Vietnam and the Mercator projection

OK, I will begin with confession time. I knew of the movement against the Mercator projection due to the fact that it distorts the size of countries the further you get from the equator (the Mercator’s chief advantage being that it keeps longitudes and latitude lines straight), but I always assumed that no one actually used it as a basis to compare areas when travelling around the world (I know, I know), as I personally would rely on physical distances between point A and point B and maps of just the region when I travel. Well, this assumption was all shattered a few years ago when I met a Portuguese guy travelling through Vietnam who complained that he couldn’t cross the entire country quickly in one week; when I told him that travel speeds are most likely much lower in Vietnam, he told me he had taken that into account and thought that the length of Vietnam was similar to the length of Portugal. This is actually very far from the case – from Viana do Castelo (near the Spanish border) to Faro (on the southern coast of Portugal) is 622 km (386 miles) by road; by comparison, from Lang Son (near the Chinese border, but not the northernmost point) to Ca Mau (near the southern tip of Vietnam) is 2154 km (1338 miles) by road; a 3.5-fold difference. So I will add to the endless Internet posts already in existence comparing country sizes and show the true size of Vietnam superimposed on various regions around the world.

To start, this is Vietnam on a Mercator projection; the area of Vietnam is 331,213 km2 (127,882 mi2), which makes it the 66th largest country in the world, between Finland and Malaysia, but is very long and narrow.

As I will be matching the distance between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), which is 1723 km (1071 miles), here is a map of Vietnam showing the relative locations of the two cities.

I’ll start with Europe, as Europe is further from the equator and is more distorted; for comparison’s sake, Vietnam is similar in size to Finland or Germany.

Here, you can see that the distance between Hanoi and Saigon is similar to that from Rome to Berlin, and the difference in length compared to Portugal is apparent. If you shift Vietnam further west, you can see that Hanoi and Saigon also approximate London and Barcelona.

Shifting to the US, the state with the closest area to Vietnam is New Mexico; however, as Vietnam is long and narrow, distances are much greater between the two ends of the country. Here’s Vietnam on the West Coast of the US.

In this case, Hanoi and Saigon approximate Portland, OR and Los Angeles, CA (or maybe closer to San Luis Obispo). Vietnam superimposed on the Eastern US also gives similarly interesting results.

Here, Hanoi to Saigon is just short of Chicago to New Orleans. If you shift the map northward to Canada and match Saigon to Toronto, Hanoi will be in the middle of Hudson Bay.

Onward to Australia, which isn’t all that distorted on a Mercator projection in the grand scheme of things, Hanoi to Saigon stretches from Melbourne all the way up into Queensland.

Compared to New Zealand, Hanoi to Saigon is similar to Auckland to Invercargill.

Compared to Korea and Japan, Hanoi to Saigon would map to Vladivostok to Fukuoka.

Of course, even though Vietnam is long and narrow, it is still but a dwarf compared to the champion, Chile, where Hanoi to Saigon is only Antofagasta to Santiago.

And last but not least, no Mercator projection comparison is complete without Greenland. Surprise, surprise, Vietnam is still tiny compared to Greenland.

All that to say, I take back my scepticism of the significance of the importance of people judging countries’ sizes based on Mercator projection maps, and hope that these comparison will help both foreigners and Vietnamese get a sense of the relative size of Vietnam.

The divisions in the EU-Vietnam FTA ratification vote

The European Union – Vietnam Free Trade Agreement (EVFTA) was ratified by the European Parliament on 12 February, 2020 in a vote in the European Parliament. Vietnam is the second largest trading partner of the EU in ASEAN, and is also the second ASEAN country to have concluded a free trade agreement with the EU (both after Singapore) after the failure of ASEAN to negotiate a bloc-wide agreement. The EVFTA was signed after three and a half years of negotiation in December 2015, and is touted as the “most modern and ambitious agreement ever concluded between the EU and a developing country”. The conclusion of this agreement is yet another major milestone for Vietnam, which already has a free trade agreement with the Eurasian Union and is a member of the CPTPP despite having been largely economically and diplomatically isolated as recently as the 1990s.

Because I am a huge nerd, right after the vote, I found the data on who voted for and against the ratification of the free trade agreement on the EU Parliament website and divided them up by both the bloc and the country they represent (the bloc data was already included in the original document, while I generated the country variable from the EU Parliament’s MEP directory), and since we’re all stuck in quarantine anyway, I thought this would be a good time to write about it. As always, I must preface this all with the caveat that I most emphatically not an expert in either European politics or legislatures in general, so this is more a case of me playing with data and commenting on trends and changes that I observed.

The European Parliament consists of 705 members is organised into parliamentary groups, similar to parties in national parliaments. Each parliamentary group consists of MEPs (Members of the European Parliament) belonging to national parties from each individual member states that share a similar ideological outlook. As of February 2020 (9th European Parliament), the voting blocs include the following:

