5/13/14 – 5/20/14: Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam
When we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam it was nighttime. Our taxi drove us to a busy square and dropped us off on the opposite side of the road to our hostel. We spent the next ten minutes trying to cross the street like scared squirrels. Giant buses and tiny mopeds bared down on us with equal enthusiasm, not a crosswalk or stoplight in sight. We managed to scurry across during an extremely brief gap in traffic.
Our hostel was appropriately named The Hideout, as it was tall, thin, and squeezed between a row of buildings like a gangster evading capture. The glass entrance glinted with neon when we stepped into a crush of young people in the lobby, each holding a fat bottle of beer and shouting over music. Yep, we had booked a party hostel. Thus far we’d avoided them, but we chose this one because it was new, clean, and had garnered good reviews in its first few months. (Good reviews due to the two free drinks offered every night, no doubt.)
Ho Chi Minh City is better known as Saigon, which was an American stronghold during the Vietnam War. The city’s name changed after the war ended in honor of the North Vietnamese leader, Ho Chi Minh. Now it’s a bustling city where east meets west with the intensity of two speeding trains. The streets are filled with motorbikes moving en masse, stacked with goods or jammed with people, while American staples like McDonalds, Starbucks, and KFC advertise themselves in bright bold colors. The city seems to be straining its capitalist muscles within a tight red communist t-shirt.
On our first day we walked to a restaurant we couldn’t find, changed course to a market we didn’t want to shop in, and finally ended up at a modern art museum without air conditioning. It was a good introduction to a city where you either sink or swim. With a population of over 10 million, we were happy to simply tread water.
With 6.5 million motorbikes zipping around, and no obvious rules to the road, we quickly adopted the habits of locals when crossing the street. In America it’s common to stand at a crosswalk, hit a button, and wait for a little green man to signal go. Here, the little green man was MIA. There were few stoplights let alone crosswalks. So instead of looking both ways before crossing the street you just go – you walk into traffic at a steady pace, never slowing, never stopping, until you reach the other side. Drivers are prepared for it, they expect it, and they deftly swerve around you. But if you try to avoid them, try to anticipate their trajectory or adjust your pace, you’ll undermine their ability to avoid you. You must be Zen and let go of all your pedestrian instincts. With enough practice you’ll be stepping into traffic with the confidence of Mr. Magoo and come out just as unscathed.
On our second day we decided to travel by tricycle, or rather a giant three-wheeled oddity. Katie sat on the bucket seat and I sat between her legs while an elderly Vietnamese gentleman peddled us slowly into traffic. This allowed us to let go and let God a little easier than when we traveled by foot. We relaxed our way through the traffic, taking in the chaos around us while barely realizing we were part of it.
We started our day at the War Remnants Museum which chronicles the history of the Vietnam War. In Vietnam the conflict is known by a different name: The American War. It was interesting to see the war from the other side of the battlefield.
Upon entering the grounds you’re reminded of American military might by the massive helicopters resting on the lawn. I’d only seen them in films where they appear large, but up close they felt like flying city buses. Inside the museum were various exhibits about the war. The Vietnamese perspective was ever present, viewing the Americans as invaders who shouldn’t have involved themselves in the conflict. Photographs of protests worldwide, including in the U.S., showed the unpopularity of the war and America’s presence in Vietnam.
I was well aware of the anti-American slant throughout the museum, but honestly, the facts presented didn’t conflict much with my previous knowledge of the war. For instance, it’s a known fact that the U.S. military sprayed millions of gallons of agent orange and other “rainbow herbicides” across Vietnam as well as in Laos and Cambodia. These chemicals destroyed large swaths of crops and vegetation in an attempt to expose the enemy and starve them out. It seeped into the ground water and created high levels of dioxin, a carcinogen that can lead to cancers and birth defects. The museum documented the fallout of these chemicals for the Vietnamese people as well as many American soldiers.
Seeing this exhibit begged the question, what’s the point of “liberating” people from the scourge of communism if you’re poisoning their land for generations? As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Where are the roots of the independent Vietnam we claim to be building?”
