The Mystery of the Kee Continues

During my wanderings, I often come across a particular Chinese character on the signs hanging above shops and markets. When written in English, the character is spelled kee. Usually the character is the second or third in the name of shops and markets. For example, some noodle shops in Hong Kong:

• 池記雲呑麵家 - Chee Kee Won Ton Min, Causeway Bay
• 權記雲呑麵 - Kuen Kee Won Ton Min, Central
• 劉森記 - Lau Sham Kee, Sham Shui Po
• 麥文記麵家 - Mak Man Kee Min, Tsim Sha Tsui
• 六記 - Luk Kee, Macau (not actually HK, but nearby)

Imagine you're in Macau, and hoping to score some noodles at Luk Kee. Imagine you flag down a local and query, where is Luk Kee? Imagine confusion, shifty eyes, and the local's glaringly obvious desire to make immediate distance between you both. No Cantonese speaker would understand Luk Kee. You could be standing in front of the restaurant, and behind you is a flashing yellow sign with the name of the shop in big bold red letters--in both Chinese and English--but if you ask for Luk Kee, there will be blank stares and awkwardness.

Had you instead pronounced the store name as luk-gei, the way the locals say it, you'd be chowing down on delicious noodles and dace meatballs in no time. Instead, you're stuck in language limbo, because the English spelling of kee is wrong. Why on earth would we deliberately spell a character so it's always mispronounced?

Hưng Ký Mì Gia, a Saigon noodle shop

I want to know where the spelling of kee comes from. The history of language tells no tales, but perhaps a clue can be found in Vietnam. The Vietnamese word ký is the same as the Chinese word. It means designation or record, as in the signature one would put on a document or work. And like the Chinese character, ký also means shop, and it commonly takes the same position as the second or third word in storefront signs.

More than half of Vietnamese vocabulary was borrowed from the Chinese language over the ages. Early Vietnamese literature was written in Chinese characters starting in the 6th century. Therefore, Vietnamese pronunciation of Chinese words likely reflects Middle Chinese phonetic conventions. In China, the spoken languages radiated and were influenced by external factors. These changes would have had little to no bearing on Vietnamese pronunciation.

It's possible that the Vietnamese pronunciation ký reflects the Middle Chinese pronunciation of the character. But, who knows? Even if the Vietnamese pronunciation reflects the Chinese language of antiquity, the connection doesn't explain the original question: why did the English speakers in Hong Kong take a Chinese character that was pronounced gei and spell it kee? The answer remains a mystery.

The Best Karaoke Gimmick Ever?

My experience with karaoke in Asia has been limited to private, exclusive gatherings conducted in small rooms with drink service, which sounds shady, but really is not. Renting a private space in a karaoke club offers a lot of perks. The only people in the rotation are friends. And the shy don't have to muster impossible courage to sing in front of a room full of strangers. These private karaoke rooms are by no means limited to Asia. Two of the best birthday parties I've been to in ten years have been made possible by a reserved room in New York City, an endless playlist, and the caterwauling of close friends that only ended at closing time.

However, the private karaoke room is not the best karaoke gimmick ever. It is silk flowers, arranged in a haphazard bouquet at cafe tables in a dark room as waiters breeze by carrying drinks on trays atop three fingers--silk flowers, with 10,000 đồng notes rolled up and tucked inside--silk flowers, passed from audience member to singer in appreciation and admiration for a good voice, or a good attempt--then silk flowers, deposited in a basket at the foot of the stage and collected as tips for the incredible live band that accompanies the singers with a broad spectrum of Vietnamese tunes and western standards. Oh yeah, a live band. That's a nice touch for karaoke too.

But the silk flowers, they are the best karaoke gimmick ever, for sure.

Cúng Cô Hồn - Strengthening

All through the seventh lunar month, Vietnamese Buddhists pay homage to the spirits of the dead. They offer prayers, burn effigies of wealth, and present various cooked and raw dishes for hungry ghosts that haunt the night. It seems that ceremonies in the seventh month take on special significance. Today we watched the ceremonial opening of our friends' restaurant. Our friends made a special offering to make sure the opening would not disturb resident spirits. This offering is called cúng cô hồn.

