of the typhoon. He/she won't be able to come until Tuesday, in fact. Which means two more days of trying to avoid myself, in a world of reduced interactivity.

My computer has been in detox for like 10 or 11 weeks; I have been suffering withdrawal symptoms for just as long. There must be viruses and cookies on my computer flapping around like condemned fish on a deck, frantically trying to reconnect, and complete their programmed agenda. It makes me wonder: are there also viruses and cookies loose in my mind? Now they are in detox, they must be feeling the pinch. Are they toiling to hook up again with the Web, but are mysteriously being denied access? Access has been denied a long time now, but there are only two more days of this cold turkey left to bear.

Maybe it was a good thing the Internet was not reconnected today, because it encouraged me to go out and investigate the typhoon, which was hurling towards Tokyo. After a night of unremitting rain, I was surprised when at about noon the heavens cleared, allowing the sun to shine bright and hot. The eye of the storm wasn't supposed to pass until 6pm. I thought to myself: this seems to be a strange meteorological phenomenon, and if I go outside, I will be able to experience it. Just like my mate down in Chiba, surfing the waves... just like that mad Australian I would be meeting the typhoon halfway, and riding it. So, I hit the street, and the first thing I did, was skirt 'round the perimeter of my apartment block, and creep 'cross the carpark that it abuts. I wanted to see what my apartment looked like from the rear, but my incursion freaked out one of my neighbors, an elderly woman who lives perpendicular to my back shutters. She opened the backdoor of her house and wandered out warily, mumbling to herself. Perhaps she suspected that I was a burglar, they always accuse foreigners of something or another in this country. When I unsheathed my camera to snap a photo of my room, she gasped, her worst fears confirming. I bowed awkwardly, and apologized, "Sumimasen, ojamashimashita!" as politely as I could, wishing I spoke better Japanese. I don't think she understood me. 

Bruised by my latest collision with Japanese xenophobia (why do I always end up living next door to busybodies? and by the way, I am not the only gaijin who has trouble with odd neighbors!), I swiveled around and left.

My apartment, from the rear carpark (Japan, 2007)

I returned to the road, and discerned in the distance a tremendous chimney, at least 20 to 30 floors high, flashing through the mist. As in many parts of deterritorialized suburban Tokyo, my local monument is a waste incineration plant. Inspired by Paul Virilio's concepts of speed (and its effect on the city), I decided to walk towards it. It's good sense, after all, to be able to orient yourself by the skyline, in case you ever got lost. And as it turned out, I had gotten lost once around this tower, more than 4 years ago in another era of my Tokyo life, while I was distributing chirashi for Kobayashi-sensei. Back in those days I would never have honed in on something as utilitarian as a chimney -- but I have learnt to appreciate extreme engineering recently, it is what Japan is all about. I reasoned it would be a good way to experience not only the typhoon, but the devastation of Paul Virilio's speed -- the Japanese landscape which had been swallowed up, and cemented over, by progress. As I was to discover, this was also the perfect place to perceive the potentials of negating speed, by learning to slow down and smell the roses.

My local landmark, a garbage incineration chimney (Japan, 2007)

It soon struck me how much greener it is here in Edogawa Ward, compared to my former locality of Taito Ward (台東区). A tiny temple lofted into view, radiating such an atmosphere of calm that I knew it was a little pocket of old harmony, in other words a piece of original Japan which had survived the explosion of speed. As I ventured on, it became more apparent that there were flotsam and jetsam of old harmony all over the place. Weeds springing verdantly from a cracked sidewalk, their flowers reflected in sputtering puddles... to me they were not vagrants but spontaneous Japanese gardens, in miniature and scattered to the margins. The real gardens of the people living on the Kyu-Edo River, every inch of their front yards hogged by azalea hedges, without a single blade of grass in sight. Totally different from the suburbs of Australia! And the weather was also different from your weather back wherever you drop from, unless you hail from the hurricane belt -- yes, the weather was pretty interesting today. The sun fought a mostly losing battle with the clouds, but every now and then it would emerge again, and transform everything into a wonderful summer's day -- for a couple of minutes at least. Then the wind and the steam and the humidity would return.