After the museum we went to Independence Palace, also known as the Reunification Palace. This was the central government building for the South Vietnamese during its opposition to the communists in the north. On April 30th, 1975, the North Vietnamese Liberation Army smashed through the gates and took the palace. They forced the president of the Republic of Vietnam to surrender, thereby declaring victory and unifying the country. The building is a relic, remaining untouched since that fateful day. Each room stands frozen in time, draped in garish reds, golds, and greens. With each step through the halls you feel an eerie abandonment, as though posts had just been abandoned. In the depths of the palace hid a bunker and mini war room. Radios and transmitters were stacked atop one another like forgotten soldiers. Old maps covered the walls, slowly yellowing and curling at the edges. The air felt stale and suffocating.
Our visit to the museum and palace provided a historical backdrop for our next day’s visit to the Cu Chi Tunnels. Other than name recognition, I had no understanding what the tunnels were. Cu Chi stands for the district they were created in, which sits north of Saigon. The tunnels were started before American troops invaded in 1965, and they grew to over 200km. Within these tunnels the Cu Chi people, led by the Viet Cong, created a subterranean life. Candles were only used when necessary and for a short period of time since they used up oxygen. Air holes were piped up to the surface and hidden in dirt mounds that looked like animal holes. Rooms for meeting, sleeping, cooking, learning, military arms, and hospitals were all in existence.
Miraculously, an entire city existed below the surface of Cu Chi. It was inhabited for 10 years by 16,000 people, 100 of which were born underground. Life in darkness, but life nonetheless.
Our guide, Huong, played a short film about the Cu Chi Tunnels before our arrival. The film was in black and white and the quality was so poor you would’ve thought it was made in the 1940s instead of the 1960s. It celebrated the creativity and fighting spirit of the Viet Cong. How they lived in the tunnels and tried to carve out a regular life while fighting a war above. How they sang and danced and created happiness in the midst of conflict. I’d definitely say it painted a rosier picture than what must’ve been for the soldiers and their families, but that’s propaganda for you.
When we arrived we were led to an orientation room half underground with a palm-leaf roof stretching overhead. This was once a classroom for children who lived in the tunnels. During the war this room was fully underground. Children learned by candlelight for a few hours each day. There were no desks, so they’d write on their laps, and if the sound of planes or bombs were heard overhead they’d run into the tunnels on either side of the room.
As the tour progressed we learned how fresh water was provided through wells, and that kitchen smoke was funneled 20 meters away in order to stay hidden despite the smell. The daily meal was one bowl of tapioca. The severe lack of food meant people only used the toilet once a day. This would occur at night when it was safest to go outside. Each person was given 20 minutes to breathe fresh air and relieve themselves. It must’ve been like stepping onto another planet.
There were over 300 entrances to the tunnels, all memorized by those who went out to fight or retrieve supplies. These entrances were 12”x 9” holes, and the Viet Cong were adept at getting their weapons and bodies in quickly. The lids to these holes were camouflaged by jungle detritus and nearly impossible to spot. We were shown one of those entrance points and were offered the chance to go in. I, of course, volunteered. I dropped in and stood in the hole, lid held over my head, and bent my knees to lower myself straight down until the lid met earth. Once inside, darkness enveloped me. A tunnel opened before me but I could no longer see its mouth. Not until you experience that complete darkness do you understand how people lived. It was terrifying. I popped up quickly, preferring not to linger.
Huong then led us through a larger opening into the tunnels. I was behind Katie as we stepped down and in. We bent over at 90 degree angles to enter. Natural light ebbed away and small light bulbs buzzed faintly at our feet. I suddenly realized there was no going back. A line of people pushed in behind me and I was at least four people deep from the front. We shuffled forward in dim, sometimes non-existent light. Heat and humidity crept in from both sides. I’m not a claustrophobic person, I actually enjoy small spaces, but this experience made me acutely uneasy. Bent in half, pressed down by the tunnel, the end of which I couldn’t see… I didn’t freak out but I had to take calming breaths and just keep moving, telling myself there would be an exit soon. Forty meters later we stepped outside. You could keep going down the tunnel if you wished. I don’t think anyone chose to do so.