The glass altar

Before dawn, many preparations were already in place. The glass altar, mounted to the mint colored wall at the back of the dining room, bore a small plate of fruit, smouldering incense, and cups of liquid--either water or a firey liqour--all set before a porcelain statue of a bodhisattva. This altar was one of two in the room. In the center of the dining area, one of the dark wooden tables was arranged with a much more elaborate spread of offerings with special significance to the ritual to appease the spirits.

The five-fruits tray and globe chrysanthemums

A large tray held a variety of fruits, each chosen for its symbolic meaning. These trays are called mâm ngũ quả, or five-fruit-tray. The number five is auspicious in Vietnamese culture--the hands and feet each have five digits, the body has four limbs and one torso, the elements are five in number, and the five directions are the cardinal points plus the center. The fruits are selected to represent five colors, five flavors, and five sounds. The contents of these trays vary from region to region, according to availability and regional specialty. In the north, it's common to see green bananas, yellow Buddha's hand, red pomegranate, white persimmon, and dark plum. The tray this morning represented the fruits common to the south--green mango, yellow papaya, red dragon-fruit, white coconut, and dark custard apple. Besides their colors, these fruits are also chosen for the auspicious words they rhyme with. When said aloud, the words sound almost like a phrase, something like: "pray prosperous enough to enjoy”. Trays are not limited to five fruits, and this one also contained grapes and an orange.

Besides the fruit on the table, there was a set of small glass cups, bowls of dry rice and coarse salt, a vase of yellow globe-shaped chrysanthemums, a plate of betelnut, and stacks of paper, decorated to look like cash and gold. This paper has many names in Vietnam, including tiền âm phủ (hell money), tiền địa phủ (government money), tiền vàng bạc (gold and silver), and tiền vàng mã (gold notes). The burning of hell money is an offering that ensures the prosperity and fortune of the spirits. The tray on the table held a veritable international bankroll, with various denominations of Euros, Chinese Yuan, and US hundred dollar bills. Other hell money paper, lined in foil, represented pure gold. These offerings of wealth were to be burned after the ceremony.

Lighting incense cones

The sun was not yet over the buildings across the street when a Buddhist monk in black robes arrived to begin the ritual. He passed through the restaurant, set his orange bag down on the table, and began making preparations for the ceremony. He lit three cones of incense and placed them in the ash-laden ceramic censer on the table. Next, he lit six incense sticks and placed three, side by side, in censers both on the wall mounted altar, and on the table. Opening his bag, he removed an orange robe, slipped it on, and began the ceremony.

Our friend stood behind the monk and copied his movements. Together, they lit twelve more incense sticks and held them vertically at eye level. When the monk bowed, our friend bowed as well. But only the monk touched his ring finger to his thumb of his right hand, and waved it in the smoky air as if writing unseen letters. Only his lips pursed and quivered in silent prayer. He was natural, unpretentious. A bracelet of thick orange beads with a golden yellow tassel hung over the left sleeve of his robe. His orange robe bore a patch from where a candle had burned a hole. His white socked toes poked out from plain sandals. He was quiet and serious. Our friend said he was well known.

Burning of hell money

Sunlight bounced off the street and splashed into the restaurant. The monk arranged the set of six glasses in a row, opened a plastic bottle of liquor, and poured six glasses. He brought three of them outside, and poured each one onto the sun-warmed sidewalk. He returned, and filled the empty cups with tea. He stacked the white bowls of rice and salt, raised it to his forehead three times, mixed them in a larger bowl, and carried the mixture outside to scatter on the sidewalk. Finally, he offered the tray of hell money, lifted it above his head, then carried it outside to be burned. The monk crouched, thumbed through the stacks of hell money with the speed of a bankteller, scrunched the notes, and lit a wad. Tossing the burning wad to the sidewalk, he added more scrunched paper until the tray was empty, and only ashes remained.

With the account of hell money exhausted, the monk returned inside, removed his orange robe, folded it, placed it in his bag, and departed. We cleared the table of the remainder of the offerings: the fruits, the flowers, the incense and censer. Our friend poured the three cups of liquor and three cups of tea onto the sidewalk. The ritual was complete. Rituals like this are how the reverent announce themselves to resident spirits, in the hopes that the offerings will create a strong, positive relationship between the new business and old ghosts. The scent of incense was still in the air when breakfast service started. Within an hour, our friend hosted more than two dozen customers, and her business was off to a prosperous start.

A Vietnamese Guy Walks Into a Bar...

