Bangkok—Ho Chi Minh City—HongKong—China—Los Angeles—2003 to 2005
The Beginning of a Journey
After the last shoot, I was ready for a good, long vacation, and a real one this time. So when Michael Quoc said he and his family were going to Vietnam and China to visit more family, he asked if I wanted to come along. I readily agreed. I’d never been to Southeast Asia or China before, so I figured that now would be as good a time as any.
So, early in February of 2003, we all boarded a flight for Bangkok. After a brief stopover in Hong Kong, we arrived in the capital city of the kingdom of Thailand. As we drove by the Grand Palace by the Chao Phraya River, I was reminded that Thailand is one of the few remaining monarchies in all of Asia. In fact, King Bhumibol Adulyadej, also known as Rama IX and the ninth king of the Chakri dynasty, is the world’s longest-reigning monarch, having ascended to the throne in 1946, a few years before Princess Elizabeth became Queen Elizabeth II of England. Like England, the Thailand is a Constitutional Monarchy under a Parliamentary democracy system, but King Bhumibol retains a great deal of power in the running of the government.
Having been instrumental in Thailand’s transition to democracy, he enjoys enormous popularity with the Thai people. His portrait can be seen everywhere.
In Bangkok, we enjoyed the deluxe accommodations of the Montien Riverside Hotel on Rama 3 Road. I shared a room with Michael’s brother Ti An, looking out over the headwaters of the Chao Phraya River and the vast Gulf of Thailand. So it was truly a breathtaking sight that greeted us when we woke up in the morning before we headed down to the main hotel restaurant to enjoy our choice of either a Chinese, Japanese, or Western-style buffet breakfast, which was included in the price of our tour package. We tried some of each and the food proved to be surprisingly good.
The tour package also included a comfortable air-conditioned SUV along with a very capable driver and a knowledgeable female tour guide who spoke perfect English. They had picked us up when we had arrived at the airport and brought us to the hotel before taking us on a tour of some of the city’s sights and Buddhist temples.
There are over forty thousand Buddhist temples in Thailand, and since most of my travelling companions were devout Buddhists, they were determined to see more than a few of them. And we did.
Perhaps the most impressive of these was the Wat Pho Temple of the giant reclining Buddha on Maharat Road, not far from the Grand Palace in Rattanakosin. Before entering, we each purchased a bowl of coins to drop in to the 108 bronze bowls that lined the length of the walls. Not only was this supposed to bring good luck but it also helped to pay for the upkeep of the temple.
As is the rule with all Buddhist temples in the area, one has to remove their shoes before entering the interior of the building itself. These are left alongside the hundreds of pairs of shoes and sandals at the temple entrance to be reclaimed upon leaving. Although I was somewhat hesitant at first, I soon learned that no one stole footwear from outside a Buddhist temple.
The golden reclining statue of the Buddha itself was, of course, pretty darn impressive by any standards. It reclines in the center of the room and measures almost 50 feet high and over 141 feet long. The feet of the statue, measuring ten by fifteen, are divided into 108 arranged panels depicting auspicious Buddhist symbols.
Bangkok’s Chao Phraya River, which originates from the confluence of the Ping and Nan Rivers in Nakhon Sawan Province to the north, is a major transportation artery for the city. A vast network of riverboats, water taxies, river busses, and ferries give access to numerous riverside temples, riverfront businesses, and homes and provide quick transportation to the opposite shore.
Food vendors ply the river, cooking and selling all kinds of delicacies directly from their boats. A leisurely trip in a water taxi provided an especially interesting part of our tour. As it moved slowly but deliberately along the river, the remarkable contrast between the old and the new became more than apparent.