The Viet Cong were scavengers, reusing everything they could find. Tires became sandals, machine parts were recycled, landmines were built from undetonated bombs. Huong showed us rudimentary traps they devised and laid in the jungle for the Americans to fall into. Pits filled with bamboo spikes and other booby traps. Torture devices, really. Meant to stop the enemy any way they could. War breeds disturbing creations.
Throughout our time walking the grounds at Cu Chi we could hear sporadic gunfire. They have a firing range for tourists. Pick a weapon, any weapon. That coupled with the smiles and laughter of our guide while showing us death traps made for a macabre vibe. She was obviously proud of her country’s ingenuity and victory over America. But war is war – painful, destructive, heartbreaking. A little less zeal would’ve been appropriate.
On the way back to the city Huong told the story of her parents. They were both from Northern Vietnam and had fought for the communist party. They had given Huong away as a child but miraculously found her years later. They had lived in the Cu Chi tunnels thinking the other was dead, until they were reunited. They’d survived starvation and PTSD from decades of war. Her family had endured.
It’s no wonder Huong’s tour was filled with pride for her country, for it was fueled by pride for her kin. Who in her shoes would feel any different? If my ancestor’s had used guerilla tactics against a mighty foe, hiding, ambushing, and clawing their way to victory against all odds, I’d be proud too. And I am. That’s exactly what happened during the American Revolution. Perspective is all about which side you end up on.
Despite the weight of the past, Huong made it clear that Vietnam welcomes Americans into their country with open arms. She explained that it is the Vietnamese way to leave the past behind and always look to the future. Forgive, but never forget. That sentiment rang true throughout our time in Vietnam. We always felt welcomed.
Wow. This is some pretty heavy stuff. I think we need a break from ruminating on the ways of life, death, and war. And what better way to grapple with existential crisis than by turning to the age-old wisdom of religion? Or in this case, the modern wisdom of Caodaism.
You see, our tour also included a side trip to a Cao Dai temple. Or was it a church? I’m not entirely sure. Imagine a religion based on Buddhism, Catholicism and Confucianism all thrown into a blender and then poured into a cathedral. That’s where we were standing. Caodaists are spiritists and believe in superstitious forms of fortune telling, like crystal balls and Ouija boards. They worship an all-wise, all-knowing God named Cao Dai, and his left eye is a window to the soul. Oh, and they believe Victor Hugo is a saint. That’s right, the French author of Les Miserables!
It was surreal standing in a temple/church that felt like a tween’s collage of their favorite manga (in neon!). Pinks, blues, yellows and all kinds of flowery hues adorned the walls within. Ethereal chanting and music accompanied the vibrant interior. Technicolor dragons slithered up the pillars while white-robed worshippers bowed to the clanging of a deep-throated bell. Honestly, I felt really happy inside. The music and colors gave me a positive feeling. Be that as it may, I did not feel the need to don a white robe and bow down to the left eye.
There was a sense of peace as I photographed the massive inner sanctum with its open floor and sky-blue ceiling with puffy white clouds. This is what kids wish church was like.
Strangely enough, that blissful feeling lessened when I actually saw the children. We went up to the balcony where the singers and instrumentalists were performing. Gone was the softening echo rebounding in my ears below. The music felt more off-key up close. Or maybe it was the kids’ faces, which looked blank and spirit-less as they sang their songs. Then again, should I expect anything different? They are still kids at church, after all. Not usually a child’s favorite place to be, even if there are dragons on pillars.
At this point we’d bustled through a city, visited a site of war, and entered a place of worship. Now it was time for a taste of rural Vietnamese life with a two-day tour of the Mekong Delta.
