Friday evening 29 June
After our visit to the Cu Chi tunnel, 60 kilometres from Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), where we are staying, we return to our hostel for a couple of hours before going to see the "Saigon Water Puppets." This puppet show has been taken to various countries across the world, but is especially well-known in Saigon.
All the puppet action takes place in or on the surface of opaque coloured water. which is several feet deep and contained in a rectangular water tank. The tank covers most of the stage, and extends some distance behind it. The musicians, and those doing the puppet voices and storytelling, sit 3 on the left hand side of the water tank, and 3 on the right hand side. The puppeteers are concealed from view.
The show lasts 45 minutes, and consists of a series of different acts, such as "children playing in water", "catching frogs", "dragon dance" and "dance of the fairies". The puppets aren't "muppet" type puppets with moving mouths; the skill of the puppeteers, who we of course don't see until they come, the lower half of their bodies soaking wet, through the water tank onto the stage at the end of the performance, is in the way they are able to move the puppets about, on and in the water. The puppeteers are using some sort of device(s) underneath the water. At times there are many puppets being used together, doing all sorts of fancy dance formations and gyrations - how the puppeteers do all this without getting in each other's way is of course the secret of the Saigon water puppets.
Even though the show is in Vietnamese, and we can't understand the narration, this spectacle is a visual and musical delight.
After an early dinner, we return to our hotel, to pack our things ready for our journey tomorrow by bus to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. We've been booked on the 7am bus, but have to be ready to be picked up any time after 6.30 am. I'm concerned about my laundry though. In South East Asia, the usual practice is to give your laundry to the hotel, and you are charged by the kilo. This hotel sends the guests' washing to a local laundryhouse. I had been told it would definitely be back by 11 am this morning. I'd enquired about it when we returned from our visit to the Cu Chi tunnels.
'Don't worry," said the young woman, Sing, on reception, at 3 pm. "It'll definitely be back by 7 pm this evening", giving the impression that she had checked this out.
When we return from dinner, the laundry's still not been returned, and there's now a helpful young man on reception, as they change shifts at 5 pm. The young man studies my laundry receipt.
"Your washing should be here by 9.30 pm," he says, optimistically. "Please come to reception to collect it then."
"I have to have it tonight," I tell him. "We're catching the 7 am bus to Phnom Penh."
"Don't worry, Madam. It will be here."
As we go up to our room in the lift, I tell Reg I have a bad feeling about this. We'd already said that we wouldn't mind an extra day in Saigon.
"Looks like we might not be going to Phnom Penh tomorrow," I say. "We can't go without our clothes."
At 9.30 pm I go down to reception. The young man behind the desk looks harassed to say the least.
"Look, I know it's not your fault," I tell him, "but if I don't have my laundry, I can't catch the bus to Phnom Penh tomorrow. Could you phone up Sing (the daytime receptionist) and see whether she knows anything?"
Sing can't help him, and the laundry lady, although her washhouse is not far from the hotel, lives quite a distance away. The frustrated receptionist ("I always have to sort out the problems left by Sing") finally says he will motorbike out to the laundrywoman's house, bring her to the laundryhouse, get my washing, and bring it to me. By this time it's 10.00 pm. I give the receptionist a description of 2 items in our laundry.
At 11 pm the young man knocks on the door of our room. Reg is fast asleep and I'm finding it hard to stay awake.
The young man has a plastic bag containing all my laundry in his arms. He is obviously relieved, and so am I. I thank him profusely, vowing to give him a good tip for his trouble.
Both he and I are unaware at this point that chasing up the washing isn't the only thing Sing had failed to do. As we would find out tomorrow morning.
After our visit to the Cu Chi tunnel, 60 kilometres from Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), where we are staying, we return to our hostel for a couple of hours before going to see the "Saigon Water Puppets." This puppet show has been taken to various countries across the world, but is especially well-known in Saigon.
All the puppet action takes place in or on the surface of opaque coloured water. which is several feet deep and contained in a rectangular water tank. The tank covers most of the stage, and extends some distance behind it. The musicians, and those doing the puppet voices and storytelling, sit 3 on the left hand side of the water tank, and 3 on the right hand side. The puppeteers are concealed from view.
The show lasts 45 minutes, and consists of a series of different acts, such as "children playing in water", "catching frogs", "dragon dance" and "dance of the fairies". The puppets aren't "muppet" type puppets with moving mouths; the skill of the puppeteers, who we of course don't see until they come, the lower half of their bodies soaking wet, through the water tank onto the stage at the end of the performance, is in the way they are able to move the puppets about, on and in the water. The puppeteers are using some sort of device(s) underneath the water. At times there are many puppets being used together, doing all sorts of fancy dance formations and gyrations - how the puppeteers do all this without getting in each other's way is of course the secret of the Saigon water puppets.
Even though the show is in Vietnamese, and we can't understand the narration, this spectacle is a visual and musical delight.
After an early dinner, we return to our hotel, to pack our things ready for our journey tomorrow by bus to Phnom Penh, Cambodia. We've been booked on the 7am bus, but have to be ready to be picked up any time after 6.30 am. I'm concerned about my laundry though. In South East Asia, the usual practice is to give your laundry to the hotel, and you are charged by the kilo. This hotel sends the guests' washing to a local laundryhouse. I had been told it would definitely be back by 11 am this morning. I'd enquired about it when we returned from our visit to the Cu Chi tunnels.
'Don't worry," said the young woman, Sing, on reception, at 3 pm. "It'll definitely be back by 7 pm this evening", giving the impression that she had checked this out.
When we return from dinner, the laundry's still not been returned, and there's now a helpful young man on reception, as they change shifts at 5 pm. The young man studies my laundry receipt.
"Your washing should be here by 9.30 pm," he says, optimistically. "Please come to reception to collect it then."
"I have to have it tonight," I tell him. "We're catching the 7 am bus to Phnom Penh."
"Don't worry, Madam. It will be here."
As we go up to our room in the lift, I tell Reg I have a bad feeling about this. We'd already said that we wouldn't mind an extra day in Saigon.
"Looks like we might not be going to Phnom Penh tomorrow," I say. "We can't go without our clothes."
At 9.30 pm I go down to reception. The young man behind the desk looks harassed to say the least.
"Look, I know it's not your fault," I tell him, "but if I don't have my laundry, I can't catch the bus to Phnom Penh tomorrow. Could you phone up Sing (the daytime receptionist) and see whether she knows anything?"
Sing can't help him, and the laundry lady, although her washhouse is not far from the hotel, lives quite a distance away. The frustrated receptionist ("I always have to sort out the problems left by Sing") finally says he will motorbike out to the laundrywoman's house, bring her to the laundryhouse, get my washing, and bring it to me. By this time it's 10.00 pm. I give the receptionist a description of 2 items in our laundry.
At 11 pm the young man knocks on the door of our room. Reg is fast asleep and I'm finding it hard to stay awake.
The young man has a plastic bag containing all my laundry in his arms. He is obviously relieved, and so am I. I thank him profusely, vowing to give him a good tip for his trouble.
Both he and I are unaware at this point that chasing up the washing isn't the only thing Sing had failed to do. As we would find out tomorrow morning.
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