VIETNAM - The South

Having proved, without a shadow of doubt, that we were who we said we were, and that indeed, the bags we were carrying belonged to that self-same person, we were allowed out of Saigon Airport. It was only 6 kilometres to our hotel, but our Traffic Awareness Anxiety reached a whole new level. Separate lanes for motor cycles – good. Many cars & buses – OK. Taxis – bad, very bad. Old rules apply only if there are no taxis in the mix.

Our hotel, the Asian Ruby, had chosen the Vespa as an art form in the foyer. The former Vespa owner was thrilled, and patted it often.

 

Next morning we left our hotel at 5.30 am so that Thach could show us the difference between 5.30 traffic and 5.50 traffic. He probably wouldn’t have got us past Notre Dame if we had been any later. 

 

This was the start of our 29,976 step day. This day was not calculated in beers. This day ended with cocktails in the Rooftop Garden of the Rex Hotel, a hangout for US servicemen during the American War. One cocktail was the same price as two meals at Pho 24, the noodle joint near our hotel.

As expected, the delightful parks were full of people doing exercises, dancing, sweeping and playing badminton. 

We were just taking the circuitous route to the coffee shop, for yet another  Best Vietnamese Coffee ever, although a couple of our group did jump in on the jazzercise for a few minutes.

Next to the coffee shop was a park where owners bring their caged birds for a bit of companionship (birds) and coffee (owners).  They all looked like budgies to me, but I can’t tell a red-whiskered bulbul from a Chinese laughing thrush if you paid me.

 

However, we could tell a grub from a cricket at the bird food sellers.

To put the final edge on our breakfast hunger pangs, we did a quick spin through the Cua Tai Markets, where the freshest of absolutely everything is sold. It must have been scrupulously clean, as there was no hint of bad odour. 

Seafood was still alive, ducks had been playing in the pond only yesterday, and the courgette flowers hadn’t even had time to get bewildered.

By 8.00 am, we were on “day at leisure”. Thirty degrees, and 99% humidity. We had the compass, the map, the pedometer and a plan. 

We had glimpsed the Reunification Palace on our walk. It had been opened in 1966, a modern version replacing the Norodom Palace built for the French. We were given the impression that it was a flurry of extravagance by the Puppet of the moment. By April 30, 1975, the office of President of South Vietnam was a hot potato. Duong Van Minh had only been in the job less than 3 days when a PAVN-T54 tank drove through his front gate. 

 

  

He said, “We have been waiting for you so we could turn over the government.” The ranking North Vietnamese officer, Colonel Bui Tin replied, “There is no question of your transferring power…You cannot give up what you do not have.” 

A most civilized conversation, in the circumstances.  Meanwhile, a young soldier had raced up to the balcony to fly the North Vietnamese flag. We were free, even welcome, to stand in the same spot.

Sustained only by an iced coffee (remember condensed milk?) we marched the length of Le Duan Street in search of the History Museum.  We walked right past the site of the former US embassy, which is now something ignominious like a driveway to a bank. It seemed a long way from Operation Frequent Wind, so named for the number of helicopters coming and going to clear US personnel in 1975. We found the Museum, but struggled to work out how to get in, so decided on lunch “at the end of the street” – guide speak for “how on earth did you end up there”.

The first café told us they had “no food”, in spite of a reasonable supply within arm’s reach. We think it was because a) they thought we wouldn’t like it or b) that we would eat it, and try to pay for the extraordinarily cheap food with a credit card. 

Trudging on, we found another who brought the menu which consisted of 2 photos. One was a plate of meat and chips, the other a bowl of noodles and vegetables. We chose the latter, and for less than $8 total had a delicious meal, two beers with ice (!), two green teas with ice, and more dubious ice on the side. Grand.

Happily, the History Museum was also worth the effort.   

It was essentially single storey, purpose built by the French around a charming courtyard. Once again, we were two of only a score of people visiting. 

The rooms were pleasantly fan-cooled, the only air conditioning being in the room with the mummy. This was not an old mummy. She was, in fact, somebody’s Mummy as recently as 1869.

 

We caught up with a bunch of missing Champa statue heads, some excellent phallic statuary and of course, a lovely big bust of Uncle Ho. 