Asked if there was any merit in information society, Paul Virilio replied: "Yes, because it finally poses the question of a common language. It cannot be otherwise if there is to be world citizenship. It is Babel, moreover. What we are witnessing is not the Tower of Babel but the return of Babel. Can the world have a single language? Is this unicity of communication good or evil? Another positive point: Information will make us earthlings..."

Greenland's Vikings, Victims of Climate Change

I have been reading a lot lately about the vanished Vikings of Greenland, how they just disappeared from the history books in the Middle Ages, never to be heard of again. I have been thinking a lot about them recently, those Europeans who for a couple of centuries eked out a civilization on the edge of the Arctic, trading in walrus ivory, worshipping in churches... they seemed to be flourishing and then one day they went MIA like the crew of the Marie Celeste, or those jet fighters swallowed by the Bermuda Triangle. It is worth pointing out at this point that I am in fact Australian, and thus hail from another European colony which was transplanted with all things Christian and European onto a barren, alien land, and left there to fend for itself. The Australian experiment worked, however -- the Greenland experiment didn't (at least not for the Vikings LOL!) Interestingly enough, Climate Change was the major culprit in the Greenland Vikings' demise -- not the Anthropogenic Global Warming we are (apparently) confronting now, but rather the Global Cooling of the Middle Ages (whose cause is still a matter of conjecture). Southern Greenland, once as verdant as its name suggests, presently chilled, then got snowploughed beneath a slowmotion avalanche of ice. The Vikings were snapfreezed out of existence; their neighbors the Inuit, who had migrated into the region at about the same time, somehow managed to adapt, and survived. Perhaps a similar fate awaits Australia in the future -- the white civilization which has ruled the roost for 200+ years will be forced to retreat from waves of heat and drought and searing fire, and the longsuffering Aborigines will crawl out from the margins to repossess their beloved homeland. History has a strange way of working like that. You never can really tell who is going to win the race, and revolutions are all too frequent. Gods hold grudges, and patiently plot their revenge. The laws of physics cannot be ignored, and neither can the science of Symbolic Exchange. Thus we have been warned! Thus we will be warmed.

Greenland is on the path to independence from its colonial master Denmark, and now has its own flag and a new name, Kalaallit Nunaat

Anything can happen in life, and history is full of sudden reversals. Global Warming could well be just a beat-up, the latest strain of the Armaggedonist virus whose DNA was identified in the Year 2000 bug, SARS and the Bird Flu Epidemic, and which has consistently frightened more people than it has actually harmed (infecting them not through physical germs but rather exposure to sensationalist reports on TV and the like.) I believe these hysterias are in fact media viruses, and mark a mutation of the virus from the physical world in which it has proliferated for billions of years, into the Baudrillardian mediaswamp we humans now inhabit. We're going to have a lot more media viruses in the future, that's my theory at least! Some people just love to think the world is about to end, and indeed such a deathwish is built into the mythology of the capitalist system itself. How it works is like this: somewhere in the "real" world (eg, China, Vietnam, Africa, anywhere Third World) a new virus arises in animals and kills a handful of people, triggering a pandemic alert. The media, ever hungry for a good scare story, jumps on to the case, and proclaims that the end of the world is nigh. What WHO fears is that the virus will jump the species barrier, but actually a more profound evolutionary leap is taking place: the virus is becoming digital. Panic takes on a life of its own, and becomes viral... this is how the pandemic spreads, this is what gives it energy. There's a run on flu vaccines... everyone on the streets of East Asian megacities are suddenly wearing surgical masks. Little do the masses know that it's too late, they are already infected! Their masks aren't protecting anyone, they are in fact amplifying the fear, broadcasting the infection! The best response would actually be to chill out, and ignore the doom. Or at least maintain a skeptical distance. That's what I would do, but then someone would accuse me of being irresponsible...