  1. European People’s Party (EPP): A centre-right grouping consisting mostly of Christian democrats, liberal-conservatives, and conservatives; examples of member parties include the Christian Democratic Union (Christlich Demokratische Union, Germany), Fine Gael (Ireland), the Fidesz (Hungary), and the People’s Party (Partido Popular, Spain).
  2. Progressive Alliance of Socialists and Democrats (S&D): A centre-left grouping consisting mostly of social democrats; examples of member parties include the Socialist Party (Parti socialiste, France), the Democratic Party (Partito Democratico, Italy), the Spanish Socialist Worker’s Party (Partido Socialista Obrero Español, Spain), and the Labour Party (Partij van der Arbeid, Netherlands).
  3. Renew Europe (Renew): a liberal, centrist, pro-European grouping; examples of member parties include the Republic on the Move (La République en Marche.(France), Citizens (Ciudadanos, Spain), the Free Democratic Party (Freie Demokratisch Partei, Germany), and Venstre (Denmark).
  4. Greens-European Free Alliance (Verts/ALE): a grouping consisting of green and regionalist parties; examples of member parties include Alliance ’90/The Greens (Bündnis 90/Die Grünen, Germany), Ecolo (Belgium), the Czech Pirate Party (Česká pirátská strana, Czechia), and the Latvian Russian Union (Latvijas Krievu savienība, Latvia).
  5. Identity and Democracy (ID): a grouping consisting of nationalist, Eurosceptic, and populist parties, often described as far-right in orientation; examples of member parties include the Alternative for Germany (Alternative für Deutschland, Germany), the League (Lega, Italy), National Rally (Rassemblement national, France), and the Flemish Interest (Vlaams Belang, Belgium).
  6. European Conservatives and Reformists (ECR): a grouping of centre-right, Eurosceptic, anti-federalist parties (prior to Brexit, the UK Conservative party was in this grouping); examples of member parties include Law and Justice (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość, Poland), Sweden Democrats (Sverigedemokraterna, Sweden), Freedom and Solidarity (Sloboda a Solidarita, Slovakia), and IMRO – Bulgarian National Movement (ВМРО – Българско Национално Движение, Bulgaria).
  7. European United Left/Nordic Green Left (GUE/NGL): a grouping of socialist and communist parties, ranging from left-wing to far-left; examples of member parties include Syriza (Greece), La France Insoumise (France), The Left (Die Linke, Germany), Progressive Party of Working People (Ανορθωτικό Κόμμα Εργαζόμενου Λαού, Cyprus), and Podemos (Spain).
  8. Non-Inscrits (NI): the remaining MEPs who are unaffiliated with any grouping; examples of member parties include the Five Star Movement (Movimento 5 Stelle, Italy), the Communist Party of Greece (Κομμουνιστικό Κόμμα Ελλάδας, Greece), Jobbik (Hungary), and Human Shield (Živi zid, Croatia), along with independents.

In the current European Parliament (9th European Parliament), the groupings have the following shares of seats:

From left to right: GUE/NGL (39), S&D (147), Verts/ALE (67), Renew (98), EPP (187), ECR (61), GUE/NGL (39), NI (29).

While I am not familiar with a lot of the rules or protocol of the European Parliament (or parliaments in general – legislatures are not my research focus), those who are curious about EU parliamentary procedure and vote breakdowns can peruse the EU Parliament’s website (all votes can be found at, but do note that the notation does take a little bit of getting used to). The overall breakdown of the ratification of the EU-Vietnam Free Trade Agreement was as follows:

The website also helpfully provided a list of who voted for and against, but did not list the country that the MEP represented, so I cross-referenced the names with the European Parliament’s Directory. The percent for was calculated as the number of for votes as a percent of the total that voted (i.e. excluding abstentions).

Map of countries’ MEP votes for EVFTA ratification
GRAND TOTAL40119240633
MEP votes for EVFTA by country

Remarkably, out of the twenty-seven countries of the EU, the MEPs from twenty-four countries voted for ratification, with only Finland, France, and Italy voting against, and the margin of vote from French MEPs being substantially larger than that of Italian or Finnish MEPs. While conventional wisdom would expect old colonial ties, the existence of a large Vietnamese diaspora (the largest in Europe) in France, and strong trade ties to push for French enthusiasm for this free trade agreement, this discrepancy may be explained by the fact that the French MEPs are disproportionately dominated by the far-right populist National Rally, which is staunchly anti-free trade (Italian MEPs are similarly dominated by the far-right League). Statistically, France is the third largest European destination for Vietnamese exports (behind Germany and the Netherlands), although it is the second largest European origin of exports to Vietnam (also behind Germany); in turn, Vietnam is the fifth largest Asian origin of exports to France, behind China, Japan, Turkey, and India. Comparatively, Vietnam is the fifth largest Asian origin of exports to Germany, behind China, Japan, Turkey, and South Korea). Interestingly, Vietnam is the second largest Asian origin of imports to Slovakia, just behind China.

Among the countries that voted for, the strongest support appeared to be from Central and Eastern Europe along with other newer members of the EU, with the strongest for votes recorded from Estonia, Bulgaria, Slovakia, Malta, Cyprus, Poland, and Hungary. On the other hand, the most marginal votes were from Austria, Belgium, Ireland, Germany, and Greece. This difference may be explained by the remaining ties that the Vietnamese state has with the old Eastern Bloc as well as the overall pro-free market stance of Central and Eastern Europe along with Western European posturing on human rights. That said, these voting patterns can also be interpreted as counter-intuitive, as Vietnam’s main exports to Europe will compete in lower-wage sectors and have the potential to hurt members with lower average wages; however, this is not borne out by the voting results even beyond the new members, as MEPs from 11 out of the 12 countries with the lowest nominal GDP per capita all voted strongly for the agreement (with the exception of Greece).

BlocForAgainstAbstainTotalPercent For
GRAND TOTAL4011924063368%
Voting for the EVFTA by bloc

