Bluejake

Uncensored Notes on Vietnam

1. Saigon

The immigration procedures seemed vaguely Soviet-- long wait, silent, disgruntled attendant. Thousands of people waiting outside the gates-- after midnight-- the air feels humid and vaguely redolent of cooking meat and garbage. Streets from the airport filled with motorbikes-- families, three deep, men and women, men and men-- no one obeys traffic signs. Downtown distinguished from outlying areas by the fact that the sidewalks are paved. Closer to the hotel the signage is all European luxury brands-- the cafes look French. The Caravelle is towering, in the 1950s style-- across from the Hotel Continental, the setting for the Quiet American. Rooms are five stars-- the view outside is low city, dotted by a few skyscrapers-- lots of neon. The river is on the other side.

Downtown looks a lot like Santiago, Chile. Wide streets, thousands of motorbikes and the occasional cab. Sidestreets are narrow. Not that many bums, but tons of people selling coconut drinks or lottery tickets. The storefronts are filled with current electronics. Tourism is strong downtown, with most of the hotels and cafes catering to Westerners. The river is a few blocks away-- it's swarming with people out for a stroll, and smells strongly of fish-sauce and grilled squid. Museums have a fun 1970s era feel-- lots of peeling paint and rolling gates-- not much in the way of national treasures, but plenty of kitsch and propaganda paintings-- loyal party members on the march, shooting down imperialist choppers, celebrating in the village. Same in the natural history museum-- lots of pottery shards, Buddha statues. At the War Remnants museum it was the party line-- imperialist Americans and their South Vietnamese lackeys-- hundreds of shots of deformed Agent Orange children. A mockup of the tiger cages the French used to torture prisoners-- and tons of captured American tanks and planes and rockets.

We've been eating constantly-- Thuy's family has taken us around. Lots of spicy pho, grilled pork, and pungent greens. We visited their house for dinner-- they live in converted barracks near the river, across from the zoo. Everyone friendly-- they served summer rolls and grilled meat. Lots of fruit. Durian is popular here-- I expected it to smell like corpses, but really it has sort of an intense, passion-fruity kind of odor, and tastes pretty bland. Afterwards they sang karaoke-- old Elton John songs from the 1970s. They drove us back to the hotel on the back of their bikes-- zooming through traffic at thirty miles an hour-- no one wearing helmets-- lots of people smiling at the tall Americans. Beats riding in cabs-- even though they tend to be cheap-- $2 for a ride across town. Only one guy tried to rip us off-- asked for $40 instead of $4-- we paid it after a long argument.

There isn't much for me to take pictures of-- the streetlife is too modern, and most of the old buildings must have been destroyed during or after the war. The architecture is a mix of bland modernism, some 1960s kitsch, and a few throwbacks to the French colonial period. Alleys are better, but the February light is harsh-- uneven lighting is a challenge. Contented myself with snapshots for family-- maybe I'll throw those on Flickr later on.

We ventured outside the city to visit the old Viet Cong tunnels near Cu Chi-- the city extends endlessly, and there aren't highways in the traditional sense-- just two lane roads swarmed with bikes. After ten miles or so Saigon starts to give out to fields-- water buffalo and rice paddies between factories and used bike lots. Further on it becomes rural-- lots of people swinging in hammocks or squatting by the side of the road. The tunnels themselves were hilarious-- pitch dark, sweltering-- three feet high. Our guide told us that fat Americans usually can't make it through. Afterwards, we had lunch by the river-- the scenery flat for miles. Only other people in the restaurant were Western men and their Vietnamese wives.

On to Da Nang-- a few days at the beach.