Whereas a number of the historic buildings have gardens full of tanks and helicopters, the History Museum’s was full of cannons.  We prefer armoury that was before our time.

Early to rise and early to bed had become the norm, so a special effort was required to get to an evening performance of the Puppet Theatre. Fortunately our show was in a building, not in a rice paddy, where it had its origin a thousand years ago, and the tradition continues. 

Our “stage” was a pond, with puppeteers working in waist-deep water behind heavy curtains.  The puppets are lacquered wood. The 6 traditional musicians provided the music, sound effects and dialogue. The dozen or so skits were very entertaining and funny.   

The men were always outwitted by the fish and animals, and bollocked by the women.  Golden rule: don’t sit in the first couple of rows. The dragon boat turns are reckless.

The Cu Chi district is about 70 km out of Ho Chi Minh City. It is very fertile, appears to grow anything in the tropical climate, including rubber trees, and it is difficult to see where the US forces bombed the bejaysus out of it during the American War.




The Vietnamese had started digging tunnels here when they were fighting the French in the 40's and 50's.

The Cu Chi tunnel complex was more than 200 km long, and now visitors can access a small part. The intrepid can descend for a few minutes in a tunnel that has been widened for tourists – most of whom do not have the “slim build” you get when you are fighting and starving.

Thousands of tourists visit this area every day. We were early (of course) and were reasonably oblivious to the multitudes following us through the bush trails, along which were examples of booby traps, ingenious recycling of American trash for weapons, chimney systems to hide smoke outlets and photo opportunities.


It was really hot, really humid, and bloody scarey when the guns started firing.  At this stage we didn’t know that you could hire an AK-47 and blast 10 shots into a quarry. It could be tacky, but even the souvenir shop was Communist austere. And besides, these people had been to hell and back, and I figure they could do what they wanted with their history to make up for goodness knows what their land still harbours.

Feeling a little sombre, our group headed back to HCMC.   Sidetrack: we were told the locals still call the original city “Saigon”, and the wider metropolitan area, Ho Chi Minh City. I like “Saigon” – no disrespect, Uncle Ho.  

   

Our final stop was at the War Remnants Museum.

It was originally called “The House for displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet Government”. Fair enough. It was shortened to the “Museum of American War Crimes”, and then relations “normalized” – hence “Remnants” which doesn’t mean anything. The grounds are full of planes & tanks & bombs. The building has room after room of photographs. The only room I saw in its entirety was on reconstructed bridges. I should have known that the Agent Orange room would do me in. On the ground floor there were scores of children’s drawings, calling for peace.

Our final excursion was an overnight trip to the Mekong Delta. Early start, morning tea stop under sufferance, and a quick stop at the extraordinary Cao Dai temple at Cai Be.


It would seem that Caodaiism is a mix of several religions, to be somewhat simplistic. The followers are most devout, spending hours per day at prayer. They certainly seem to have most things covered, from the Divine Eye & the Dragon, to the Phoenix & the Tortoise.


Being a modern religion, neon hits the spot, don't you think?

 We swapped bus for boat at Cai Be, and embarked into the labyrinth of the Mekong Delta. Immediately all cameras were out again. No dozing on this bus. River traffic was just about as hectic as the city equivalent. Constantly, chug-chug-chug of outboard motors with 5 metre propeller shafts.

Families lived on boats. Farmers sold their stock and produce from boats. And I guess people fished from boats. We were presented with a spectacular fish for lunch, but, ungracious as it may sound, it did taste a teeny bit like mud.

Cottage industries, albeit for tourist trade, abounded on the banks. Sesame bars, anyone? Snake wine? Popped rice?  Bookmarks? Oh, good, I’ll have a couple of those.




Part of the burgeoning cottage industry is the homestay.  Often a trip to the Mekong is regarded as a long day trip from Saigon, or alternatively, some pretty basic backpacking. The former travel agent had expectations along the lines of “bunk room, outside cold shower, long drop” without any regard for the fact that the water table is 2 inches below the ground.

Our homestay exceeded her expectations, and when we discovered there was beer next door, everyone was happy.

 

After compulsory entertainment on the front verandah, with green tea, and chug chug chug just metres away, the decision was made to go for a walk before compulsory cooking lessons.