The voting blocs appear to be consistent with expectations. Both the centre-right blocs (EPP and ECR) voting strongly for the agreement, showing that differences on European integration do not necessarily extend to trading beyond the bloc; however, it should be noted that the ECR vote was also split by country, with five of the eight No votes from the MEPs from the Brothers of Italy party (Fratelli d’Italia) (the rest came from the lone MEP from the Bulgarian National Movement, one of the two Spanish MEPs from Vox, and a lone dissenter from Poland’s Law and Justice Party). Given that Renew is a liberal grouping, it is also not surprising that the group voted overwhelmingly for the agreement. On the left, opposition to the agreement generally stems from environmental concerns of free trade (hence the negative vote from the Verts/ALE, with a lone holdout from one of the two MEPs from the Socialist People’s Party of Denmark) or the impact on domestic labour (explaining the unanimous negative vote from GUE/NGL). The views from the centre-left also reflect these concerns, as reflected by the somewhat split vote of the S&D bloc, with S&D MEPs from France, Austria, Belgium, and Netherlands voting overwhelmingly against, the rest overwhelmingly for, and German S&D MEPs split down the middle. However, while these views are consistent with the political orientation of the blocs, Vietnam’s status as a Communist State complicates these considerations, as historically, it could count on the support and solidarity of left-wing parties in Europe; after all, Ho Chi Minh himself was a founding member of the French Communist Party. Nevertheless, these results show two important considerations. First, the votes seem to reflect domestic politics more than international relations, which is not atypical of legislative action. Second, with the waning importance of ideological divides since the end of the Cold War, it would appear Vietnam is first and foremost a trading partner, and the country’s political alignment is secondary.

While the ID group’s overall voting against the free trade agreement seems to be consistent with the group’s general orientation as being Eurosceptic and anti-globalisation and immigration, the vote was not unanimous. Notably, two-thirds (6 out of 9) of the Alternative for Germany (AfD) voted for the free trade agreement, along with the entire three-member delegation from the Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ). In addition, the sole members of the Danish People’s Party (DF), the Conservative People’s Party of Estonia (EKRE), and the Freedom and Direct Democracy Party of Czechia (SPD) also voted for the agreement. This meant that they diverged the other right-wing populist movements around Europe, who appear to be uniformly staunchly protectionist on this issue. This vote is also a useful reminder that while these parties are often grouped together as part of a broad European right-wing populist surge due to significant overlap and cooperation, they do differ considerably on some issues. Populism overall is also not a good indicator of voting patterns on ratification – the entire delegation from the Italian Five Star Movement (M5S), which falls under the NI group, voted for the agreement.

These are some very rough and non-expert impressions that I had of the ratification process. Overall, to me, the EVFTA vote is emblematic of the changing position of Vietnam in the global economy. From a country that was still under a US embargo until 1995, Vietnam has become an open trading country, with trade reaching up to 200% of GDP in recent years. The transformation is apparent both within Vietnam and around the world – as a child, I remember seeing very few imports available, and my exposure to many imported goods was through luggage brought in by friends and family who lived abroad. From the other side, when I first moved abroad, Vietnamese goods were very uncommon. Now, Vietnam is flooded with consumer goods from around the world, and Vietnamese goods from numerous sectors are ubiquitous in many markets (I even found Vietnamese instant noodles in a supermarket in Brazil). Vietnam’s global position has changed significantly, and in a way, the EVFTA shows that this also changes the way the country interacts with domestic actors around the world.

Vexing Vietnamese #2: Food name origins and the pitfalls of grocery shopping

Names of things often tell a great deal about the origin of the item, or the paths through which it reached the homeland of the language spoken. Vietnamese is no exception, and the names of certain plants and animals in Vietnamese can reveal a lot about Vietnam’s historical position in trade networks.

In Vietnamese, items from Europe or the New World are often called “Western” or “Siamese”. The Western label is obvious – many of these products were brought in by western merchants or came with colonialism and were named accordingly (with tây, meaning west or western) . Because of this, potatoes are Western sweet potatoes (khoai tây), asparagus is western bamboo shoot (măng tây), etc. The Siamese appellation is a little more confusing and requires some historical background. Ayutthaya was a major trade centre in Southeast Asia, and many of these products came to Vietnam through Siam (now Thailand), leading them to be called Siamese. Examples include Siamese duck (vịt Xiêm, or Muscovy duck in English, which is equally confusing, as these ducks came from Mexico, not Moscow) and Siamese sugar apple (mãng cầu Xiêm, known as soursop, graviola, or guanabana in English, with origins in Central America). Some New World fruit, while widespread, retain their native names through loanwords, with Mexican sapodillas known as sapôchê (from French sapotier, which ultimately is derived from Nahuatl tzapotl; however, following the Siamese theme, it is also known as hồng Xiêm, or Siamese persimmon), and the South American lúcuma retains its name as lê-ki-ma (also known as quả trứng gà, or chicken egg fruit, due to the yolk-like consistency of the fruit’s interior).

Lúcuma to the uninitiated, courtesy of Wikipedia

Oddly enough, that perennially famous new world fruit, the pineapple, somehow manages to have at least THREE names in common use in Vietnamese, none of which indicate an obvious foreign origin (dứa in the North, thơm in the centre, and khóm in the South, although some southerners have told me khóm can refer to a particular cultivar). Fruit and vegetables, whether native or imported, seems to have confusing names in general in Vietnamese – a plum is called mận where I’m from in central Vietnam and đào in southern Vietnam, while a water rose apple is called đào where I’m from and mận in southern Vietnam (northerners call them mận and roi, respectively, and đào usually refers to a peach in the north). Cassava? Take your pick between sắn and khoai mì. Mint? To this day, I still am unsure what Southerners actually call mint; when I use the word from Central (and Northern) Vietnam, bạc hà, I end up with something quite unlike mint. All those fresh vegetables that accompany Vietnamese dishes? Good luck trying to replicate them in another region without knowing the local names. Even tofu gets a few names – in the North, it is referred to as đậu phụ (Sino-Vietnamese reading 豆腐); however, it is called khuôn đậu in Central Vietnam, and tàu hũ in Southern Vietnam (possibly from Cantonese influence due to the number of Cantonese immigrants in Saigon). Soy-derived products in general seem to fall all over the place. Dessert tofu? Tào phớ in the North, đậu hũ in the Centre, and tàu hũ in the South (although they are prepared slightly differently). Soy sauce? Choose between nước tương and xì dầu (the latter is based on the Cantonese reading of 豉油, which is incidentally is also used by Peruvian Spanish under the spelling sillao). Confused yet? I know I am – along with any Saigonese grocers unfortunate enough to deal with me. Language often is just simply weird.

