Scooter city, Saigon
Stepping out of Tan Son Nhat international airport, a chaotic montage of mopeds skirmishing in the bustling streets granted me a prelude to the pulse of scooter city, Saigon. Arriving in District 1, an army of of street urchins dispensing tourist souvenirs attempted to up-sell their wares, much before I had the slightest chance to survey my surroundings. As I made my way to my hotel room perched high above the hustle of Bui Vien, broad tree lined avenues dotted with artisan cafés took me by me surprise as I strolled along the broad boulevards of District 1 . Bui Vien can be construed as Khao San road of Saigon and whilst I do not harbour a particular fondness for backpacker districts in general (or Kaho San road), this was easily one of the most interesting tourist traps I’ve ever found myself in. A myriad interesting characters pop up around every corner.
As I set off on my first ambulatory excursion, elegantly attired Vietnamese women and men in crisp white shirts starkly juxtaposed against grubby backpackers. The inhabitants of this bustling burgh contrast sharply, on one hand you have solicitous, sophisticated and sharply dressed denizens. On the other hand, you have the touts and thugs. Trotting along the tourist parts of the city, it was impossible to get too far without dealing with a street urchin or a cyclo rider attempting to coerce you into a guided tour or offer questionable contraband.
After a measly meal on my budget airline flight, I stepped into a quaint café around a busy junction. To mark my initiation into the world of Vietnamese coffee, I ordered a cà phê đen nóng (Vietnamese black coffee) along with a pho sandwich. Compared to my barely edible budget airline meals, the thinly sliced succulent beef in my sandwich was a welcome relief, as the phin filter slowly dripped a charcoal black robusta decoction into a glass against the intense pace of traffic outside. As a person who loathes seafood, I was grateful for the easy access to substantial meat based meals rather than the usual chicken, pork and seafood diet popular in most other southeast asian countries.
As I devoured my evening meal, a man in a well fitted suit seated outside casually rolled up a joint, plumes of smoke wafting into the cafe and mixing with the heady smell of freshly brewed coffee. Passing by the Banh Mi street carts and bakeries, I was treated to incredibly crisp, delicious bread and pastries, perhaps the finest this far east of the Occident. Banh Mi is the Vietnamese take on the baguette sandwich and is usually stuffed with veggies, meats, ham, an egg or anything else Vietnamese culinary ingenuity can throw at it. Along with the endless cups of strong Vietnamese coffee, Banh Mi sandwiches fuelled my ambulatory exploration of the city.
Come nightfall, Bui Vien transformed from a laid back city street to a high energy, chaotic whirlwind . Plastic chairs lined the dusty roads, which were in turn overrun by packs of tourists. Younger city dwellers gracefully perched themselves on bright stools by the streets, whilst backpackers waddled around like a herd of cattle obstructing the free flow of traffic and pedestrians: one of the reasons why I absolutely detest travelling in large groups. Moving away, into the quieter lanes, an emaciated man emerged from the shadows and began enquiring about my whereabouts and invariably began propositioning all sorts of verboten goods. “My friend, where you go? I give you Marijuana, very good.” When I showed disinclination, he retorted back “Oh you no like? I give you ecstasy”. Again I politely declined. Not one to give up easily and since he was already past gateway drugs, he raised the bar “My friend you no like Marijuana, ecstasy, I give you cocaine. Very good for you!”. “Oh you no like cocaine? I give you heroin!” I firmly, yet politely turned down the offer. Just as I attempted to make myself scarce, a babyfaced man riding what appeared to be a child’s bicycle (complete with the high handlebars) began riding beside me. After the usual banalities, he moved on to the sales pitch, “my friend, I give you good lady. Very good price”. I suppressed my laughter and once again declined the generous offer. Having travelled through southeast Asia before granted me a glimpse into the seedier side of tourism. However, a babyfaced, bicycle riding pimp was something I would have never anticipated. Making my way back to my room, the sound of 90’s hip-hop blaring outside resonated through the thin walls till the early hours of the morning.
The next day, I paid a visit to the War Remnants Museum. A grim, yet mandatory experience of the city. In spite of the Vietnam War (or American War as it is referred to over here), the Vietnamese (particularly the South Vietnamese), harbour little resentment toward the former belligerent country. In fact, I found the (South) Vietnamese to be incredibly warm in their interactions. Stepping further back in time to French Indochina, I made my way to the Saigon Notre Dame, stopping for coffee on the way. Vietnamese cafés give you complimentary green tea, iced or hot depending on your coffee. I fell in love with the concept of chasing coffee with green tea. A veritable caffeine buzz almost always ensued after visiting coffee houses of the city. Making my way toward remnants of the French colonial rule, I dodged a busload of tourists. As I took in the sight of the brightly painted shrine, a flock of pigeons suddenly took flight. The flutter of pigeons and the laughter of a baby made it seem as if time slowed down for a fleeting moment.