In the city itself, the heavy traffic punctuated by the impatient honking of horns and the distinctive loud putt-putt of the tuk tuks, or motorcycle taxies, weaving their way through the traffic amid the swarms of people in the shadows of towering, ultra-modern buildings, exhibited the frenetic pace of a congested metropolitan area. But along the river, one could experience a different, more relaxed pace. We sailed by old wooden shacks that were homes on stilts and larger wooden shacks that housed all manner of local businesses, from general stores and marketplaces to more tourist-oriented souvenir shops, warehouses with corrugated iron roofs, and small manufacturing businesses, all here in the city where the river flows out to sea.
The next day, we headed for the beach resort of Pattaya on the east coast of the Gulf of Thailand. After an overnight stay, we embarked on a day trip by ferry to Ko Larn, one of the nearby islands. The ferry trip took about an hour, and along the way, those who wished to indulge in parasailing were given the opportunity to do so.
At Ko Larn, we relaxed on one of the most beautiful and pristine beaches that I had ever seen. There was fantastic scenery and beautiful girls. For what more could you ask? It was a bit of paradise in Southeast Asia. Some very attractive Thai girls approached us to offer us a manicure, pedicure, and massage package right there on the beach. Of course Michael and I bought it. It was the first time I had ever had clear nail polish applied to my fingernails and toenails.
Returning to Pattaya, we explored the streets around our hotel, which were filled with tourist bars, souvenir shops, and a number of restaurants.
As evening drew near, I found a place that had a good single malt Scotch. For me, old habits die hard.
On the trip back to Bangkok, the police waved us over to the side of the road, where we had to stop and wait with all the other traffic heading in that direction until a limousine with a member of the royal family sped by, accompanied by a long motorcycle escort.
One evening, we even dined at the famous Seafood Market and Restaurant on Sukhumvit Soi 24 Road. The food was good but not great.
The next stop was where the Sun family came from: Saigon, Vietnam, now called Ho Chi Minh City. The rest of the party arrived before me because there had been a screwup with my Vietnamese visa. Apparently, the Vietnamese consulate in San Francisco had typed in the wrong date, and I had to apply for a new visa at the Vietnamese consulate in Bangkok.
After finally finding someone who could speak English, I learned that it would take about three days for me to get a proper visa. However, I no longer had a place to stay in Bangkok and I was anxious to rejoin my friends in Vietnam.
What resulted was back-and-forth communication between the office workers at the consulate that seemed to result in no solution, although they made it clear that they did sympathize with my situation. Finally, after a couple hours of waiting, relief was in sight. For a fee of eighty US dollars, I could get an expedited visa that would allow me to leave for Vietnam on a flight later in the day. I immediately paid, but it was another hour before the person who could approve and sign my new visa would arrive at the embassy.
Since I only had about forty-five minutes before the next flight to Ho Chi Minh City departed, I quickly grabbed a cab to the airport. With horrendous traffic, I still managed to make my flight since it had been delayed.
After the short flight, I proceeded to the luggage claim outside the airport in Ho Chi Minh City and was met with a blast of heat and humidity and a teeming mass of humanity, some offering transportation and others trying to sell me all kinds of things. I tried calling the phone number for Jenny’s aunt, but whoever answered could not speak English. I tried to communicate my name and location.
Retreating back into the safety and comfort of the airport, I impulsively decided to exchange some American dollars for Vietnamese dong. An American hundred-dollar bill bought me several huge piles of banknotes that I stuffed into every pocket I had. Now I realized how hungry I was. At a nearby restaurant, I ordered a bowl of phở and a bottle of Tiger beer. After what seemed like an eternity, the Sun family finally showed up at the airport in Jenny’s uncle’s SUV to pick me up. I was relieved to see some familiar faces. Before leaving the airport, her uncle took a picture of me alongside Ti An, Jenny, and Jenny’s mother. Because I have a tendency to shy away from being a subject in a photo, this is one of the few photographs I appear in from that trip.
Then we headed to the Phu Tho Hotel in Saigon’s District 11. I noted that while it was not as large and luxurious as the hotel room in Bangkok had been, it was adequate and clean. The hotel also provided a free Vietnamese and Chinese breakfast in the morning, which turned out to be both substantial and filling.