Wait, what am I even buying?

Naming foods after their perceived place of origin not a phenomenon exclusive to Vietnamese. The orange is a great example of this. While some languages allude to the fruit’s Chinese origin (such as appelsien in Dutch or апельсин/apel’sin in Russian), others refer to oranges with names deriving from Portugal, presumably because the Portuguese were among the first to bring the fruit to several regions (portakal in Turkish or portocală in Romanian). Similarly, the innocuous turkey seems to have a bewildering range of names (and is native to the Americas, not Turkey), including dinde (d’Inde, from India) in French, hindi in Turkish, and perú in Portuguese (Vietnamese, incidentally, simply calls turkeys gà tây, meaning “western chicken”). Another well-known example is the names for tea around the world, which is generally derived from either cha (from Cantonese) or teh (from Hokkien), both of which are simply different readings of the character 茶. This reflects classical trade routes – most western European countries use some variation on teh (tea in English, thé in French, te in Spanish, Tee in German, etc.), with the notable exception of the ever enterprising Portuguese, who use chá. In Eastern Europe and the Middle East, names are generally derived from cha, such as Turkish çay or Russian чай (chay). Vietnam does not fit neatly on this divide due to extensive historical ties with China, and tea can be called chè or trà based on dialect and variety of tea (trà being the Sino-Vietnamese reading for 茶 and thus is another variation of the teh vs. cha theme, whereas chè appears to be native and gets its own Nôm character 𦷨); in my experience, Northerners tend to use chè to refer to both the plant and the drink, whereas people in the Centre and South tend to use chè for the plant and trà for the drink. That said, I have also heard trà used for the drink in the North, and I would also use chè to refer to a drink made from fresh tea leaves. However, my knowledge of tea is limited, so use my guidelines with caution when talking to a real Vietnamese tea connoisseur.

So next time you’re doing your groceries (also known as having your weekly dose of public interaction/anxiety attack during social distancing), pay attention to the names of what you’re buying – they might reveal a lot about how they ended up at your grocery store.

The global journey of Cao Sao Vàng (Golden Star Balm)

One thing I’ve learnt in life is that no matter how much the world changes, you can trust it to be profoundly weird in the most unexpected ways. I was reminded of this recently by a certain old-school Vietnamese product. It all started when I talked to a Kazakhstani acquaintance at university in the US, who mentioned that the only thing he knew about Vietnam was that we produce Golden Star Balm. A little bit of back-translation made me realise that he meant Cao Sao Vàng, which was a product that I hadn’t thought of for many, many years. To me, it recalled a whole range of inexpensive products that were produced by state-owned enterprises during the command-economy era and which were ubiquitous before Vietnam opened up fully to the global economy. These products tended to have a very particular design aesthetic that made them immediately recognisable. With increased competition from imports, most of these products are no longer as prominent but can still often be found in their original forms (having survived partly because of nostalgia but also partly because many of them were and still are quite high quality – I still buy Lubico coconut biscuits, although I now buy them from a brightly-lit supermarket shelf where they’re placed with a hundred other biscuit choices from a dozen countries rather than from a dark cupboard in a corner store where they were the only type available). Others have undergone changes to compete with new products and tend to be indistinguishable from them at this point. But what does this all have to do with Kazakhstan?

The answer to this lies in the Cold War. During the command economy era, Vietnam was part of the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance, known as COMECON for short (Сове́т Экономи́ческой Взаимопо́мощи or СЭВ in Russian). This meant that Vietnam traded largely with the other Communist countries. As a poor country that was at war, Vietnam mostly exported agricultural products and… Golden Star Balm (not a bad exchange for industrial equipment!). The balm consists largely of camphor, cajeput oil, peppermint oil, menthol, and cinnamon oil and is part of a class of medicated oils that are used by Vietnamese people for colds, bug bites, and nausea (although my dad himself preferred Phật Linh brand… which I have just learned is stocked by Walmart). It was first produced in North Vietnam in the late 1960s and was introduced in the Soviet Bloc by Vietnamese students and other travellers before becoming a major export to the USSR and Eastern Europe after Vietnamese reunification in 1975. In retrospect, it seems like a perfect product for the Soviet market, as its warming effect makes it well suited for the bitterly cold winters. Combined with the iconic socialist design, the product seemed destined to be a winner.

Proudly brought to you by the Socialist Republic of Vietnam

What has fascinated me, however, is that its popularity in the export markets endured even after it lost market share in Vietnam. Indeed, when my mother attended an Asia-wide conference, the Russian representative requested that she bring coffee and… Golden Star Balm, which was also well-received by the representative of Mongolia (another former member of COMECON). The balm has been recognised by friends and acquaintances from places as far apart as Cuba and Kyrgyzstan, and is apparently popular enough as a Vietnamese item that I saw it stocked in some souvenir shops in Saigon. It is now available even on Amazon in the US (where it has a five-star rating), and through an Amazon review, I found that the balm even features as a medical item in a Russian first-person shooter game, Escape from Tarkov.

Meanwhile, in Vietnam, the balm appears to be regaining some popularity and seems as widely available as ever (albeit with a much higher price tag). Either way, it’s a fun reminder that the world is connected in all sorts of strange ways.

Vexing Vietnamese #1: What’s in a country’s name?

