Ho Chi Minh City, or to us ancients, Saigon

Posted under Southeast Asia 2009

Fortunately Andrew Lloyd Webber was in his musical frenzy some years back, as Miss Ho Chi Minh City doesn’t have the same artistic ring as Miss Saigon. One of the things that the communists did after gaining control of the country was to rename the capital of South Vietnam, which they did in honor of their exalted leader.

We actually called it many other names before we left. It started with our trip from the airport to our hotel in the centre of the city. Being generally stupid, we ended up paying about double what we should have, which is an ulcer builder until you realize that we are not talking a kings ransom here. The amazing part is the number of motorbikes you must avoid. They claim to have about 8 million people in HCMC, and about 4 million motorbikes. I believe that they all run about the streets twenty-four seven. It is just like someone kicked the top off an anthill, there are bikes going in all directions. Now you also have trucks taxis and motorcars vying for space on the roadways, and people playing Russian roulette by trying to cross the streets.

My exalted shopping leader and I decided to make our way to a market place, and on our way encountered a local with his uptown rickshaw. He convinced us that this was the way to travel to the market, but as this vehicle was only designed to carry one, he quickly called up his good friend so that we could both ride in style. Now let me describe this chariot. If you were to take a stroller, designed for quite a hefty child, and weld it to the front of a very old bicycle, you would get the picture. It is actually called a xe om.

Fearlessly we hurl ourselves into the flow of traffic in our quest for the market. Well not fearlessly, really, as I suspect that my “white as a sheet” countenance was only over shadowed by Bonnie’s look of utter terror. It was then that I realized that my driver was entitled to show no fear, as he had an air bag in front of him — me. I had only feet ahead of me, and they were my own. In spite of all this we made it to the market unscathed, and our trusty drivers insisted that it would be absolutely no problem to wait for us and return us to our hotel. Oh lucky us.

The market was very nearly as congested as the streets, and in short order we returned to the street for our return trip, and true to his word, there was our driver and his trusty sidekick. The fact that he would not take payment for the trip to the market may also have had some bearing on their patience. Into the traffic we venture once again, and once again we arrive at our destination intact — miracles of miracles. Time to settle our account. There I was, in the centre of Ho Chi Minh City, with my Dong in my hand, when it was brought to my attention that I was somewhat short of Dong. There was perhaps enough Dong to satisfy myself, but hardly enough to satisfy Bonnie. Oh what to do at this late stage in life, but then it came to me — I could try American bucks. This appeared to satisfy all concerned, until my driver grabbed what he could, to share with he and his friend. There I was, short again. Lesson learned — don’t take the rickshaw type thingies anywhere, and make certain that you have sufficient Dong for all occasions. I suspect that he was able to buy the new luxury, Lexus-type xe om with his new found wealth.

We were beginning to feel a bit pouty-faced about Vietnam in general, and HCMC in particular, when Bonnie managed to find a store that carried embroidered silk pictures. Rather spectacular items that are embroidered by women in Dalat. The process that is used was first developed in Hue. Both cities are in central Vietnam. Now these skilled women embroider the most incredible pictures on silk cloth, with the finest of silk threads. There are pictures in an Oriental style, scenes of forests, flowers, fish and other fauna, as well as portraits. Of all the women who do this embroidery, there are apparently only about thirty who do the portraits, as this takes a special skill that not all have. We, of course picked up a portrait, as they were not only something to behold, they were also more expensive. We must uphold our image, and we can now say “adieu” to Saigon, with a better feeling.

Had a bit of a touchy feely type moment on the streets of Saigon. Athlete that I am, I was out by my own self, striding down the sidewalks of town, when an elderly dude (about my age), reached over and patted me on the shoulder as we were passing. Startled, I glanced in his direction, at which time he said “thank you”, snapped off a smart salute and carried on his way. He was long gone by the time I realized that he had probably assumed me to be a returning US veteran, and he was one of those left behind. It is gratifying to know that there are still those in Vietnam who appreciated the efforts and sacrifices of the US military, even from an unpopular war.

Took a tour from HCMC to the Cao Dei temple and the Chu Chi tunnels. Interesting, but different. It seem that back in the 30’s an individual, well actually 8 individuals, decided to establish a new religious group. I suspect that this was due to a strong desire for a better afterlife, but a total uncertainty of which religion had the best possibility for success. Their solution was to throw a little bit of several religions into one basket and, I suspect, hope for the best. Thus there are bits of the Catholic and Protestant religions, Buddhism and Islam faiths, and a little Taoist and Confucian beliefs as well. Now the temple structure was built on the lines of a Buddhist temple, but was much more colorful. I do suspect that the color co-coordinator from their interior design team was a tad light in his flip-flops, as he was very strong on baby blues, soft yellows and pinks. He loved pinks., and used them with total abandon, on both the exterior and interior. The interior of the temple was pretty much devoid of furnishings, with the exception of eight chairs, (more like thrones) for the eight founders. The most elevated chair was for the Pope, no — not that other guy, their own Pope. The lesser chairs are for Archbishops, Bishops, Cardinals etc. The faithful of the Cao Dei religion can attend service 4 times daily and must be vegetarians for 10 days per month. Those holding office must be veggies twenty-four seven. As those who founded the religion and held the positions of authority have long since passed on to wherever they were destined, the chairs now stand empty. They can be filled, but get this, it is done via a séance and with the assistance of an Ouija board. The communist government won’t, at present, authorize a séance, and so they remain unfulfilled. Bonnie and I didn’t sign up as it seemed a bit too Branch Dravidian and Wacky, Texas. Oops, sorry, that should read Waco, Texas.

Apparently the following has grown to some four million faithful, and in addition to the some four hundred temples in South Vietnam, there is a temple in Australia and two in California. California, you say — go figure!!

The Chu Chi tunnels were a different matter. In the heart of farming country, a village with communist leanings, was drawn into the conflict It appears as though the VC, the Chinese communists and Mother Russia, offered little support other than doctrine. To protect themselves from the defoliants and Napalm, the villagers built a labyrinth of tunnels and bunkers. These were built primarily at night, and the removed dirt was spread throughout the rice paddies. These tunnels interconnected with underground field hospitals, command centers, mess halls and barracks, and encompassed several levels. To assist in protecting this environment, they built numerous traps, in an effort to kill the soldiers from the south, particularly those soldiers wearing the uniforms of the US military. The tunnels themselves were very small, as for the most part Vietnamese are not noted for their large stature, and the lack of rice during the war years did nothing to add to their size. This was to their advantage, as the US soldier was better fed and bigger in stature, had difficulty in going through the small passages.

For the benefit of the tourist, some of the tunnels have been increased twofold. Twice as high and twice as wide, and even yet, in a squat, my shoulders still brushed both sides. Bonnie went through about fifty feet of this before claustrophobia really took hold, and after about 150 feet, I too, made my way to an exit. A “tunnel-rat” I ain’t.

It is back to Saigon ,and preparation for our next journey, a flight to Nha Trang, the beach area of Vietnam.

Keep tuned, and take care –

T