Moving beyond the usual tourist sites of the city, I made my way to the Jade Emperor Pagoda, a taoist temple. Painted a bright pink hue, the oriental architectural style was a reminder that I was on the eastern extremity of the asian continent. Fiery statues of Tao awaited me inside, with smoke from live coals billowing and the pungent aroma of incense sticks wafting though, as if to match the personalities of the engravings. A monk perched himself by the frame of a door, whist two Vietnamese women paid obeisance. Far away from the usual tourist traps, I enjoyed my first truly authentic glimpse into the city.
Despite their fairly calm demeanour, a restless sense of urgency takes over the Vietnamese the moment they find themselves riding a scooter, careening along the streets and pavements. As I nervously waited for an opportunity to cross the road, a petite Vietnamese lass calmly crossed the street with her palm firmly outstretched against the traffic. I followed suit. With nightfall imminent, I made my way back to my hotel. Along the way, I stumbled upon a lush green, bucolic expanse in the heart of the city. After snacking on a delicious Banh Mi sandwich from a street cart run by a mother with her young daughter, I whiled away the evening sipping a pint in another tiny street-side restaurant singlehandedly run by Vietnamese woman. Despite their dainty features, Vietnamese women are easily some of the hardest working and independent women I have ever come across in my travels.
After experiencing a fair bit of the city I decided to explore the ingenious Cu Chi Tunnels on the outskirts of the city. Hopping on a tour bus to Cu Chi, our guide provided a fairly objective and unbiased narrative of the war, poignantly stating, “history is written by the victor” with a forlorn expression. Before we could burrow our way through the tunnels, we were given a glimpse into the elaborate traps laid out by the Vietcong, Including trap doors and spikes that could strike a man in the groin if a door was kicked open. Our guide rather brusquely explained, “If American soldier kick door open, he no have children”. The tour bus had a fairly diverse lot. Along with the usual suspects, we had a Thai couple. While waiting for her turn to descend into a tunnel through a trap door, the Thai girl made sure she had the first go whilst emphatically stating “lady first, ladyboy second” pointing to her companion/partner, much to the amusement of the entire tour group. Investigating a captured American tank, a gym rat donning workout clothes lifted the heavy downward facing tank gun with both hands with a smug look on his face. To this, a Vietnamese veteran suddenly emerged and lifted the heavy gun with a single hand for a few reps, challenging our modern day wannabe Hercules. Much to his consternation and embarrassment, the lad was unable to perform a single rep with one hand. The fairly compact framed Vietnamese war vet mocked the protein powder junkie: “You pussy boy! You pop cherry and come back”.
The next day, I hopped on a day trip to the Mekong river. Contrary to expectation, the majority of the tour group comprised of Vietnamese locals along with a Canadian, a New Zealander and a Californian girl: the only other native English speakers. Whilst surveying the muddy river turned out to be a rather banal exercise, it was refreshing to be around solo travellers for a change. Perhaps the memorable part of this day trip was floating on a Sampan, donning the traditional conical hat whilst making our way through what was presumably a traditional Mekong village, though it did seem to be curated for tourists. As I sipped a 333 beer (previously known as 33 beer and favoured by American GIs during the war) by the Mekong, it was hard to imagine the tumult that once enveloped this region.
Back in Saigon, I made my way to Ben Thanh market. This dense indoor market is a labyrinth of imitation clothing, shoe and watch stores. Most of the vendors take immense pride in the “made in Vietnam” label versus anything made in China. In many cases I found some of the imitations were possibly superior in terms of quality to what I’d get at a showroom back home. Most of the Vietnamese vendors found it hard to believe that I was of Indian origin, with the general consensus being that Indian men are fat and smell of curry. Many presumed I was Singaporean/Malaysian and curiously enough, a few thought I was American. Upon learning about my Indian antecedents, I was lavished with massive discounts, because “India-Vietnam poor country. No have strong money”.
On my final day in the city, I spent my final hours in the city with a Vietnamese girl I befriended. Just as we settled down on rickety stools by the street, a drugged out expat made a spectacle of himself. With cheap Chinese drugs taking over the market, many drug users end up losing their sanity. As my friend explained, “ China drug no good. People become crazy”. Also highlighting the growing discontent amongst the Vietnamese with regards to Chinese interference. My petite Vietnamese friend proceeded to monstrously devour a portion of snails. “Some people eat snail, have problem. I okay, no problem. Have strong stomach”, she explained. Enjoying my last Banh Mi whilst perched on a rickety stool by the street I was granted a thoroughly engaging narrative of the street.
Quite unlike the Thais and other inward looking Eastern cultures, the Vietnamese have an immense curiosity about the world as well as an openness to other cultures and countries. Again, unlike other neighbouring east and southeast Asian countries, I found the Vietnamese to be incredibly solicitous without being obsequious, particularly in Saigon where I spent most of my time. History books don’t necessarily document the most objective assessments of conflicts as complex as the Vietnam War. The ultimate takeaway for me was a new opinion of the regular Vietnamese, which in many ways changed my previous notions of the conflict. As I made my way back to the airport I remembered a rather candid confession about the city’s name usage in press reports, “If anything good happen, Ho Chi Minh City. If anything bad happen, Saigon.”