This blog is a joke. Seriously. Tonight, Lữ told a knee-slapper, and I thought I'd share it. The joke reveals something about the Vietnamese culture, she said. What that something is, I can't say, so I'll leave it up to you.

A census taker goes to a small village, and he asks the first man he sees, excuse me sir, could you let me know what's the population of this village?

Under a thousand, the villager says.

The census taker says okay, but would you be more specific?

The villager replies, eleven.

Vu-Lan - Absolution for Wandering Souls

Today was one of four major lunar holidays in Vietnam. All month long, Buddhist Vietnamese have performed rituals for the sake of the ghosts from the underworld that have been set free to roam the land of the living. Through these rituals, the ghosts receive gifts like food and burned offerings, and, if the circumstances permit, are absolved from suffering for sins committed during life.

Praying at Chùa Vĩnh Nghiêm

On the first day, when the moon is new, Vietnamese families flock to temples and pray, and set copious amounts of food on shrines to feed the hungry spirits of their ancestors. They burn incense and paper representations of wealth that bring prosperity to the dead. Interesting note, it seems the paper "money" commonly burned here is the US $100 bill. The month closes with similar offerings, as the people bid farewell to the ghosts returning to the underworld.

When the moon is full during the month of roaming souls, this day is called Vu-lan, the period when spirits can receive absolution. The observance comes from a Buddhist directive to liberate deceased ancestors from suffering caused by bad karma during life. The day is also called Tết Trung Nguyên, or day of wandering souls. On this day, which was today, the lost and unforgiven spirits wander the streets in full force. They are exceptionally hungry, because they have no families of their own who would feed them.

To appease these wild spirits, people pray, both in temples and at home. At home, they set up shrines to their ancestors, according to Vietnam's Wiki page. On these shrines people place salt, gold, and paper representations of real items. These paper replicas include clothing, appliances, electronics, vehicles...I've heard even paper housekeepers are up for the offerings. These items, once reduced to ashes, bestow prosperity and comfort on the deceased.

Offerings for wandering hungry ghosts

While I didn't run across any devotionals for family ancestors today, I did come across curbside makeshift shrines that people made to offer hospitality for lonely, hungry ghosts that have no family of their own to feed them. As dusk approaches, the living place food offerings on the streets for the spirits of the dead to eat their fill. The people slip indoors after darkness falls to avoid running into any hungry ghosts. Woe be to those who neglect to feed these angry spirits. When ghosts go unfed, they go unpardoned, and the angry ghosts drag the spirits of the living down to the underworld out of spite.

We started the day at Chùa Vĩnh Nghiêm, a temple with a seven story pagoda, which is situated at the north end of our neighborhood. Traffic in front of the temple crawled to a halt as taxis dropped off worshippers, and dozens of scooters crowded the gate, inching their ways between pedestrians and around buses. In the courtyard, people burned bundles of incense and the smoke clung to the air. At the top of the stairs in front of the temple, a man sold sparrows from a wood and wire crate, which are released for good luck. Inside, the altars practically spilled over with food and money offerings. Pink lotus blossoms, with petals folded over to present the golden seed cup within, adorned altars and memorials.

Later on, I roamed around the Chợ Lớn section of Saigon, to compare Vietnam's Day of Wandering Souls to the Hungry Ghost Festival of China. I was in Hong Kong during the Hungry Ghost Festival in 2009. It was awesome. The night air had more incense than LA has smog. All night long, people burned paper money and paper gold ingots by the sackful. While the adults largely stayed indoors in reverence of the tradition, the younger generations wandered about the city excitedly, questing after hungry ghosts, elusive temples, and dramatic burn-piles. On one of the steep streets near my house, a green dumpster blazed with a fire that licked the sky and cast strange shadows on the city street. It was an unforgettable spectacle.

In Chợ Lớn tonight, the scene was much more laid back. Hardly more than a few visitors came to the temple to the east of Chợ Bình Tây, which is the district's iconic market and which also was largely abandoned and closed down by late afternoon. I passed by a scant handful of curbside offerings. And the streets were as crowded as I would expect on a Sunday evening, with a vegetable market full of shoppers picking up last minute items for dinner.

As I passed through, I saw a small crowd of about six people enthusiastically picking over something on the vegetable mat on the ground. I peeked through and saw a pile of red rambutans, which the lady said was priced at 12 cents a pound. I picked up two, and that was me, wandering through the streets of Saigon like a hungry ghost, and finding an offering of satisfying rambutans.