Two hours later we returned via the beer fridge next door. However, we had been privileged to “wander” along paths, occasionally shared with a motorbike, beside people’s homes.

It being a Sunday afternoon, all the children were home, and were very quick to make us feel welcome.

The fine roosters, which we assumed were for the pot, may well have been for fighting. The geese were certainly feisty.


The two cops in our group studiously ignored the possibilities of this boat’s cargo.

Although many of us had gone to cooking school in Hoi An, the homestay cooking class was something else.  No cooking class, no dinner, I suspect.  The owner didn’t speak English, and “hello” and “two beers please” wasn’t going to cut it from our side. Thach translated, of course, and was keen to show what a wonderful whizz he was in the kitchen.

The end result was excellent, and we dined al fresco, on the front verandah, with beer. Chug chug chug (just in case you thought it has stopped).

While our accommodation far exceeded expectation, mainly in the form of a little ensuite bathroom with toilet & warm shower, our proximity to the outdoors was more noticeable as the night progressed.  Although snug in our mosquito nets, by 3 am it was CHUG CHUG CHUG  because that’s when all the farmers head off to market with their lovely fresh ducks and courgette flowers. It was manic. The roosters had started at 2 am, and reached a new crescendo at 5 am. We do not believe one breed crows on the high tide, and the other when the sun comes up. But then, that would explain it, wouldn’t it? The really good news was that the snorers could sneak under the radar.

We were all a bit weary now. Thach had nearly lost his sense of humour, due to lack of sleep. We did go to one of the floating markets on the way back to the bus, but were probably about 3 hours late for the real action. We knew what time the vendors had set out!!

There could have been a bit of dozing on the bus, but it was always interesting to watch the enterprise of people sitting beside the motorway with a little table, 6 bottles of water, 2 fizzy drinks, a few packets of popped rice and a watermelon, “doing business”.  They were spaced about every 50 metres, and were constantly on guard for the next prospective customer in this “ardently capitalist communist country”.

And the dozers would have missed the Can Tho Bridge –known locally as the Australian bridge – just like the Hue tunnel is known as the Japanese tunnel, for the same reason.

Our final night was back in the Asian Ruby. Even the Sewells did a quick dash to the shops, albeit a pretty flash department store, all bedecked for Christmas (another retail opportunity) where we knew we could a silk duvet inner in a matter of minutes.  It took longer to get it into the suitcase.

 




And just to remind us what we would be leaving behind, our van trip out to the airport next morning was at peak hour.

Vietnam The Centre

Our flight to Hue had been changed to a flight to Da Nang. The former travel agent was curious. “What do you mean, Hue airport is closed because of flooding!!”  Flooding wasn’t on the itinerary, but it nearly was.  The 6.3 km tunnel to Hue, a Japanese joint venture, was finished in 2005, and was a bonus.  In the dark we drove through villages, just lit, with everybody selling eucalyptus massage oils. The former forester was curious. “What do you mean, only gums would grow here”? Aaah, Agent Orange. Eucalyptus oil massage came off the itinerary.

Hue was drying out nicely, although the Perfume River had lost the aroma of flowers dropping from upstream orchards. Hue had been the imperial capital of Vietnam until 1945, when Uncle Ho persuaded Emperor Bao Din to take a really long trip to France, and that he and the boys in Hanoi would handle things for a while – quite a while.

The Imperial Citadel is still impressive, in spite of the hammering it took during the Tet Offensive of 1968.


Today the Flag Tower, at 37 metres, flies an enormous Vietnamese flag. It’s been destroyed a few times over 200 years, and even flew the flag of the People Liberation Front for 3.5 weeks. There’s some suggestion that it flew a US flag after that – for a couple of minutes.

The Citadel walls are 6 metres high, and are nearly 10 kilometres long. The gates on each side were for very specific purposes. The Ngo Mon gate faces the river. The centre gate was for the passage of the emperor, and interestingly enough, it is barred.
Gates on either side were for mandarins and court officials. Today they are for the collection of 50,000VND entry fee. Not a budget breaker at NZD3. It was from the top of this gate that Bao Din abdicated.

The surrounding moat is wide, and deep enough for fish. It seemed a little less perfumed than the river.
 

 The lotus pond inside the walls is now home to child-eating koi carp.