Look, what I am trying to say is this: Climate Change could be real, and could well be hype... but the extinction of the Greenland Vikings is a historical fact, and I find myself strangely haunted by their disappearance. Recently I thought to myself: imagine if the colonies had survived and the fjords of Greenland were now sprinkled with colorful, asymmetrical cafes and bulging nightclubs and bars; imagine if every young Greenlander today dreamed of being a poet or an anarchist or an artist or a rock musician? In other words, what if Greenland had developed into a New Iceland or a somewhat edgier, more tribal take on the Faroe Islands? Wouldn't that have been awesome, wouldn't that have been totally cool? Not politically correct to contemplate, but an interesting thought experiment nonetheless. I must confess though that Inuit Greenland has turned out pretty swinging in its own way, and the music scene is just as vibrant there as it is in Iceland, from what I hear. Nonetheless, I can't help myself from thinking: imagine if the Vikings had survived, imagine what Greenland would be like today? And I wonder: maybe the green days of Greenland are on their way back, after a long bitter winter? Spring is dawning in the Far North of the planet, and the Day of the Inuit is arrived. How I'd love to be part of it somehow. If I had any money, that is where I would be investing it! 

Prison Japan (an Introduction to the Story!)

Who could imagine that a night on the town would land you in jail for 16 days? Who would predict that a stupid dare could see you thrown behind bars, browbeaten by the cops and barraged by interrogation after interrogation, like something out of an old Pacific War movie (I am thinking in particular of Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence, or Bridge Over the River Kwai)? If some soothsayer had warned me that one day I would be arrested and go to jail and live the complete jail experience, in bonsai form at least, I would have sniggered and said: "As if!" That is not to say I haven't had some close calls with the law -- I once got busted at Tokyo's Narita Airport with a Nepalese pipe in my suitcase, the same pipe that I had been hammering for two weeks in the Himalaya Mountains, smoking hash and weed. I didn't even clean it properly, and in a backroom at Narita Airport, as customs officers fiddled with tweezers and twirled test-tubes around, I discovered there are certain chemicals which change color to reveal the presence of marijuana. The cops let me off with a warning then (but confiscated my pipe), and I winged off on my merry way, oblivious to what horrors I had avoided. I just never imagined I would ever be arrested, or worse yet -- detained -- and so I remained in blissful ignorance. The prospect seemed absurd, and so I didn't even contemplate it. I guess most people do likewise, until it happens to them.

Menace and Crystal Meth hijinking, just before our Holiday in Hell (Japan, 2007)

Anyway, this story is real, and this is how it started: on Sunday, March 13 I collided with my man Crystal Meth and his brother Garnet, who was in Japan en route to Cannes where he was working another con. As I have already admitted, Meth lives in Kichijoji on the west side of Tokyo, and I had spent the past 48 hours drinking and running amok there and dare I say it, even smoking the odd canful of hash smoke. It had been a big weekend and I had only slept a couple of hours, so I wasn't really in the mood for another late night, especially since I had work to do on Monday. But you know, the guys insisted I go out, so how could I say no?! Truth be told the real reason I decided to go out on that fateful night was that I wanted to see Garnet's old girlfriend Miho, who was rumoured to be in attendance. Call me foolish, but I was beginning to think that I might have a chance with her!

I snuck back into my apartment on Sunday afternoon to drop off another shipment of stuff, and was seduced by the sight of my soft futon, its linen still crisp, lying supine on the lacquered floor. I remember thinking to myself: Surely I have partied hard enough this weekend... I deserve some time off. Time enough to sleep, or to watch some free-to-air TV, possibly even chant with Kobayashi-sensei, and get back into his good books. Buy a few cans of Asahi Dry from 7-11, and sink into oblivion. Then Meth texted me, saying that Miho was coming over. This was worse than waving a red flag at a bull, and I was forced to comply.

A few hours later we were doing dinner at a restaurant in Kichijoji. We found ourselves a table in the back corner; Meth, ever the joker, suggested we sit in single file against the wall, like panelists on a game show, facing the other diners. Typical gaijin prank, I thought to myself, embarrassed by the strange looks we provoked. I ended up on the far end of the line from Miho, and was not happy about this position (...always go to places you can kino the chick). Before too long I conspired to break ranks, by moving up to sit opposite her, in one of the empty chairs. Not that it got me anywhere, and I earned some chagrin from Garnet and Meth, who accused me of spoiling the symmetry of our seating. I was eating the entrée, tofu and shaved fish, when I got a phone call from another one of our friends, a Kiwi called Dennis (Dennis the Menace, aka Maniac High), who happens to be a porn actor in Japan.

