Country #3 on the grand tour: Vietnam. Finally, here, I'd scheduled several stops as traveling north through the country. I began down south in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon (a name whose usage still appears pretty frequently throughout the city). The heat was a mere 35 or so Celsius against Cambodia's 40+ Celsius (triple digits Fahrenheit), but when coupled with the humidity and the smog, the midday heat was still hardly bearable. As soon as I planted my bags in the dorm and ventured down the street, I wondered just how welcome I would be as an American: parades of blended civilian and military-dress people were marching down the streets and saluting. Children played around papier mache tanks, and posters advertized month-long celebrations marking the fortieth anniversary of the capture of Saigon, that same victory which spelled defeat for my own countrymen. Continue with caution, I figured.
My fears quickly allayed, it seemed that every local I encountered was pleased by my presence, especially those who could convince me to loosen my purse strings. And given the prices here, that didn't take much persuasion. I quickly settled in at an outdoor cafe with some fresh fruit juices to watch a 40th anniversary celebratory concert which, after some frighteningly angry Communist chanting to kick things off, was generally pretty entertaining.
 |
| The beginnings of April 2015's month-long celebrations of the 40th anniversary of the taking of Ho Chi Minh City. Westerners welcome. |
I had an early start to the following day in order to catch a tour through the Mekong Delta. Honestly, if I were to do this again, I'd skip it entirely. Unless you have a half-week to a week to go through on your own for an authentic feel for the place, it's not so worth the travel time. Our tour took us through four different islands where locals briefly showed us a craft, livelihood, or tradition and promptly tried to shove associated products down our faces. Yes, the beehives were cool, as were the traditional dances and song. It was interesting to watch the regionally ubiquitous coconut candies in production (even though they were nearly impossible to dislodge from my teeth) and watching crocodiles pant like dogs in the heat was thoroughly entertaining. That said, I could have done without the tour and, most especially, the sexual advances from my tour guide. The only plus was that he so thoroughly targeted every female on the tour that the Japanese, Chinese, and Western tourists were all banding together and doing our best to make jokes across our diverse cultures to protect each other and ease the tension.
 |
| The Mekong Delta- worth more than a day trip if you want to really experience it |
The Cu Chi tunnels, on the other hand, were absolutely worth the visit. The trip was powerful, inspirational, and a little depressing. Our guide showed us just how narrow this tunnel system was, and I felt amazed by the lengths to which the people were willing to go to protect their homeland. Then the guide showed us a series of tiger traps built from scrap metal from US bombs in order to bring unsuspecting US soldiers to grisly ends. And in case the demonstrations of the actions of the various traps with a bamboo stick wasn't enough, their were paintings of US soldiers with characture-esquely white facial features falling into pits screaming with blood shooting out. I looked at them and imagined all the poor young men drafted against their will, andd it made me so sad. Our guide didn't make light of the traps, but obviously approached the issue from another perspective. Our guide showed us many little tricks the people developed to help support life over extended periods in the underground tunnel network. Smoke from underground kitchens was directed through narrow tunnels and out into gaps between tree roots, where fallen leaves could hide the ventilation and were replaced daily to prevent US soldiers from becoming suspicious over charred leaves. The locals also built shoes with wider heels than toes so that any footprints they left behind indicated they'd been walking in the opposite direction. I was so impressed by the locals' ingenuity, and left with no question as to why they'd won the war. Wrapping up our tour, the guide, who was my age, served us boiled tapioca which we dipped in ground peanuts, and explained to us that this and rice were the extent of his diet, three meals per day, every day of the week, as a kid in the late '80s and early '90s. Thinking back to the hot pot I'd had the night before and the street foods I'd enjoyed alongside locals, I was astounded to taste such a stark symbol of how this country's wealth has evolved over the course of my lifetime. It's amazing to observe the resilience and resourcefulness of these people.
 |
| The Cu Chi Tunnels |
Back in the city, the joys of hoteling reared their ugly head once again. The first installment of hostel fun had arrived on night 1 in Bangkok, where a minute's abandonment of my towel in my shower stall in order to run back and lock up my wallet which I'd accidentally left on my bed resulted in an hour sitting outside the stall listening to the musical aftermath of someone else's night out drinking, followed by another hour of airing out my towel before I was brave enough to attempt using it on my freshly bathed body. Here, I returned home to make two rather unpleasant discoveries: 1. the floor in my dorm was slightly tilted toward my corner of the room, and 2. this tilt was made evident by the leaky air conditioning unit that had exclusively flooded the space under my bed where I had had the misfortune of leaving all my luggage. But in case that wasn't enough fun, the aforementioned leaky air conditioner sooner began an irregular pattern of rain onto my pillow. Not exactly the recipe for a good night's sleep (or two). Finally I even had to move for my last night to the hostel across the street, a move I regretted as I had so enjoyed the company of (some of) the fellow hostelers back where I'd begun.
Among interesting encounters, one toward the top of the list throughout the month was an American historian/trial lawyer/Vietnam vet who was staying in this first (flooded) hostel. He had the kindness and patience of an archetypal grandpa coupled with some fascinating life stories which he shared over a dinner one evening. He's made a historical investigation into his personal life project, and it has led him to many interesting and unexpected destinations on the quest for the truth. I'm looking forward to seeing his work published soon.
 |
| Good food, good company: Shared Vietnamese hot pots with an American Vietnam vet who shared his compelling life story |
It was towards the end of my time in this city that I began to notice something strange: it is now significantly easier for me to understand the French than heavily-accented Australians or New Zealanders. Given that the latter share my native language, I was rather taken aback.
 |
| Over drinks at this bar with some fellow hostelers, I came to realize just how much easier it's become for me to understand Parisian French than Australian English. Not something I'd expected to discover on my travels. |
My last morning, I discovered a surprisingly trendy cafe with Nordic decor, where I enjoyed the most relaxing moment I'd had in the past half-week. The Vietnamese are quite fond of coffee and have their own particularly strong way of preparing it, though any of their many coffee cafes will serve you in a dozen or more different styles to your heart's desire. In retrospect, these cafes merited more of my time in Saigon. They likely would have served as the Vietnamese equivalent of Bangkok's temples for me: little oases in the middle of the insanity of a Southeast Asian city.
 |
| The noisy, smoggy, fast-paced lifestyle of Ho Chi Minh City |
Recommendations:
Make sure to take the time to relax and escape the fast-paced city in one of the many coffeehouses like Alo Trà (address: 212 Lê Lai Bến Thành Quận 1 Bến Thành Quận 1 Hồ Chí Minh, Vietnam)
Take a half-day to check out the Cu Chi tunnels
