48 Hours-Part II

The highway to the airport takes us over all the beautiful bays and you see all the green covered mountains that you don't even know are there when you're walking around Central Hong Kong. I gotta admit, the city itself isn't the turn-on for me. I was born in a city and have only lived in big cities so the "bigger brighter better" theme makes me want to break and run. But I suppose Hong Kong's lure is its seemingly unlikely mix of things that sit next to each other. For example, this morning I photographed a 50 foot waterfall inside the Wish Garden that sits in the Wong Tsai Tin temple, one of the oldest and well preserved temples, and in my lense behind the waterfall is a cluster of 40 story apartment buildings. I kept looking for ways to capture the waterfall without capturing the apartment buildings with their faded colors and tarnished metals. Not possible. To have one--at least here--you must have the other. McDonalds and temples side by side. So this is my farewell to Asia. In 8 days, I've gotten romantic wet nights in Vietnam and its genteel feeling and the combination of aggressive and sensitive side of the Chinese culture. And just like I started, I'm grateful for all of it.

48 Hours

I can see why things about Hong Kong are frequently named express. The bus drivers swoop in and out of lanes, cutting off other drivers like they're in a Miata instead of a double decker. People walk NY-style in the street and the trains come ever 2-3 minutes no matter where you're going and at what time. I appreciate the train frequency since I'm trying to see as much as I can in my exactly 48 hours of leisure. Despite the quickie visit, I opt to stay in, sleeping peacefully high above the hustle of the popular Jordan Road (where'd they get that name I wonder?). I'm always telling my best Type-A friend, "girl even the sun sets" so I wisely take my own advice. Monday is non-stop sightseeing. I picked up a camera last day in Vietnam and even though it's disposable, I'm designing shots like I'm Gordon Parks, capturing all the angles of the Tien Tran statue, the "Big Buddha" that's perched high above the Po Lin Monastery, asking people to take my photo and telling them precisely where to stand so they can get me and Buddha in the tiny Fuji frame. If anyone's ever seen the statue of Christ in South America, this is similar, except Buddha's bronze not stone. I spend hours here, having lunch at the monastery, offering prayers and walking along the Wisdom Path and hiking so high into the hills that I'm now looking downward towards the Buddha, the Shein King reservoir--all that's left of a former fishing village--is only barely visible in the overcast sky. I buy some things to remind me of this sacred place busy with people seeking refuge in the ancient teachings symbolized here. Inspired, I rush to an online cafe to find a yoga class. I'm looking forward to another class not in English. But after climbing some San Francisco lookin' hills, I arrive sweaty and spent only to have the little young thing at Pure Yoga with his blue contacts tell me the class started a few minutes ago and I can't go in. Breathe Tajamika. He pushes me towards another class but after a 30 min uphill climb and discovering this is the Banana Republic of Yoga with classes at $35, I realize the "yoga" was just getting there and keeping a cool head while I was lost. I thank everyone graciously and find me some dinner in Lang Kwai Fon, the Vegas meets SohO district and last stop, a stroll through the popular outdoor Nite Market open until midnight.

Goodbye Vietnam

It's Sunday morning and last night, I couldn't sleep at all. Vietnam is such an experience, what's Hong Kong gonna be like? Driving to the airport to leave Vietnam wistful feelings come over me. Someone suggested travel comes in stages. In the beginning you're euphoric then the high wears off and you crave the familiar and just when you get too homesick something happens to make you fall in love again with your new surroundings. My love came from reuniting with old friends from Green Dragon over a humid outdoor lunch, a Friday afternoon yoga class on the top floor of a colonial building as warm tropical breezes helped us loosen our bodies naturally, a graceful teacher who led us in English and Vietnamese and the steam and sauna afterwards. The teacher and I promise to stay in touch and meet up in India next year to study together with an elder teacher who taught us both, she in Thailand and me in L.A. My last day in Vietnam is a sweet blur-we speed through the roundabout--also known as circles--to pick up a traditional Vietnamese dress, rush to the rooftop of a European hotel to watch the sun set, back to the Animation Studio just to be sure we've covered ev'thing and then out for dinner and a night of club hopping at all of the new hot spots for Vietnamese and foreigners to party together and discover each other's (fingers gesture) "cultures." I savor these last few moments.

Fruits of Labor

This is Day 6 in Asia. By Friday, I'm glad to wake up after 7am and enjoy a breakfast of noodles and congee in the hotel's intimate dining room. It gives me breathing room before I prepare my draft of first round recommendations. Back at home, I've learned that the short film I co-directed with Greg, my writing partner, is 1 of 3 finalists in the NBC Comedy Short Cuts competition. The rumored grand prize is a pilot deal. And then I learn one project is in danger of losing elements that could dismantle all the work for the past year, sending me back to the producer "drawing board" and a show I created was passed on by a network. The juxtaposition of small victory and disappointment reminds me of a fruit they have here in Vietnam, the Dorean. It has a large oblong shape, like a green football with thorny spikes. It takes a long time to grow and it is said that the tree only releases the fruit at night because if it fell from the tree in the day, it could hit someone and cause great injury. Sliced open, it emits a sulfur smell that has been known to repel people. But if you continue in your quest for it, you experience the luxury of the fleshy inside that is sweeter than candy. The entertainment business is like that fruit, a challenge to taste the good parts but worth the journey. My quest continues.