They’re willing to mark time with bread, but the sound of hundreds of carp smacking their lips nearly put us off our seafood lunch.

 

The Citadel is now a UNESCO heritage site, and as such, is getting some assistance to restore and rebuild. Lack of funds, a tropical monsoon climate and other priorities mean that most of the Citadel is in various states of disrepair and decomposition.
Oh yes, the bullets and the bombs did it no good at all either. First time we’ve been looking for bullet holes, and nearly fallen in a bomb crater.

Emperor Khai Dinh ruled for 9 years, 1916-25.  His tomb took 11 years to build, 1920-31. He got the French to increase the peasants’ taxes to help pay for it.

It was probably a good idea that he blew his own trumpet, tomb-wise, as nobody else would.

Start with 127 steep, stone steps.

Then throw a curious mixture of Eastern and Western architecture into the setup – with a lot of shiny stuff, like gold and mother-of-pearl - and you’ve got yourself one densely decorated memorial. One can only admire the craftsmanship of the artisans. It is hard to imagine it was only built in the 1920's.







In this most flexible of communist countries there is religious freedom for Vietnamese citizens. It would seem that people follow the principles of several religions, officially and unofficially. The government does “oversee” the organizations.

Buddhism is particularly strong in Hue, and the 400-year old Thien Mu Pagoda stands on a hill overlooking the Perfume River.

The tower is 7 storeys high, and its bell can be heard throughout the city. It’s a hot, steamy morning. The birds are singing, the gardens are green, and “DONGGGG”. You’re not in Paraparaumu now, my dears.

 Thankfully, the steep, stone steps to the top of the tower are not available to the tourist throng, but the wonderful gardens are.

But what is a 50-year old blue Austin doing in that shed?  

In that car, in June 1963, the Most Venerable Thich Quang Duc drove to Saigon to protest against the puppet government’s preference for Catholicism over other religions.
Take the photo, then find a nice quiet seat in the garden for a bit of a ponder. “DONGGG”.

Just out of Hue is the Duc Son Pagoda, small and discreet, and home to nearly 200 orphans, in the care of Buddhist nuns. Babies left on their doorstep, children from parents too poor to raise them, or orphans from the floods. They’re there until they can look after themselves, and that may be when they have finished university. Most of the children were at school, but we were taken to say hello to the babies.
 

 Happy, well-fed, well-loved and with a second chance. Goodness knows how they do it, when education is not free.

Jeremy Clarkson describes the road over the Hai Van Pass as “a deserted ribbon of perfection – one of the best coast roads in the world”. It’s what you do if you’re not taking the tunnel back to Da Nang. Jeremy was probably not driving a 12 seater van with an unusual relationship between clutch and gears, and it was certainly more deserted than if there had not been a nice long tunnel under us.  The sea fog rolled around, maintaining the spooky factor. Obviously this had been a very strategic area for centuries, not the least being the 20^th.

The French built their bunkers to last, until at least the next war.

 
We could look back to Lang Co beach, where we enjoyed The Best Vietnamese Coffee, and Bill could walk on the sand, deserted except for a few fishermen and money-changers.








We looked to the south, where China Beach is now 5 star hotel territory, and where access to the sea is quite forbidden, until you are staying in the aforementioned 5 star accommodation. We all took appropriate umbrage, this being a 3 star jaunt.

Marble Mountain has 5 peaks. We were taken to Thuy Son (Mountain of Water), the tallest of the five.  Good news. This year it got an elevator, thus reducing the 220 steep, stone steps to 120. Bad news – we came down an alternate route with no elevator. 

More good news. The mining of local marble for the innumerable marble factories has been banned, so Thuy Son doesn’t have to be re-named  Trickle Hollow.

The pagodas, gardens and marble caves were stunning. Nearly all the hawkers were at the bottom.

One wonderful, enterprising old lady was doing steady business, posing for photos with her betel nut smile, and delightful maroon outfit that wouldn’t show the stains. We felt we really knew her as another entrepreneur at a café in Hue had been selling photographic prints of said lady.  Our shots only cost 10,000 Dong

 
From the top there was an excellent view of  Da Nang Military Base (sorry, airport), and our lookout was obviously in the straight line of fire, judging by the bullet holes in walls. Well, honestly, who wouldn’t use Thuy Son as a strategic base. It certainly had a lot more going for it than the tunnels down south.






