Reflections on the surreal, Asian style

From the dinner table presentation of a duck's feet to a karaoke-singing Buddhist monk, I had a wonderful time

I think I must be cursed with the ability to experience the bizarre and weird things that life has to offer - let's face it, as a journalist you're always looking for something that lifts a story above the mundane.

Back in London after a monthlong trip that included a first stay in Beijing and my umpteenth visit to Ho Chi Minh City, I'm looking back at some of the odder moments in what was ultimately a very successful and personally satisfying trip.

As I've said before, I wasn't sure what to expect from my first visit to Beijing.

I knew I'd get a friendly welcome, if the Beijing expatriates in my office here in London were anything to go by.

I was inundated with suggestions of things to do, places to go, and obviously things to eat.

I was braced for the inevitable Peking duck extravaganza. What I had forgotten was that in China, as elsewhere in Asia, not a scrap is wasted. So after polishing off the skin, pancakes, hoisin sauce and cucumber, I was a bit taken aback by being presented with the feet, and worst of all, the head, complete with beak. Dear reader, I failed that test.

In this day and age of smartphones - and Beijingers seem to have them glued to their hands - photographing one's food before eating it seems to be the norm.

But I had to stifle a laugh when the chef at our table, preparing to carve the duck, white gloves and all, offered us a photo opportunity before he set to work.

What they don't warn you about in Beijing are the silent but deadly electric scooters and delivery trucks. Students and fast-food delivery boys tend to run them without lights in darkness, to squeeze the maximum range out of their batteries.

Let me tell you, I almost died a million times before I got used to having eyes in the back of my head.

But I was impressed by the orderly flow of traffic on the wide boulevards, although one friend warned me that Chinese drivers had only had about 20 years to get used to traffic flow, "so lane discipline can be an issue". On the highways leading out of town, "lane discipline" indeed seems to be an issue, if not a remote concept.

Next stop, Ho Chi Minh City.

I know comparisons are odious, and the great thing about travel is experiencing a different culture in each country. But considering Vietnam and China, centuries ago, shared a common alphabet and a number of cultural things, the difference when you fly from Beijing to Vietnam is huge.

Both have large, modern and relatively well-functioning airports.

But that's where the similarities end. Leave Ho Chi Minh City's Tan Son Nhat International Airport and your senses are assailed the second you step outside the customs area.

I've always been a believer in the theory that the earlier a country is in its developing stage, the more family members are needed to greet or say farewell to a traveler. No matter what time of day or night, the concourse at Tan Son Nhat's main terminal is heaving with people.

You enter the barely controlled chaos that is Ho Chi Minh City traffic. That workhorse of family and small business life, the motor scooter, dominates the scene, weaving in and out of the cars, trucks, buses and light vans. Everyone makes use of the horn, otherwise known as the developing world's fifth gear.

So it was a pleasure to head for Thu Duc, about 30 kilometers outside the city, for a celebration of my wife's cousin's 50 years as a nun in the Benedictine order.

The convent is an oasis of peace and calm, stretched over many acres.

There was a mass, and afterward a lunch in the grounds given by the family (it's a huge family - there must have been 40 or 50 members there). Obviously, I was the only foreigner.

Then things got very surreal. The choral background to lunch, by a group of novices, was charming - but it was the karaoke-singing Buddhist monk that grabbed my attention, crooning a song, in Vietnamese, that urged listeners to examine their spiritual inner selves.

Great, I thought. Beat that.

And they did. Next up was a Benedictine friar who delivered a monologue of jokes, again in Vietnamese, all of which he assured us could be found in the Bible.

Then I needed to head for the bathroom, and when I asked a waiter where it was, he summoned a giggling novice nun to show me the way. She did, and waited outside for me, still giggling.

That, dear friends, was definitely a first.

The author is managing editor of China Daily European Weekly, based in London.

Contact the writer at chris@mail.chinadailyuk.com