Our guide, Dong, started our tour off at a rustic village. There, we were provided samples of tropical fruit and refreshing cups of tea while traditional Vietnamese music was performed. We then boarded small boats and were pushed down a canal by a man with a long stick. We traveled the waterway under our bamboo hats keeping the sun at bay. It was slow and peaceful under the green of banana and coconut palms. Those coconuts are harvested to make coconut candy, which we got to try fresh off the fire. It was still warm on our tongues. They also harvested honey, and when Dong asked if anyone wanted to taste it fresh from the hive, of course I threw up my hand. He guided my finger to the honeycomb, parted the bees and wax with its tip, and out it came with a smear of honey that was, as you can imagine, delicious.
Next we boarded a motorboat and traveled up river to Turtle Island for lunch and then visited the Vinh Trang Temple where we saw three gigantic Buddhas. One of the Buddha’s was the fatter version you often see in the U.S. This was the first of its kind I’d seen in South East Asia. I did a little research and learned the thinner version of Buddha that we’d seen up until this point represented the historic Buddha known for founding Buddhism, while the rotund laughing Buddha represents a Zen monk called Budai that lived over a thousand years later. There you have it. Mystery solved.
Afterward we started our two-hour drive to Can Tho to reach our hotel. Looming grey clouds opened up and poured buckets of rain on the earth. The air was so thick with water you could barely see out the window. Instant pools rose up from the ground forcing motorists off the road to find shelter, but we barreled through. When we reached the hotel we had to wade ankle-deep through a flooded street to get inside. We were thankful for our dry accommodations.
Our second day on the Mekong Delta started off rough simply because we had to wake up at 5AM. We ate a quick breakfast and took a boat ride up river to visit the floating market. We watched as a woman on a long thin boat piled with watermelon tossed fruit to a man on the river’s edge. She threw them up two at a time as he filled his cart to the brim. Dong told us that full cart of watermelon would only cost him $2 USD!
Out on the water boats of various sizes, shapes and colors were gathering. Everyone had something to sell: melons, roots, palms, vegetables. Decorated poles pointing skyward on each vessel indicated what the vendor had to offer. When business transpired, the boats would hook together to keep them from drifting apart. Some boats were powered by old car engines attached to small propellers at the end of long pipes. Men and women would drive their crafts standing up, using their feet to steer the boat. Small motorboats sped up and down the market lanes offering cold drinks and snacks. Hammocks were visible everywhere, set up on deck for quick respites. The atmosphere was laid back and fascinating to watch. There was no shouting or yelling to pull customers in. People simply knew what they wanted and went for it.
Afterward we traveled further up river to visit a rice noodle workshop. We learned how they mix rice starch with tapioca and water to create a 50/50 rice noodle that is common in southern Vietnam. To make the noodles they take the liquid and spread it across a thin cloth membrane. They cover and steam it for about 5-10 seconds, then pull it up by rolling a wicker bat across it. The rice “paper” sticks to the bat and they carry it to a flat bamboo shelf. They stack these shelves in the sunlight and let the paper dry for 6 to 7 hours. Once dry, they shred the rice paper into long thin noodles. Voila! Rice vermicelli.
For lunch, Katie and I had paid extra for the multi-course meal. We seemed to be the only foreigners who chose this option. Lucky for us, a sweet old Vietnamese couple from Hanoi joined us. They spoke absolutely no English, but we were thrilled they were sharing the meal with us because, if they hadn’t, we wouldn’t have known what we were eating or how to eat it!
There was a large pot of liquid with a loop of raw meat around it. The woman lit the flame underneath and dropped all the meat into the pot. They taught us the Vietnamese names for all the foods and showed us the proper order to eat them in. Whenever we hesitated they’d push food at us like overbearing Italian grandparents – “Eat! Eat! You’re too skinny!” We would’ve been lost and possibly poisoned if not for their help.
Our five-hour bus ride back to Ho Chi Minh City was blessedly air-conditioned. We breathed a sigh of relief as we rolled back, thinking of all we’d learned during our one week in South Vietnam, let alone the entire trip. It’s been a treasure trove of experiences. Standing at sites of history, hearing the tales, reading the stories, it helps you relate and connect to the places and the people. What a privilege and a gift. Our memories are a better souvenir than we could ever buy.