Since there was still some daylight left, Jenny’s uncle took us to their small restaurant in the same district, where we were treated to a hearty and delicious supper of their trademark chicken noodle soup. Apparently, the soup was very popular in the area because the place was always crowded. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten chicken that tasted as fresh before.
The restaurant was a family enterprise, and all of the members, including both of the pretty young daughters, pitched in to do the work. The restaurant also doubled as their home: the family lived upstairs, accessible by a ladder leading up to a square hole cut into the floor.
The first thing one notices in Vietnam is the huge number of motor scooters and motorcycles that seem to inhabit and dominate the streets. Indeed, it is not uncommon to see virtually whole families perched precariously onto a single scooter with parcels and bags and baskets as it zooms unheedingly through the dense traffic. This was a little disconcerting at first, but after a couple of days it all seemed relatively normal.
In the Kingdom of Thailand, we had not seen any beggars, but this was not the case in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. There weren’t a whole lot of them, but they were there. Many were old men missing arms or legs or both, probably as a result of the Vietnam War. They didn’t have their hands out for a handout but went around selling colorful lottery tickets that promised opulent prizes of big houses and fancy cars instead. Some of the younger beggars were unwashed and pathetic-looking young women with pathetic-looking small children, like hill people who had come down to civilization to look for employment only to find that they needed some kind of education or skills in order to get a job. They were more heartbreaking than they were annoying, and it was easy to sympathize with their plight. Since Jenny was perpetually in search of good karma, she always gave them money. Still, they were grim reminders that while Vietnam had made huge technological and economic advances in the past few years, there are still some problems to be addressed. But one could also make the point that much more obnoxious beggars exist on an even larger scale in a great country like the United States.
A great variety of fresh produce and fruit as well as fresh and dried meats and fish seemed to exist in abundance in Vietnam, and there was no shortage of markets, which ranged from vendors sitting alongside each other on the sidewalks with their wares spread in front of them to huge indoor markets with individual stalls that sold virtually every variety of food, both cooked and uncooked.
It was quite obvious that the most important thing about food to the Vietnamese people laid in the quality and freshness of the ingredients. Perhaps this fact gives significant evidence as to why American fast food has failed to make any significant inroads into this country as it has in many of the other Asian countries.
What could be considered Vietnamese fast food can quite readily be found in the streets. Individual food vendors offer fresh dishes ranging from gỏi cuốn spring rolls to traditional steamed or fried noodles such as bún or hủ tiếu hoac mi xao and noodle soups like phở to a variety of bánh mì and sandwiches on freshly baked bread rolls, as well as delicious grilled meats, fish, or shrimp—all at ridiculously low prices.
I’ve had some of the best Vietnamese food I’ve ever eaten at these stalls, generous servings that cost around half an American dollar.
Jenny’s uncle took us on road trips to the countryside with the inevitable destination of a famous Buddhist temple that Jenny’s mother wanted to visit. During these journeys, we were treated to the picturesque landscape of rice paddies and extensive coconut groves along the rivers and deltas and the numerous small villages, where the pretty young country ladies in the white traditional Áo dài long dresses and Non La conical hats could be seen riding their bicycles along the road.
Along the way, we would stop at the various roadside stalls to buy a fresh durian, which we would cut open on the spot and consume with abandon, or drink the refreshing water of a freshly husked and cracked coconut. The stalls also sold unfamiliar, strange, and exotic fruits and vegetables indigenous only to that particular region. There were also the large rural indoor farmers’ markets with corrugated-iron walls and roofs where we could sample some of the local regional cuisine for lunch, as well as explore other exotic offerings.
At one of these markets, we came across a stall that sold jars of what the Vietnamese call rượu rắn, or cobra and scorpion wine—with the whole king cobra and scorpion pickled and preserved inside. Naturally, I had to buy a jar to smuggle back home. Even if I didn’t get up the balls to eventually drink it, it was still a marvellous conversation piece.