Country names is one of those lessons that invariably come up when learning a new language, as each language seems to have its own conventions on naming. Vietnamese is no different – official country names run the gamut from Sino-Vietnamese readings of Chinese country names to transliterations of Spanish and French. It’s amazing how much this reflects Vietnam’s history, from the strong influence of classical Chinese to French colonisation and alignment with the Eastern Bloc. The names adhere roughly to the following conventions:

  1. Sino-Vietnamese: Many countries are referred to by Sino-Vietnamese readings of their Chinese names, which themselves are frequently transliterations, meaning that they often bear little resemblance to their original versions. Many of these Vietnamese names are also shortened or modified versions of the Chinese original, adding further confusion. This grouping can mostly be found in the Indo-Pacific region, such as China (Trung Quốc), South Korea (Hàn Quốc), North Korea(Triều Tiên), Japan (Nhật Bản), Mongolia (Mông Cổ), India (Ấn Độ), Australia (Úc) or in/near Europe, such as the United Kingdom (Anh), France (Pháp), Germany (Đức), Spain (Tây Ban Nha), Portugal (Bồ Đào Nha), Netherlands (Hà Lan), Belgium (Bỉ), Switzerland (Thụy Sĩ), Sweden (Thụy Điển), Norway (Na Uy), Denmark (Đan Mạch), Finland (Phần Lan), Poland (Ba Lan), Italy (Ý), Greece (Hy Lạp), Egypt (Ai Cập), Turkey (Thồ Nhĩ Kỳ), and Russia (Nga). The United States (Mỹ/Hoa Kỳ) also fall into this category, along with South Africa (Nam Phi) and the Central African Republic (Cộng Hòa Trung Phi). Many other countries, such as the Philippines, New Zealand, Mexico, Ireland, Argentina, and Iceland used to be referred to using Sino-Vietnamese names but common usage has shifted to versions that match their native names more closely. Sino-Vietnamese names are distinct in that they are not hyphenated (Vietnamese orthography dictates that multi-syllabic western loanwords be hyphenated).
  2. French: Due to the legacy of French colonisation in Indochina, several countries’ names are simply Vietnamese transliterations of their French names. This group consists mostly of former French colonies, such as Algeria (An-giê-ri), Tunisia (Tuy-ni-di), Morocco (Ma-rốc), Lebanon (Li-băng), Syria (Xi-ri), Guinea (Ghi-nê), Benin (Bê-nanh), Cote d’Ivoire (Cốt-đi-voa), Mauritania (Mô-ri-ta-ni), and Gabon (Ga-bông), along with several countries (mostly located near the Mediterranean) that are not former French colonies such as Libya (Li-bi), Jordan (Gióoc-đa-ni), Albania (An-ba-ni), Bulgaria (Bun-ga-ri), Romania (Ru-ma-ni), Luxembourg (Lúc-xem-bua), and Cyprus (Síp). The French version of some countries’ names, such as Singapore, used to be more prevalent but has fallen out of use.
  3. Spanish: Countries in Latin America are usually referred to by their Spanish names. Examples that are most obviously Spanish include Mexico (Mê-hi-cô) and Argentina (Ác-hen-ti-na).
  4. Russian: Former Soviet republics are usually referred to using their Russian names. Examples that are most obviously Russian are Lithuania (Lít-va) and Georgia (Gru-di-a).
  5. Countries’ native names: Cambodia (Cam-pu-chia) and Laos (Lào) are both referred to by their native names (in Khmer and Lao, respectively)
  6. Mixed: Some countries mix Vietnamese words with foreign names, usually when the Vietnamese word refers to directions, geographical features, or conjunctions. Examples include Equatorial Guinea (Ghi-nê Xích Đạo), Trinidad and Tobago (Tri-ni-đát và Tô-ba-gô), Solomon Islands (Quần đảo Xô-lô-mông), and Timor-Leste (Đông Ti-mo).
  7. Indeterminate: The remaining countries are referred to using names that are similar to their English counterparts but may have origins from other languages that also use these names (e.g. when the French or Spanish name is largely indistinguishable from the English name).

For example, here is a map of Europe colour-coded by the most likely name etymology in Vietnamese (in several cases, such as Estonia and Latvia, where the name in Russian and English are similar, I made the judgement call of labelling it as Russian, as Lithuania is referred to as Lít-va, which is clearly based on the Russian Литва. Other cases for this are Armenia and Azerbaijan, where Georgia is also referred to as Gru-di-a, based on the Russian Грузия). Ireland and Iceland used to be referred to by Sino-Vietnamese names (Ái Nhĩ Lan/爱尔兰 and Băng Đảo/冰岛, respectively), but neither name is the most common usage at this point. Interestingly, both Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia had SIno-Vietnamese names (Nam Tư/南斯 and Tiệp Khắc/捷克, respectively).

European country name etymologies in Vietnamese

Here is the map for Asia. As in Europe, usage has changed over the years; for example, the Philippines used to be known as Phi Luật Tân/菲律宾, Myanmar as Miến Điện/缅甸, and Singapore as Xanh-ga-pua/Singapour. Cambodia may also occasionally be referred to as Cam-bốt/Cambodge, or, more rarely, using the pre-20th century name, Cao Miên/高棉. Thailand is an interesting case, as Vietnam uses Thái Lan/泰兰 instead of the name that China currently uses, which is 泰國/Thái Quốc.

Asian country name etymologies in Vietnamese

These maps were labelled to the best of my knowledge, so please let me know if I got anything wrong!

Stories from a Village

In July, I went to my father’s village for the death day commemoration of my great-grandfather. His village lies in Quảng Trị Province, home to the infamous border at the 17th parallel that divided North and South Vietnam during the war. The village itself lies less than 40 km (25 miles) from the dividing line and was essentially entirely destroyed during the war. Being there is always a bittersweet experience for me, as beyond the childhood memories of family reunions and picking wildflowers by the rice paddies, I also remember the stories my father told me and the people that I have met who are living testaments to Vietnam’s turbulent history in the 20th century.

