Let Saigons Be Saigons
I arrived in Vietnam with Daniel and I’m still here. He has since left for home. I’m presently in the central part of the country, but more about that in a later blog entry. I’ll start where Daniel and I started–in Saigon.
Technically, what was once called “Saigon” became “Ho Chi Minh City” by 1976 after the North Vietnamese prevailed in the Vietnam War (called the “American War” here). Ho Chi Minh City, or HCMC, has 18 districts, and the central district retains the name Saigon. But often people still refer to HCMC as a whole as Saigon.
We arrived on November 18 and were greeted at the airport by the smiling faces of my cousin’s wife and her sisters. Daniel and my cousin took a trip to Vietnam a few years ago, and my cousin Joel met a Vietnamese girl on the last day. They kept in touch and eventually married. My brother was best man at the wedding. So far he’s dashed hopes that he, too, would find a Vietnamese girl to marry, but, of course, the possibility remains open for as long as he’s single. But no pressure. Anyway, we all had a great seafood buffet dinner that first night and coffee and eggs together in the morning. It was nice to have family to show us around a bit.
While in HCMC, my brother and I visited the “Reunification Palace.” It used to be called “Independence Palace,” the place where the president of the Republic of South Vietnam resided, but the Ho Chi Minh government renamed it in 1975 to commemorate the “reunification” of North and South Vietnam when the South surrendered. On April 30 of that year, tanks rolled through the gates of the palace and that marked the end of the war. Until that day, Saigon had been the capitol of the Republic of South Vietnam since 1955.
We also visited the War Remnants Museum. The displays clearly reflect the North Vietnamese worldview, and I found the sight of the American aircraft and tanks in the courtyard–spoils of the war–disturbing.
But the most remarkable aspect of HCMC has to be the insane traffic. Everyone rides motor scooters. And I do mean everyone. Teens, business people, the elderly, entire families, including children. I kid you not–we saw a family of five on a single scooter. Infants ride, too, wedged between the driver and the steering column. And no one wears a helmet or uses any safety devices. On the road, anything goes. There are no lanes. You can drift left or right at will. You can cross the center divider–if there happens to be one at all–and ride in oncoming traffic if you like. You can turn left from the far right side of the street and right from the far left side of the street. You can merge right and merge left and slow down and speed up at your whim.
Most intersections have no traffic lights. Did you hear me, people? No traffic lights at intersections! And HCMC is a big, modern city, with very wide streets flanked by rows of highrise buildings. But at the intersections, the motorists just weave in and out of the traffic approaching from the sides, and somehow things manage to work out.
Because people are driving scooters and not cars, the roads can accommodate more overall motorists. And the streets are absolutely flooded with them. Over the incessant high-pitched buzz of the motors blares the sharp cacaphony of honking horns. I swear the drivers must have a third arm just for the horn because the honking goes on and on. I’m sure the drivers’ training programs require new motorists to honk at least a 1,000 times during testing in order to be licensed.
Because light skin is favored, the women wear sun hats and arm-length gloves to prevent tanning. Male and female motorists wear face masks to keep the smog out of their mouths, so many of the women are completely covered from head to toe, like urban nomads.
The absence of traffic lights makes crossing the street as a pedestrian a spiritual experience. You step off the curb, realizing this might be the last step you ever take, say a prayer and carefully pace off a path across the street, slowly, gradually, watching in amazement as the oncoming motorbikes whisk by in front of and behind you. Whatever you do, don’t make any sudden movements! Just stay on a steady and predictable path and trust the neverending cavalcade will steer clear. You almost have to enter a sort of zen state to cross a street, abandoning all worldly cares and trusting in the harmony of the world around you.
Daniel and I took an excursion 40 kilometers away from HCMC’s rumbling traffic and out to the Cu Chi Tunnels. The tunnels we visited are actually the Ben Dinh (or Ben Duoc) tunnels, which are a relatively small portion of the 250 kilometer long Cu Chi tunnel system. The Vietnamese originally built the tunnels for the war against the French but the Vietcon guerillas used them in the “American War” as well. There are four levels of tunnels and they conceal such things as a well, a smokeless kitchen, a meeting room, and a hospital. Our guide took us into the tunnels and also showed us an array of booby traps used to kill Americans in exruciatingly painful ways, traps originally designed for animals. I found the sights fascinating but sobering and disconcerting. As at the War Remnants Museum, there was the “wrecked American tank” on display. The black and white orientation video featured footage of male and female Vietnamese farmers smiling as they happily and harmoniously fashioned weapons from ordnance shards and set traps in the jungle. This was juxtaposed against footage of carpet bombing by the faceless U.S. Air Force. The blatant message: America is the inhumane oppressor whom the poor Vietnamese folk had no choice but to resist to preserve their simple ways.
Although the communists won the war, they did not cling to their own doctrine in economic matters. They implemented a policy of “doi moi” (“renovation”) in the 1980s, embracing a market economy and privatized retail businesses and agriculture. Thus they disregarded Marxist theories of collectivization and central planning. As one consequence, street vendors and drivers-for-hire (of pedi-cabs, taxis, “motos” (motorbikes)) trying to make a living seize every possible opportunity to accost every passing tourist with propositions for goods or services. That, combined with the crazy traffic, makes urban Vietnam a chaotic place.
Speaking of money, Daniel and I spent a little to have our laundry cleaned. The lady who ran the shop did not have a head for numbers. As she counted up our items of clothing, she got confused. In English, she’d say something like, “one, two, three, eight, eleven.” Then we’d interrupt and correct her counting. She’d laugh and then do the same thing. After several tries, and with the assistance of all of our fingers, she eventually got the numbers right.
We stayed in HCMC for two nights and then flew to Hanoi on November 20. The cab driver for the airport first took us to pick up our laundry. He had a nasty cough and a nastier temper, muttering impatiently under his breath as he drove. When he backed up away from the laundry shop, he collided with a traffic-jammed SUV (one of the few cars on the road). He left the meter running while he inspected the damage to both cars. When we called him on it, he blurted “short time, short time; everything money; money, money, money.” That’s doi moi for ya.
Tags: Cu Chi Tunnels, HCMC, Ho Chi Minh City, Saigon, Southeast Asia, Travel, Vietnam
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