Vietnam had truly been a fascinating experience for me. I almost hated to leave, but further travel experiences beckoned. Next on the itinerary was Hong Kong. The hotel rooms in Thailand and Vietnam had not only been much more roomy but seemed extremely luxurious compared to what awaited us in a travel hostel in the Tsimshatsui district of Hong Kong.
Sure, we were travelling on a pretty tight budget, but the room that we somehow managed to cram ourselves into was no bigger than a small closet. The single bunk bed inside of it took up the majority of the space, and we could only move into the room by walking sideways. We had to leave our luggage outside the room by the door. Fortunately, Jenny’s mom had remained in Vietnam for a longer visit with her family, so there were only four of us inhabiting the tiny room.
Naturally, the communal bathroom was located outside of the room only a few steps from our door. Everyone staying in this small hotel used that same bathroom, in which there was a single toilet and one could bathe using a handheld shower nozzle connected to one of the two water taps. The other water tap was used for washing hands or brushing teeth. There was no shower stall, and the water drained off the tile floor of the bathroom. The only other thing in there was a small, plastic footstool.
There are two things that one must do in Hong Kong. The first is to eat, and there is absolutely no shortage of remarkable eating places in this fabulous city, from small sidewalk cafes to dim sum palaces and opulent seafood restaurants. We tried a little of everything. The other thing one had to do was shopping. Hong Kong is a veritable shopper’s paradise of street stalls and upscale shopping malls. With the money we saved by staying at our frugal accomodations, we were able to do both.
At the Temple Street Outdoor Market, we found shoes, backpacks, pirated CDs and DVDs, jewelry, various bric-a-brac, hats, souvenir T-shirts, novelty signs that read “NO FART IN CAR” in both English and Chinese, knock-off designer luggage and clothing, very real-looking antiques, and even vintage Chinese advertising and propaganda posters. Of course I had to pick up some of those. Jenny, who is a very careful shopper and great at bargaining, got a set of knock-off Louis Vuitton luggage that looked better than the real thing for next to nothing after wearing down the poor shopkeeper, and she even got him to throw in a classy leather Versace wallet for me at no additional cost.
That evening, we took a walk along the Tsimshatsui waterfront by the China Ferry Terminal where we could look out at the bay and see the South China Sea and watch the ferry vessels headed for Macau. We had spent two glorious days in the former British Crown Colony, and the next day we would all be boarding the bus to mainland China.
The long bus ride from Hong Kong to the city of Shantou in Guangdong Province was, without a doubt, the roughest one that I had experienced in my life. The bus, which actually looked streamlined and modern, was apparently totally devoid of shock absorbers, and every little bump in the road—and there were many—proved to be a challenge not only to the vehicle’s suspension but our comfort and wellbeing as well. We skirted around the rapidly growing industrial city of Shenzen and on through the countryside.
Along the way, the picturesque panorama of rural China unfolded before our eyes. The bus drove by woods and forests that gave way to terraced rice paddies and ancient farmer’s shacks alongside bountiful plots of produce. I was surprised to see that near all of these little agricultural settlements were ancient graveyards with their stone ancestor tombs that had withstood numerous centuries of turmoil.
As we went through the villages and small towns, we passed by shops and small food stalls making and selling the local delicacies. These places were not all that far from the district in China where my grandfather Chock Chin had originally come from. Perhaps he had prepared similar food in his store and restaurant in Hanalei.
Eventually we arrived at our destination: the bustling port city of Shantou, located on the eastern coast of Guangdong on the South China Sea. We were met at the bus depot by two tall Chinese men wearing suits who looked like cops. One of them was Michael and Ti An’s cousin, and they were, in fact, cops. As I was soon to find out, they were members of the elite Special Police Unit of the Peoples’ Police Force.
They would be our escorts and guides throughout our stay in the area. Their power was evident from the moment we checked into our hotel. In China, hotels require foreign patrons to surrender their passports to be held at the desk. Our escorts only had to show their identification cards and we were allowed to keep our passports.