As with most ethnic Vietnamese on the central coastal plains, my father’s family can trace its roots back to the first generation that settled the village after leaving the northern plains. At family reunions, we are usually counted by generation, a practice that also helps with relationship titles, as titles such as “aunt” or “uncle” trace themselves back to the nearest common ancestor. I am the twentieth generation since the settlement of the village, which would date the foundation of the village to about the early 1600s.

My grandparents are illiterate, while my father remembers a childhood of hardship, where he had to walk for hours to collect firewood as a ten-year-old. Even as a child, I still remember when the fields were ploughed by water buffaloes, and the road was still a dirt road that snaked through the fields. My grandparents’ house did not have an indoor toilet – I remember being terrified of the outhouse at night, and the only source of water was from a well in the front yard. Today, the sealed road through the village is lined with streetlights, my grandmother has air-conditioning, and WiFi is available at my cousin’s just a few houses down. While visiting my grandparents has become immeasurably easier, sometimes I still miss the moonlit nights on the rice paddies, when the moon is so bright that it can cast shadows. Living in the cities, we forget the power of the moon, but out in the depths of the countryside, moonlit nights filled with the sound of chirping crickets took on a magical quality.

Every time I’m there, I hear new stories that reveal aspects of the village’s history. Just this past trip, my dad told me a story of how he used to find old jars and urns filled with beads from an abandoned Cham cemetery across the river. It’s a poignant reminder that prior to 1307, this was the northernmost province of the Kingdom of Champa, given to the Vietnamese state (along with what is now Hue) as a bride price for the Princess Huyen Tran.

The village itself lies on the plains by a river, and across the river are the white sand dunes that extend for tens of kilometres along the plains here. The sand is so white it resembles snow. My dad’s village is lucky in that the dunes are across the river – villages in the middle of the dunes used to be inaccessible in the summer, as the villagers, who were too poor to afford shoes, could not cross the hot sand on foot. In emergencies, a villager needing to leave would carry a stack of banana leaves to tie on his feet as each leaf became worn out. When my dad was younger, the dunes were all bare and would shift with the winds – now, forestation campaigns means that the sand is held in place by trees.


Today, green fields surround the village, extending all the way to the forested peaks of the Truong Son Mountains. However, my dad told me that, during the war, the peaks and much of the fields would all be barren and red, with all foliage destroyed by defoliants or burned to cinders by napalm.


Meeting people in the village also means meeting living pieces of history. I remember greeting an old lady at the entrance of the village. After we exchanged pleasantries and she went on her way, my dad explained to me that her mother was killed when she was fleeing the village, shot in the back by French soldiers while carrying her child in her arms. Her relatives later found her child, the old lady, still clinging to her dead mother’s breast. Another man I met at my dad’s cousin’s place was the sole survivor among his three brothers in 1968. His two brothers, aged 4 and 6 at the time, were shot by American helicopters while they fled across the fields, leaving him, only 8 at the time, as the sole survivor.

It is hard to imagine the neat little village with flower-lined paths nestled among the green fields was the scene of such terrible violence. However, remembering history reminds us of the value of the peace and prosperity we have today

The Imperial City remembers

This morning, as I headed to Thuan An Beach (14 km from Hue) for my usual sunrise swim (the sea is calmest at sunrise here, and the heat of the midday sun makes swimming uncomfortable), I noticed that a shrine by one of the entrances to the beach was laden with offerings and had prayers playing all morning. I was mystified until I remembered that today is the 23rd day of the fifth month of the lunar calendar, the day when the city of Hue commemorates the failed attack on the French garrison in Hue in 1885 that marked the beginning of French control over the last free part of Vietnam, Trung Kỳ in Vietnamese (also known as Annam).  The day is known in Vietnamese as Kinh Đô Thất Thủ (京都失守).

While northern Vietnam and southern Vietnam had already come under the control of the French (the north as the Protectorate of Tonkin and the south as the Colony of Cochin China), central Vietnam was still under the control of the Nguyen emperors. When the Emperor Hàm Nghi (咸宜) was crowned, French forces declared the coronation unsanctioned and marched to Hue from Tonkin and took over a section of the walled city of Hue (known as Mang Cá, which translates to ‘fish gills’).  After a defeat of French forces in Lang Son in northern Vietnam, the war faction of the imperial government requested that the French withdraw from the citadel, which prompted the French to plan for an attack of the citadel.  In addition, the French demanded that the imperial government order the acquiescence of all subjects to the French forces and planned to capture the leader of the war faction, Tôn Thất Thuyết (尊室説), during negotiations.

Tôn Thất Thuyết, knowing this, had secretly moved weaponry to a strategic location and tried to preempt the French by attacking the French garrison first. However, the attack failed, and afterwards, French forces rampaged through the city and massacred over 1500 of its people. After this failure, Tôn Thất Thuyết fled with the 12-year-old emperor Hàm Nghi and issued the Cần Vương (勤王) edict to call for a general uprising and restore the full power of the monarchy.  The French, on their part, installed the emperor Đồng Khánh on the throne, ending any meaningful autonomy of the Vietnamese crown.

The day is remembered as one of the darkest periods in the history of Hue.  In 1894, the Ministry of Rites constructed an altar, known as the Âm Hồn (陰魂) altar (Altar of the Spirits) on the spot where Tôn Thất Thuyết commanded his forces next to the city walls. In Hue today, the day is commemorated as a collective day of mourning, with offerings akin to those made during death day commemorations. The offerings are made to the spirits of those who died on that day, and the beach town of Thuan An has a particularly large commemoration due to the large number of people who perished there (the town lies at the mouth of the Huong River and guards the entry to the city of Hue from the sea).  The commemoration is a testament to the fact that despite the city’s brief tenure as the national capital (only 150 years), it witnessed some of the most important events in Vietnamese history and has a unique and complex culture as a result of this history.

