An Essay on Hawking

Hawking is a traditional Asian sport where individuals, usually men, spend their lives training hawks, the ultimate birds of prey, to obey their commands.
As we walked through an overpass in Hong Kong we saw "No Hawking" signs, so we did not set our birds on small prey.
It was not until we had to deal with the streets of Hong Kong that we understood what "Hawking" truly meant: men, women, and children on every corner trying to sell their various goods.
We were most often offered watches, "copy watches," to be exact. "You want Rolex, copy watch? Rolex? Rolex? Breightling? Rolex? Copy Watch?" Our days were also filled with offers of "massages," suits - tailored suits - healthy young girls, and food. The offers we received were increasingly less family friendly as the day progressed into night.
Our last experience in Hong Kong was spent on the street waiting for a bus to the airport and being hawked at; we hated every scorchingly hot minute of it.
Singapore was a haven from hawkers, we were safe.
From the first minute in Vietnam, hawkers attacked us. From streets, buildings, while on buses, in taxis, eating meals: everywhere. As we sat at lunch the first day, devouring plates and plates and plates of food for a total of 250,000 Dong - about $3.20 per person - a constant stream of vendors came into the restaurant. Never have I seen such aggressive peddlers. They entered, heard our polite rejections, and still presented goods. Sunglasses which bent, Zippo lighters, magazines, trashy novels; the junk we import from these countries over here that white trash families buy at Wal-mart en gross. Getting them away from the table took multiple "No, thank you's" and eventually just ignoring them while they stood there. It didn't help that Gideon enjoyed diddling them, feigning interest in their trinkets.

An amendment to my original essay:
I admit it, I write my blogs in advance, I have a fear about posting before multiple revisions. So an experience in the meantime had to be added. While enjoying our final dinner in Vietnam a throng of incredibly young girls came by, trying to sell their items. No joke, a 7 year old girl came over and opened a case of cigarettes for us to buy and turned around angrily when we said we didn't smoke. I would not have been surprised if an infant had crawled up to our table and offered us an eighth.