Maniac High, aka Dennis the Menace (Japan, 2007)

"Hey, Diggity Dog, what's up?" he said, voice as smooth as silk. "Why don't you get yourselves over to Shimokitazawa (下北沢), we could play pool, have a few drinks, and I could hit you up with some choco." So we decided to meet up with him in Tokyo's Bohemian quarter, about 25 minutes away by train. Sadly, Miho made her adieu, bade her sayonara, leaving me empty-handed once again. I wasn't really that keen to go out, and I didn't have any money, but Garnet and Meth insisted: "You have to come -- we will pay for you." That is the honest truth.

I didn't have any cash... but that is not the reason I ran. What does it take to convince you? Looks like I need to rewind, and give this story better context! Let's backtrack a few days: Friday, May 11 I lobbed into Liberty House, and finally managed to get all my stuff out (mostly.) I stayed a few hours there slaving around with brush and broom, deleting the detritus of my occupation.... I must say I had that room completely polished by the time I left. I even got into the high shelf behind my bed, where I discovered whole drifts of mouse droppings hard as pellets, which must have accumulated during my stay. It disgusted me to think that I had been living so close to so much filth, for so many years, in such a state of ignorance. At least I won't have to worry about that in Shinozaki... that place is brandnew (not to mention bugproof). Nonetheless, my room at Liberty House was looking so clean that I once again regretted my decision to move. What exactly am I getting myself into, shacking up with Kobayashi-san? Why do I want to move into the 'burbs? I was in a rebellious mood, and I resolved: I have lost Liberty House, but I still have the 3rd Free Day! Let's put up a fight for it!

Bailing out: my room in Liberty House, cleaner than it had ever been (Japan, 2007)

I lugged my sack and some assorted bags by way of the warm sunny streets, up through Ueno to the Buddhist goods district in Suehirocho (末広町), where I was due to teach Sasaki-san. Actually, maybe she met me at Liberty House, and accompanied me to the cafe, offering to help carry my luggage? The details are so foggy, I honestly don't remember! The bags were heavy, and sharp angles dug into my legs as I walked. I had a full day ahead of me... after Sasaki-san, a TE semi-session, high in the clouds. And then the following morning, babysitting Kobayashi's rug-rats, at Kidea, etc. At times like this, I wished I had a simpler life, a freer schedule, and a bit more social excitement. Couldn't I cut Kobayashi loose? I thought to myself, as I shuttled to Shinjuku. But I just moved in with him, of course, and I had lost my liberty. The long game had come to an end, and his grasp was growing stronger by the hour.

Mad scramble, in Kichijoji Plaza, two days before our arrest (Japan, 2007)

Sometimes in life you need to do something stupid just to show that you have boundaries, and that those boundaries have been violated. Of course, in a perfect world nobody would need to act out, because everyone would recognize and respect their limits. That is not the world we live in. Much as I would like to believe that I am the victim, I know that I have crossed the boundaries of others once or twice in the past, and that those transgressions require punishment. What I am trying to say is that: having done the crime, I am willing the do the time. Jail is there, to show you that you have crossed the line. I have no regrets about what fate awaits for me. So for what it is worth, this is my confession.

Contemplating My New Apartment

I attended a Soka Gakkai gathering this morning, and once it was finished Kobayashi-sensei (小林先生) invited me to inspect one of the apartments inside his newly constructed mansion, out in the backblocks of Shinozaki. Umesh joined me for the ride, and like myself he seemed pleased by the place, although he muddied the mood somewhat by categorizing it as a "room". It might well be just the size of a typical room in Nepal, but in my opinion there is a whole house condensed into that apartment, and a whole world of seductive pleasures. It is a monument to Japanese miniaturization, cunningly contrived, every square centimetre exploited for all it can yield, and then some. They need to do that in Japan, of course, because there is not much space. They need to be creative. Umesh doesn't get that, evidently.

Anyway, upon returning to Liberty House I sent this repot to my Mum and Dad, a glowing report you might say, complete with choice photos:

I went to have a look at my new apartment today and I was amazed by what I saw. It is one of the best apartments I have seen in Japan, brand new and already set up with high tech fixtures like airconditioning and climate control, a computerised bathroom, walk-in wardrobe, and so on. It doesn't seem like anyone has lived here before -- it all looks so new and clean. And it is only costing me $150 a week -- I don't think you could rent a brand new 3-room apartment in Sydney for $150 a week. But since my boss is the owner of the apartment block, I think he is giving me a substantial discount.