Wild Wild East

Days 3-Day 5 was a non-stop choreography of meetings, site visits, siestas and Eastern therapeutic practices. Socked feet and bare feet around a small table filled with the endless billow of cigarette smoke, we review contracts and ask & answer the questions that will shape the phases of this film from its current level-development/fundraising-thru production, post and distribution. We think and -rethink, wanting to leave no stone unturned. How many theaters are avail? Avg ticket price? Exposure to animation is minimal here so the company will have to cultivate an audience. I recommend audience teasers and other ways to expand the project's reach. What's the projected viewership in Vietnam in 2010? We meet with the head of the largest exhibitor who controls 40% of screens. I'm doubtful this type of meeting would happen in L.A., a small production company meeting directly with exhibitors. But here there is no distributor middle man. "It's the Wild Wild East right now." Legally exhibitors and companies alike can distribute product. Exhibitors produce to meet demand. This distinguishes it from filmmaking in the U.S. In 2002, the Vietnamese government opened up film-making to private companies and as the population and the economy rapidly boom so will media consumption and savvy filmmakers like these are preparing to meet the demand. As I sit in the middle of my new friends and watch their eyes light up at the possibilities of success, that familiar feeling of gratitude rises from my stomach. I'm elated I've been asked to ride along for this adventure.

Mad Max World

It's the middle of Day 3 in Vietnam. Saigon is a feast for the senses. On the city streets and on the roads that carry us to
the countryside, it's filled with people-people on foot, on mopeds four to a seat, in cars, in taxis and the few who are keeping it old school on rickshaws. Everywhere people are selling something, not just to tourists but to Saigon residents. There is so much commerce here; this is what a booming economy feels like. I admire the sacrifices people
are making for family and the promises of a better life. 30-somethings I met own several businesses throughout Vietnam and ev'one who works in them does so with such hope in the country. Small businesses flourishing, talk of land and its values, farmers in the countryside digging trenches and clearing roads to allow access for cars, a signal that your neighborhood is increasing in importance and value. On one of these newly cleared roads, I saw fields of trees 40 feet tall with deeply dark trunks. These are the rubber trees, a popular export. The sap from the tree runs white and sticky before it is processed and combined with chemicals. A born city girl, I always love an opportunity to learn more about nature. The highlight of my countryside visit was the trip deep into a forest area clinging to the back of my moped driver. First we drove by car for hours and then met with a group of men waiting to take us deeper into the woods where cars cannot yet travel. There, after windy roads and crossing a bridge that took me to a new level of prayer, we come across the land abundant with over 1200 cashew trees. Farmers and families in this area stare when they see me. After that long day, this morning we got an ear cleaning massage, a technique that borders pleasure and trepidation. I looked at the thin long sticks and thought it would be better if I just didn't know what was going in my ear. Some moments it was ecstasy--you know when the Q-Tip first hits just the right spot--and at other times like a pap smear for the ears. But the experience ends with a 20 minute massage that balances out all the other sensations. It is the ear specialist and massage women who finally and politely ask about my dreadlocked hair-is it real? How does it work? I'm happy to explain. It's the first time I've ever been made to feel so comfortable being different. The faces are curious but not judgmental. Today is a big day for two reasons. The first is we meet the big players in the Vietnamese film industry and open discussions regarding our project. The second is it's the deadline to see if I will get sick. Most foreigners can last for 3 days but after that, they succumb to stomach cramps or worse. For me each meal is more delicious than the next and I even ate a drink filled with the forbidden--ice. My hosts keep saying 'wow she's strong.' True indeed. But I also came loaded with bottles of herbs and tonics from Keya, my herbalist friend in L.A., so that I'm free to eat to my greedy heart's content while I'm here. The one thing I haven't found the courage for is driving a moped. Ken, the lead project financier, says everyday there's a spatter of blood where someone has taken a spill from their bike. I want to leave an imprint on this beautiful place somehow but random DNA on the asphalt sure won't be the way!

Take care of the elderly and the children

I'm in Asia. As the sun rises outside my window seat that sits just behind the wings of this massive plane, I'm grateful. Grateful that life seems to turn out, that what you need can come moments before you think it's never giong to reach you. I've been wanting to travel in general and, specifically to see Vietnam since my work on the 2000 film Green Dragon. I'm on my way. I'm there to consult on an animated feature film based on a popular children's novel. My collaborator is someone I met on that film 7 years ago. I'm immediately made comfortable by the Cathay Pacific flight staff. They're so courteous I feel bad if I raise my voice to be heard above the plane's rumble. One of them even helps me hoist myself over my seat mate and into the aisle when I have to go to the bathroom and this guy just won't wake up. The 14 hour flights breezes by. Makes me wonder is the plane pressurized differently? Something's up. I fall asleep and don't wake up with that choking insufficient air supply feeling. After my first nap, I realize I missed the late night snack. I'm not hungry at all but no way I'm passing up free food in the middle of the night. When I wake again, the monitor says we're 3 hours from our destination. How does 11 hours pass so peacefully? My first stop in Asia is Hong Kong. It's a quiet airport--even at the bustling security checkpoint--despite its enormity and Hong Kong's place as the New York of Asia. As I climb the escalator to my gate, there's a sign that says "take care of the children and the elderly." It's the phrase "take care" that holds onto me. It suggests deep concern love and affection for two classes of people that in the States are treated like a nuisance. I prepare to wait the hour until I board and catch a glimpse of a sign that lets me know I'm understood in Hong Kong-an area marked "resting lounge." In the lounge, 10 ergonomically perfect reclining chairs are enveloped by opaque glass. People stretch out and sleep. I join them and exhale in my chair, again grateful.