This event is even remembered in a nursery rhyme and children’s game, which I remember playing with my dad as a child.  The game is usually played with little children, with the adult prodding the palm of the child for the first five lines, and the child trying to catch the adult’s finger on the last line. However, the lines have more meaning than that. The first line, Chi chi chành chành, sets up the story (a type of “Once upon a time). The second line, Cái đanh thổi lửa, means “the đanh blows fire” (I’m not sure what đanh translates to), refers to Tôn Thất Thuyết firing on the French garrison. The third line, Con ngựa đứt cương, translates to “the horse has lost its bridle” refers to the death of Emperor Tự Đức in 1883, which led to considerable turmoil in the imperial court. The fourth line, Ba vương lập đế, translates to “three kings crowned emperors”, refers to the year 1883, where Vietnam had three different emperors. The fifth line, Bắt dế đi tìm, translates to “Catching the dế (which I would translate as cricket, but may be a variant on đế, or emperor) to search” refers to Tôn Thất Thuyết fleeing with Emperor Hàm Nghi. Finally, the last line, Ù à ù ập, is an onomatopoeia of a trap springing, refers to the capture of Emperor Hàm Nghi in 1888 (Hàm Nghi was eventually exiled to Algeria).

Surviving Traffic in Vietnam

Anyone who has been to Vietnam knows that our motorbike traffic is the stuff of legends. In fact, it is a common sight in most Vietnamese cities to see foreign tourists stranded on the pavement, looking fearfully across the street to seemingly-unreachable destinations on the other side. This is a particularly serious problem in our two largest cities, Hanoi and Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), where the flow of motorbikes is endless at all times of the day. In fact, the flow is apparently so impressive that I’ve seen tourists taking photos of motorbike traffic (which always struck me as rather odd, since this is essentially our equivalent of tourists taking photos of traffic on Wilshire Boulevard, but who knows what tourists think). I have even seen YouTube videos on traffic in Vietnam.

So in the face of this unceasing onslaught of motor scooters, what is a hungry traveller to do when some of the ubiquitously excellent food lies tantalisingly just across a stream of motor scooters? Simple! Just start walking, don’t hesitate, and stop only for cars, trucks, and buses; the motorbikes will change course to avoid you.

What about driving? Many foreign tourists think that they can rent scooters and drive around Vietnam, Top Gear-style. While getting on a scooter and moving is fairly easy (especially on an automatic), navigating traffic is not, and tourists have the reputation of being particularly bad drivers among locals, as most have little clue how to navigate traffic and as a result cause many accidents (indeed, my car driving instructor warned us all to stop if we saw foreigners on motorbikes, as more likely than not, they would be accident-prone). Moreover, as far as I know, without a motorbike licence from elsewhere, driving a scooter in Vietnam is, in fact, illegal, regardless of what scooter rental shops may tell you.

Let’s assume everyone on the road has a licence. How, then, do you navigate Vietnamese traffic? Most of my driving experience has been in Hue and Saigon. While at first glance, driving in Hue appears easier due to the far lower volume of traffic, in my experience, counter-intuitively, driving in Saigon is in fact easier. Due to the low traffic volumes in Hue, bad drivers can get away with driving quite poorly, and often will merge into lanes or emerge from alleys at higher speeds. Running red lights and abruptly stopping are also lower-risk, due to the overall lower levels of traffic on the roads, and blinkers seem to be mere suggestions. In Saigon, despite the overwhelming volume of traffic, most rules are followed quite closely, as bad driving could be fatal. Running the red light usually means getting caught in a large stream of traffic, and signals are followed religiously by everyone. For example, if I were to put on a left turn signal in Saigon, all bikes behind me will drift to the right to give way. In Hue? Probably no one will notice. Speeding is also a much bigger problem in Hue, as the consequences of speeding in Saigon are far more serious. Sometimes, some young men in Hue will try to drive “dangerously” on the road by swerving and speeding to show off, but ironically, these “daredevils” do not dare drive in bigger cities such as Saigon. Another trick worth remembering in Saigon is that driving is ultimately a group activity. One scooter crossing a busy junction is nearly impossible; however, wait long enough and you’ll have your very own bikers’ gang that will exploit the next opening in traffic and collectively cross. This is particularly important at major junctions with traffic lights.

Now with these rules in mind, armed with a licence and a helmet, you should be able to zip down a tree-lined Saigon avenue in no time! That said, I make no promises about driving in Hanoi. I myself do not dare drive there, so if you find yourself in need of getting around our nation’s capital, I wish you all the best while I look for a taxi…

Turkey Day? Meet Duck Day

Today, the fifth day of the fifth lunar month is celebrated as Tết Đoan Ngọ. The holiday started as a Chinese holiday to commemorate the death of Khuất Nguyên (屈原), who was a respected politician and a poet who lived in the country of Sở (楚) during the Warring States period in China. Disheartened over the state of his country and the scheming of fellow courtiers, he committed suicide by jumping into a river on the fifth day of the fifth month. The local people tried to rescue him to no avail, and began to bang on drums and throw food into the river so that wandering spirits would not disturb his soul and the fish would not eat his body. From then on, on this day, people gather at the river where he died and throw food into the water.

Now, the way the holiday is celebrated in Vietnam has diverged significantly from these origins. After going to the same high school with some people from northern Vietnam, I found out that out north, they celebrate the holiday by eating lots of fruit and bánh tro (a kind of rice cake wrapped in leaves – yes, I know this describes dozens of Vietnamese cakes, but we don’t really eat it where I’m from) and drinking sticky rice wine. Friends from Hanoi have also told me that the festival is celebrated much less there than in Hue (my hometown), where it certainly is among the most important festivals in the year. We don’t bother with the fruit and wine however; we do it with a nice duck meal.

Yes, you read that right. It’s the day when we, for reasons unknown to me, eat lots of duck dishes. In fact, it’s quite common to see motorbikes driving around in Hue around this time where the driver and/or passenger is holding two, three, or even four or more live ducks bound for slaughter.