Our escorts next drove us to nearby Gurao Town in the Chaoyang district, where we feasted at the fancy Tianhao Seafood Restaurant before visiting Michael and Ti An’s uncle and his family at their home. His uncle then gave us the grand tour of his large knitware factory, which turned out beautifully hand-embroidered underwear, bras, sweaters, and other fancy knit goods.
Although Michael had immigrated to the United States along with with his parents and brothers from Cambodia, their family—which is Teochow Chinese—was originally from this district in China. We drove to their ancestral village nearby and visited several other members of his family. We also went to pay our respects at their Ancestral Hall, where the entire lineage of the family is recorded and kept on the ancestral tablets. It was the week of the Chinese Lunar New Year, and the atmosphere was happy and festive.
When our police escorts accompanied us on a night shopping expedition in Shantou, it was truly amazing how we always managed to get the lowest possible prices on whatever we wanted to buy without even having to bargain. Their very presence made us feel safe in even the most questionable areas of the city.
But as all things must eventually end, so did our holiday. We returned by bus to Hong Kong where we stayed for one more night in our crowded hotel lodgings before boarding the return flight to Los Angeles the next morning.
The Chinese consider that when one has reached the fine old age of sixty, it is an auspicious occasion that is full of significance. I remembered going to sumptuous sixtieth-birthday banquets for a number of friends and relatives in the past. But there was no such banquet for me; not that I would have wanted one, anyway.
When I reached sixty, on May 10, 2003, the only thing I realized was the indisputable fact that now most of my life was already behind me. This could be a depressing thought if you contemplated it for too long, so I decided not to contemplate it any longer.
Not long after that, I got a call from my old friend Jaacov Jaacovi. I ran into him at Jim South’s World Modeling Agency when I had been casting my last Spanish-language feature shoot. I had not seen him since 1979, when I had finally managed to collect the rest of the salary that he owed me for codirecting Taxi Girls.
Jaacov was interested in the dual English- and Spanish-language features that I was shooting, and he had indicated that he wanted to shoot one as well. He was going to do it since he now had a script and some money, and he wanted me to codirect it with him for old times’ sake.
“So how much are you going to pay me, Jaacov?” I asked him.
“Bob, I’m putting all of my own money in this,” he said. “I can pay you something from the profits after it’s sold.”
Which meant I wouldn’t see a cent. “That’s not a very attractive offer, Jaacov,” I informed him.
“Tell you what. You have a video company now. So I’ll give you the masters for the original Little Orphan Dusty and Taxi Girls. You can release them on video, do whatever you want to with them.”
I had to laugh. “Jaacov,” I said, “you’ve already sold those two titles to everybody in the business I don’t know how many times over the years. No, keep your masters.”
He was somewhat dejected that I had rejected his offer. “I could really use your help, Bob,” he said.
“If you really need my help, I’ll help you for old times’ sake. And you don’t have to pay me anything. Just don’t use my name on it.”
“Thanks, Bob. You’ve got a deal. I’ll buy you a good dinner.”
It was a deal that I began to regret from the first day of the two-day feature video shoot. In fact, I seem to have repressed that experience from my mind so well that I don’t even remember the title on the script.
What I do remember is that whatever story there was revolved around the unlikely adventures and antics of a highway cleanup gang composed of horny and somewhat amoral people sentenced by traffic court to perform road crew duty.
The cast and crew were composed entirely of people I had never worked with before, nor would I want to work with ever again. That’s saying something, because I usually get on well with whatever cast and crew I happen to be working with.
Barely attractive girls acted like prima donnas, but nearly all of them were virtually incapable of following any kind of direction. I also had to work with a cameraman who couldn’t follow direction either, since he was intent solely on doing his own thing.
“Where do you find these people, Jaacov?” I asked him. “Are they working for free, too, or what?”
“No, I have to pay them.”
Like the other Jaacovi shoots I’d been on, Jaacov tried to cram too much to do into too little time. Working with a crappy script and people that just didn’t seem to care about what they were doing was a far-from-pleasant experience. I never even got a good dinner out of it like Jaacov had promised.
