The Mane Chance – Part 2

I know you’ve all been pining for an update about Ernest and Mabel, the two marble lions that my husband Jay bought in a mad moment in Vietnam. (Click here to read that post if you missed it.)

When last seen, they were standing among a forest of other white marble flora and fauna (not forgetting the odd Venus or cherub) in the showroom of the marble factory in Da Nang. We took it on faith that they would indeed be sent to us via freighter. And in December, we finally got word that they were in…Los Angeles.

But, said the man, we’ll be trucking them over to you as soon as we can. It was the day before we left for the Panama Canal and Peru that the call came through…from Arizona.

They’re here, said the man. In Arizona, we asked. “

No that’s just my cell phone. They’re in Boston, and we can deliver them soon.”

“Not today then?” asked Jay hopefully.

“No, but we can do it next week,” said the man. Luckily we had Fred and Bertie still at home before they returned to their respective studies. Jay briefed them on where the lions should go and we left for points south.

It wasn’t long before we started receiving irritated emails from Fred (and he insists I quote these word for word, because he’s not impressed by my (occasional) lapses into poetic license. (I don’t know what he means.)

“Firstly, the lions. No one has contacted us about them yet. Either on the home phone or one of our cell phones. I thought they were supposed to have done so by now. We have no means for contacting these people, so if you do, maybe you could pass it along to us.”

I suggested he leave it for a couple of days. A couple of days later:

“The freight people… want to bring the lions in on a tractor-trailer. Which Bertie and I are both skeptical about. We don’t think the vehicle will be able to safely get down the driveway and back out again without hitting trees, rocks or some other obstacle. If I remember correctly the cab is 12′ and the trailer is 48′.” (And Fred always remembers correctly…)

A day later:

“The lions are evidently in two separate crates on a single skid. The skid weighs a total of 800 lbs. We assume the crates are about 400 lbs each. Making them probably unmovable by us. The person I spoke with today suggested we could meet them somewhere and they could put them in our truck. I’m not really sure, so I thought I’d see what you thought.”

I suggested the freight people might have a fork lift on the back of the truck. Jay suggested they back down the quarter mile distance from the main road to our house (with a bend in the road).

All the suggestions failed, and eventually Fred threw up his hands in disgust (figuratively, Fred).  We arrived home from our travels to find a message waiting for us from the freight man. He was about to charge us for storing the lions, since we hadn’t arranged for delivery. Jay soon sorted him out.

And the lions arrived. When I first saw them, they were standing in their wooden cage listing drunkenly to one side exactly where the snowplough would hit them. (Luckily snow has been rather thin on the ground, literally, this winter.) Jay had phoned our snow-ploughing guy, Matt, who was looking for work, since there wasn’t any ploughing to do, and Matt was due to arrive within hours to unpack and place the lions where we wanted them.

Jay paced around the outside of the house, trying to decide where to put them. Finally he called me outside to see what I thought.

“What about here?” he asked, pointing to the spot where they were already standing. I wondered whether to let them be run over by the snow plough. But I knew they meant a lot to Jay, so I hinted that perhaps they should be closer to the house.

“There,” said Jay, pointing to the path closer to the house.

“I think they might block the path unless we turn them sideways. How about on the porch?” I suggested. “Then they’d be out of the rain.” (As if that would do them any damage…)

We agreed on the porch, and Matt and his team of three muscly guys managed to get them there. Here’s the picture to prove it.

The lions tamed…

by the lion-tamer

There is one thing, though. Jay decided we should name the lions something other than Ernest and Mabel. That was fine with me. I’d only been joking about the names.

“How about Leo and Lucy?” he suggested. “Or Lenny and Louise?”

I was looking at the lions as he said this and a sudden thought occurred to me. You’ve probably spotted it already. Both our lions are boys. I pointed this out.

“Never mind,” I said. “I’m sure two gay lions would be great for our Chi.”

They still don’t have names.

The Happy Buddha gets wet

They never mentioned the rain. That’s to say, I’m sure someone said the monsoon season would be over by now. But…

We arrived in Hanoi on Friday and transferred to a flight to Hue, about halfway down the coast of Vietnam, where we were met by Nyan, our very fluent guide. It wasn’t raining yet, but as soon as we reached our (very nice) hotel, it started. We could see the swimming pool from our fabulous room, but there was no way of getting to it without getting drenched, and, illogically, that didn’t seem like a great idea.

Within minutes of checking in, Jay had, of course, covered all the surfaces with his stuff, leaving me with my usual bedside table. Only problem was that the bedside table was a small triangular one, with a large bedside lamp on it. That left room for my cell phone. Still, I did not repine since we had fun things to look forward to.

Our guide picked us up for a cyclo ride later in the day. The cyclo is a kind of reverse tricycle, with the pedaling person on the back and the passenger in the front. It reminded me forcibly of being wheeled along in a push-chair as a child. As we started out, the rain had cleared for a bit, but, sure enough, as soon as we were about half a mile down the street, the heavens opened again.  My nanny (sorry, driver) stopped the cyclo to pull the cover over me, leaving a letterbox-shaped opening for me to look out of.  In a way, this was just as well, since the number of cyclists and moped riders that cut across in front of us was impressive, not to say terrifying.

On the bright side, so to speak, the two-wheeled travelers were certainly bright. They all wore plastic ponchos, in a rainbow of colors: orange, fuschia, lime, blueberry, yellow and sky blue. Then there were the polka dotted ones and the checked ones that looked like flying tablecloths. It was relatively rare to see a single rider – most bikes and motor scooters carried two people, with the pillion passengers sometimes riding side-saddle, their stiletto heels demurely tucked to the side. The passengers would try and cover themselves with the same poncho as the driver, which meant they had no way of seeing the road – and maybe that was just as well. The cargo carried by bikes was untrammeled by common sense – baskets full of rather grubby white ducks, vegetables, huge flower arrangements, even a mattress, were attached to bikes and hauled around in the rain.

Happy even when wet

It poured while we visited the remains of the Citadel, a 16th century stronghold bombed almost to the ground during the war. It rained when we visited the 15th century pagoda, where the monks, dressed in saffron and red, were chanting near a huge statue of the happy Buddha – a nickname our guide soon attached, for reasons still not quite clear to me, to Jay. The temple was built of teak and open, as almost all buildings seemed to be, on one side. The altar inside was flanked by two enormous blue and white vases, the height of a man, easily.

It continued to bucket down as six large bowls of snails were carried by the monks down to the river as offerings to the Buddha. I think I may safely say that I’ve never seen as many snails (like English cockles) in one place at one time. I suspect the snails were happier in the rain than the monks

It rained when we took our boat ride on the Perfume River on a dragon boat – one with large painted dragons on the prow. The owners lived on the boat, though they must have slept in the area where they had kindly placed three plastic chairs for us to sit on, since there wasn’t anywhere else. Free enterprise thrives in Hue, and it wasn’t long before the wife produced a pair of silk Chinese style pajamas for me to look at. I shook my head and pointed at the shopper in the family. We came away with five pairs, one for each of our daughters/daughters in law. And a small wooden model of some Vietnamese fishermen…

And it kept on raining.