Anyway, I usually spend the holiday out at my paternal grandparents’ place in Quang Tri, about 60km north of Hue – this year, my cousin came to pick us up in the morning and dropped us off again in the afternoon. All my aunts and uncles had gathered in the morning to cook the day’s array of duck dishes, which, this year, included duck noodles, duck soup, boiled duck dipped in fish sauce, and of course, the all time favourite, tiết canh (coagulated duck blood with meat, herbs, peanuts, and various spices, eaten with crispy rice cake).

The meal was great, and it was a lot of fun to catch up with all my aunts, uncles, and cousins, most of whom came for the meal, and, of course, my grandmother (who is now 96). In the evening, I headed to my maternal grandmother’s place, and once again, was offered (surprise, surprise) duck. As I really like duck, this really isn’t a problem – in fact, everyone has a great time during Đoan Ngọ each year, with the probable exception of the ducks.

Memories of Diyarbakır

I was reminded of Diyarbakır today when I remembered a story from the New York Times in March about a Banksy mural protesting the imprisonment of Zehra Doğan, a Turkish artist.  Zehra Dogan was jailed after painting Turkish flags over ruined buildings after the bombardment and partial destruction of the town of Nusaybin in 2015.  It reminded me of a very friendly young man from Nusaybin whom I had met very briefly in Diyarbakır who had tried to convince me and some other travellers to come visit his hometown.  I hope his family was not affected.

I did not plan to visit Diyarbakır when I came to Turkey in the summer of 2012.  Armed with funding from the economics department at my undergraduate university, I had gone to Turkey to conduct research for my senior thesis, and the plan was to go to İstanbul, Ankara, Konya, Kayseri, and Malatya.  In Malatya, I had decided to take an overnight trip to watch sunrise on Nemrut Dağı, and there, I met an Italian couple from Milan who convinced me to come to Diyarbakır with them.  Since I had another week before my flight out of Istanbul, I agreed.

Diyarbakir, the centre of Kurdish culture in Turkey, is often the centre for conflict between the Kurdish insurgency and the Turkish government and was often considered off-limits for travellers (it is again considered off-limits today); I was lucky enough to have been there during the relative peace of the ceasefire between the PKK and the Turkish government. However, the city dates back to Assyrian times and boasts impressive historical monuments.

I remember looking out of the window of my bus and seeing a river flowing by the road.  I looked over to the man sitting next to me and asked “O nehrin adı nedir?” (what is the name of that river?).  The man answered, “Fırat”. Fırat. Euphrates. The city of Diyarbakir itself lies on the bank of the Tigris. I was entering Mesopotamia, one of the cradles of human civilisation.

Diyarbakır’s giant city walls are the most immediately noticeable feature of the city.   The first walls were constructed during the Roman era, and today, they encircle the historic centre. with only one gap at the Dağ Kapı Meydanı (Mountain Gate Square).  Inside the walls, the old city has a layout reminiscent many walled cities in Europe, with a tangle of narrow lanes cut through by several major streets.  After I found a room, it was already late afternoon, and I wandered out to the market nearby just as the sun was starting to set.  The vendors were closing their stalls, and I remember seeing a young man rush past me pulling a handcart laden with watermelons as the sound of the muezzin echoed from the 11th-century black-and-white banded Ulu Camii.  It was then that I truly understood that I was in a different Turkey, a world away from the cafes and plazas of the Mediterranean coast.


The alleys of Diyarbakir conceal surprises at every turn, with dozens of mosques and churches of numerous denominations.  Guidebooks will tell you that exploring the warren of alleys alone may be dangerous, and you may have issues with children along the way.  Fortunately, I had the opposite experience – a group of children on their summer break took it upon themselves to lead me around several of the sights while even occasionally chasing away children who wanted money.  Perhaps they found my accent in Turkish amusing.  Before I could thank my little heroes for their help with some candy, however, they had already disappeared off to their next great adventure.

Thanks to the children, I managed to visit quite a few historical sights, testaments to the city’s historical diversity.  A friendly imam took me up to the dome of his mosque.  Churches peppered the landscape, many of which were in disrepair – I remember one was being used by a group of women as a place to do their weaving.  Others still had congregations of varying sizes.  The churches bear testament to the changes that have happened in Southeastern Turkey over the last one hundred years – almost all the Armenian churches in the city, for example, no longer have active congregations, while the docent at the Syriac Orthodox Church of St Mary (completed in the 3rd century) told me that the other Syriac churches in the city have all closed, and only a few families remain in his congregation.



There were also other hidden delights down the alleys of Diyarbakir.  I remember walking down an alley and peering into a courtyard that turned out to be a cultural centre.  The group of people were there to watch a performance of dengbêj, a form of Kurdish song that is used for storytelling and has no musical instrument accompaniment.  I joined a circle around the performers and listened as they sang and improvised.  I do not understand Kurdish, but the passion that the singers had for their art was palpable.  Afterwards, I went with a Kurdish family who had moved to Denmark to visit a Kurdish music shop, hidden up on the third storey of a shopping centre.  It’s also then that I realised that despite the city’s being majority Kurdish, I did not see a single sign in the Kurdish language in the streets.

Other moments from my time there still make me smile.  When I headed towards the city walls, a man, seeing my camera, insisted that I take a picture of his friend who was napping on his tractor in the shade.  The exquisite stonework on the black-and-white bands stone bands in some of the old houses in the city, a style which I have been told is also found in Syria.  The friendly waiter in the restaurant in the old caravanserai insisting that I try the local specialties.  Even six years later, the memories of Diyarbakır still feel fresh.  The hospitality and incredible resilience of the people continue to linger in my mind, especially as the conflict in Syria and southeastern Turkey drags on.  I hope that one day Diyarbakir will again find peace.