By the time the shoot was over, I’d simply had it. I was sick and tired of working with people who called themselves actors but couldn’t even act their way out of a paper sack. Was I dreaming or did people really try harder back in the old days? Now it seemed as if it was all just about showing up, going through the motions, and leaving with a paycheck. And truth be told, upon reflection, I realized that I was actually no different. It appeared as if the time had come to close up shop.
Since this was not a decision to be taken lightly, I commiserated with my good friend Andy Dowdy while having a few at the San Francisco Saloon. “You’re becoming cynical in your old age,” he told me.
“I suppose so,” I said, “but I think that it’s now finally time to retire. For good, this time.”
I made my wishes known to my partners at New Era and they, too, agreed that perhaps the time had come to move on. We settled on an equitable division of the profits, and the assets of the corporation were put into storage to await whatever might subsequently come of them.
One of the partners, Christine’s younger brother Timmy Sun, came up and asked me, “So Bob, what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Take it day by day, I suppose.”
Then Christine came up to me and said, “Bob Chinn. Now you need a job.”
“You think so?” I asked. But I knew she was right. I’d get bored if I began spending my time simply hanging out with my friends and drinking. It was good to have some leisure time, but too much of it was a killer.
“I know so,” she answered. “You not rich yet, you know.”
I definitely had to agree with her on that point.
Then she said, “Timmy expanding his karaoke business. He need someone to help him. You help him.” She was not asking me. She was telling me.
I thought, well, at least it might give me something constructive to do.
Anyway, when Christine told you to do something, you did it.
Timmy Sun had started a retail karaoke supply business called DTS Karaoke that had gone from a small storefront operation to a big Internet and mail order business that occupied two good-size suites in a large office building in Chinatown. He had become one of the most popular retailers of karaoke software in the country and was now expanding his business and designing the equipment himself. Timmy asked me what a good brand name would be for his line of karaoke equipment. At the time, American Idol was very popular, so I suggested the name IdolPro.
DTS Karoke would soon move to the walk-in superstore operation that is now called KTS Karaoke on Huntington Drive with a showroom, a large warehouse, a few offices, and a receiving and shipping area. Over the next couple of years I would help him with sales, advertising, and brochures for his line of karaoke equipment, as well as setting up his wholesale division.
Working in the karaoke business would keep me busy for a couple of years, but I had a feeling that I would eventually want to do something else. I hadn’t yet achieved anything that I could consider to be meaningful in my life. Maybe, I thought, I should think about trying to do something like that. Accomplish something that might allow my kids to be proud of me. Then something happened that took me totally by surprise.
We contemplate it and we worry about it, but the last thing we ever expect to experience in our own lifetime is the death of a child. The events of my life took a very serious turn toward the end of 2004 with the death of my daughter Amy in October, a couple of weeks before her fortieth birthday. My greatest regret in life is that I’d thought I had all the time in the world to apologize to her for being a lousy, neglectful father, and now it was too late. If Amy’s death taught me anything at all, it is that one should never procrastinate when it comes to communicating with your own children.
Amy’s death affected much more than I had realized at first. Aside from the guilt that stemmed from my neglect of her was the sense of guilt that comes when a daughter predeceases her father. This was not the way things were supposed to work out. And I realized that I had not yet achieved anything that could make her the least bit proud of me. Consequently, I went into a deep depression.
The year 2004 ended and 2005 began. I continued to go to work, but I realized that I was now only going through the motions. My life as it was now seemed meaningless to me. I’d go out and eat and drink with my friends, but even doing that wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. I began spending most of my spare time catching up on reading the books I had always wanted to read and watching movies that I had missed seeing, but this only proved to be a temporary escape from the reality of my situation.
There was something definitely missing from my life. Little did I know that I would soon be taking a journey that would not only lead me toward a new career but also put me on a new path toward self-realization.