High-tech features, and a little cupboardy thing in the genkan (Japan, 2007)

There is no furniture but I don't need a bed, since I usually sleep on the floor these days Japanese style (but it might be hard on a wooden floor.)

Micro-kitchen, tucked into a corner (Japan, 2007)

I already have a TV and computer and from what my boss was saying, it sounds like Internet and cable TV is free at his apartment.

Pristine kitchen sink, and a green tiled wall (Japan, 2007)

 I was planning to buy a fridge but I think my boss said he could lend me one of his.

I have been dreaming of an airconditioner since I first moved to Japan, and I might soon have one! (Japan, 2007)

The only thing I need is a washing machine but right next to the apartment block, there are a whole bunch of washing machines on the street -- you can take your clothes there, put in some money, and wash your clothes right there on the street. I am also sure I saw some fridges sitting on the street when I was walking back to the train station, and some other furniture which people had thrown away.

Nifty little walk-in wardrobe (Japan, 2007)

All in all the new apartment is about 100 times better than the place I live now, and a big step forward. Even though I would rather be in Vietnam -- I feel like going back down later in the year to check things out. But at least I have a secure home in Japan to come back to.

Hue Noodle Soup

A couple of days ago I found myself with a lot of hours to kill inside Hồ Chí Minh City Airport, and to pass the time I bought a little book on sale there called The Cuisine Of Viet Nam (Nourishing a Culture). A nourishing little book it turned out to be, indeed -- it got me through the layover at Tân Sơn Nhất, and provided me ample food for thought, regarding the rich world of Vietnamese cuisine. One essay in the collection, written by Nguyệt Biều, concerned the spicy relative of phở -- Bún bò Huế (otherwise known as Huế noodle soup.) I did not know this until I read this book, but Huế is the food capital of Vietnam, and represents the culinary perfection of the nation. It is to Vietnam, perhaps, what Kyoto is to Japan, or Yogyakarta is to Indonesia. It is the soul of the nation. Nguyệt writes:

If one had to pick a single food which is reminiscent of Huế, it would be rice noodle soup with beef and pork. Huế residents prefer to buy their bún bò from street vendors, rather than in restaurants. Street vendors carry soft, thin white noodles (bún) and slices of beef (bò) and pork with them in two bamboo baskets hanging from a pole balanced across their shoulders. 

Consumers eat this noodle dish on the sidewalk, squatting on small stools right next to a pot of boiling broth. The intense fragrance rising from the pot is the greatest advertisement for this dish.

Most street vendors in Huế come from villages outside the city such as Thủy An, Phát Lát, and Vạn Vạn. In these villages, each household has one or two street vendors. Selling rice noodles is both a way of earning a living and of carrying on a family or village culinary tradition. In the morning vendors sell to regular customers, usually in small side streets or alleys. When lunchtime is almost over, they stop selling and shop for the ingredients for the next day. 

Street vendors carry one pot of broth that they can put on a portable charcoal stove, to be heated immediately. Another pot contains additional ingredients such as stewed pig trotters, grilled ground pork, beef and pork tendon, grilled crab, pig and duck blood, and thin slices of beef. On the other side of the bamboo pole is a container of fresh rice noodles and seasonings like onions, scallions, chili peppers, fish sauce, bean sprouts, banana flowers and diced lettuce. Finally, the baskets contain bowls, spoons, chopsticks, a basin for washing, napkins, toothpicks, a tank of green ginger tea, and a few stools: truly a moveable feast. 

Bún bò Huế is completely unpretentious. Its charm lies solely in its fragrance. According to the women who sell rice noodles at Bến Ngự Market, the broth must be delicious above all else: clear in colour with a balance between the salty and sweet flavours of stewed beef bones, pork bones, and chicken.

Vendors tailor each bowl to the customers' desires. In the winter, customers sit next to the red-hot stove and the boiling broth, covering their bowls with their hands, slurping the broth, skewering the noodles with their chopsticks, and biting into pieces of meat. Even food connoisseurs in Hà Nội and Hồ Chí Minh City admit to a love of bún bò Huế, especially when it is served in Huế.