Hoi An is yet another UNESCO World Heritage site. It’s small (120,000), old, and a tourist town.

It also has a propensity to flood. While the former travel agent was scouring the web to see how the Mekong Delta was handling the long monsoon season, Hoi An was under water.

You Tube clips from 4 days before our arrival showed tourists rowing along the street in front of our hotel, in chest high water. The extraordinary thing is that the Old Town was completely cleaned up and open for business when we arrived..

 

And every second business is a tailor. Yaly Couture had been recommended to Bill by one of his bridge partners. He was instantly befriended by Lily and Jasmine (or something equally floral and friendly), especially when he nodded that he would like to look at “some of the better fabrics upstairs”.






Before he could blink he’d chosen his buttons, sorted out his vents and was standing naked from the waist up against a wall to have his mug shot taken. Confession of a very amateur photographer: I was laughing so much I missed taking a photo of the episode. Apparently it was so the tailor could get an idea of his physique, to add to all the measurements. Personally, I’m quite happy he didn’t order a pair of trousers too.


 Hoi An Old Town is a pedestrian precinct.  Walkers and primitive vehicles only.

The perimeter streets were bedlam, but remember, this is a tourist town. We are the golden geese. Step out with confidence.  We were very grateful to be able to do a walking tour of the Old Town. So much nicer  than the rowing tour of the previous week.  Hoi An was an important port town from the 15^th century, and there are still evidence of the wealthy trading communities.

The Japanese covered bridge dates from this time, as does the Chinese Phuc Kien Assembly Hall.   

  There were several old assembly halls – where the Cantonese could assemble – but they served religious purposes as well, especially for safety at sea.








Mr Phoenix for Prosperity has his place, as always.





One of the highlights for us was our cycling trip out to the beach.  Bionic Biddy needed a few reassurances from Thach.  “Is it flat?” “Yes”. Should have asked, is it flat and above water, the reply to which would have been “not all the time”.  “Thach, will we be on country roads, away from the traffic?” “Yes”.  True answer: “but not all the time”.  We were on little country roads within minutes, with only a few, careful motorbike riders.

The potholes are called “chicken holes” but it can be hard to spot them when the whole road is mud and underwater. There was only a little bit of that, but enough to make me squeak. Coming back into town from the beach, along the main road, I was rendered speechless with fear, sharing the road with tooting army trucks , and trying to get through the green traffic lights before they counted down to zero, leaving me marooned. It was great!!

It was pretty special, filing along the canal paths, giving the farmers their moment of entertainment.

Their smiles and greetings certainly seemed genuine.









The trip also gave more opportunity for the inter-spouse photographic competition. Votes are not necessary on this one.  “He” has conceded to “her” that she did a better job.

 
















 By now our group was getting the hint that Thach liked to do things early.  I think he liked to get to historic sites well before the milling throng, and My Son (pronounced mee-soon) was no exception.

It’s a small site; it bucketed while we were there, and when we were done, there were as many buses in the car park as there had been people when we arrived.  Good man, Thach. My Son was the spiritual headquarters of the Champa people who controlled central Vietnam for over a thousand years. All the temples are built of bricks but no mortar. Nobody has been able to work out how. 





It’s another UNESCO World Heritage site, and further attempts to replace some of the brickwork have been vetoed because the new bricks look so weird – and loose.


Being a pragmatic people, when the Champas had to move, they took the tops of their statues. That gave them a good head start (sorry) for the next temple site.




We were pleased to find some heads, alone, in the Museum of Vietnamese History in Ho Chi Minh City.  It might have been quite a mystery if we hadn’t first trudged around My Son, complete with torrential rain and very treacherous B52 bomb craters. The Americans thought the VC was hiding themselves and weaponry at My Son – and what’s the bet?

The open-sided theatre was very welcome. It had a roof, and the rain was heavy. The dancing reflected the Indian origins of the Champa people.  The men wagged their head toggles wonderfully, and the girls wagged everything else. 21^st century liberties had been taken with the girls’ costumes. Lurex is ideal, isn’t it?







So, farewell walking streets and primitive vehicles. Roll on Ho Chi Minh City – home to 9 million people and 1 gazillion motorbikes.