August 17th
We arrived at Ho Chi Minh City airport and struggled to find where the buses leave from. After we eventually find a tiny green sign opposite the taxis, confirmed as being the right spot by a policeman, a guy from the taxi company immediately tells us the next bus isn't until 19:00 and tries to get us to take a taxi. We thank him but tell him we will wait. Five minutes later, he returns to tell us that the 19:00 is actually cancelled. We thank him again and keep waiting. A group of other tourists has now gathered around the small green bus stop and before we know it we are haggling for all 7 of us in minibus type of taxi to the centre for 140,000 Dong in total. The men agree, but only provide one small taxi. The Germans from the group quickly proclaim we will never all fit in. I can see from the taxi driver's face it was not a question of whether we would - we would definitely all be getting into that taxi with the 7 pieces of luggage too - it was more a question of how. With a little effort and much rearranging, we were soon all in, heading for the centre of Saigon at last. Through the taxi windows, I tried to grab a few first impressions. Mopeds everywhere, lots of water and more bars and restaurants than I imagined.
Our hostel turns out to be nice - a private room with bathroom and I even get a double bed to myself :-) On returning from our first meal out (followed by an over-priced drink in what Robbie believed was a prostitutes' bar), we find the door locked with the shutters down and feel stupid for not checking the curfew. The tired-looking receptionist soon responds to our tapping. The fact that we returned late didn't bother her as their night policy apparently is just to tap on arrival. When, however, Robbie snapped the key in the lock of our 4th floor bedroom, and we had to disturb her again, the last smiles of the day soon disappeared and I was imagining having to sleep on the floor in reception for the night. Luckily some pliers and tampering got us to our beds at last. It confirmed my conclusions in Thailand when my padlock broke on my rucksack and the owner of the hostel helped me to break into my own bag - the Asians appear good with their hands and can get into anything. It also, however, rocked my confidence in being able to keep anything safe.
August 18th
Our first proper taste of a downpour. We take shelter on small plastic stools in the doorway of a sports shop offered to us by the owners. When we ask how long the rain could last, some shrugged shoulders indicate to us that we could be there all day if we were to wait for it to stop. We therefore decide to run to our destination (The Reunification Palace), Robbie purchasing a poncho on the way because we forget to bring the ones we've been carrying from England through Japan, Hong Kong and Thailand for this very moment. As soon as we enter the palace, we get swooped up into an "English" tour group (which would have actually just been one German guy on his own if we hadn't arrived) and get shown the former President's office, living quaters, conference rooms, entertainment floor (including gambling room, theatre, snooker table and piano!), heliport on the roof (next to a dance floor) and war rooms/bomb shelters in the basement. It was fascinating. In the evening we dive into the first restaurant we see without Western looking people inside and hope that the fried rice we order doesn't contain dog meat (I spotted that the Vietnamese menue had the word "chien" alongside the number and prayed that there was no French influence in the language!) As the restaurant was on the corner of crossroads, the evening entertainment was watching the near misses between mopeds and smiling whilst recognising ourselves in tourists risking bringing their holiday to an end with every step they took.
August 19th
A moving start to the day at the War Remnants Museum. We see many photos that only exist due to brave men and women risking their lives (and more often than not losing them) to document the cruel reality of the Vietnamese War (interestingly, known here as "The American War"). After visiting the Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima not long ago, it sent a chill down me when I read about and saw photos of the consequences of the chemical warfare that the United States used on Vietnam. One of the worst photos for me was a soldier lifting somone's head off a body whose arms and legs were also detached and laying across the ground. The photos of the survivors with distorted bodies and disabled children are probably the worst though. I will never understand war.
Deciding to do something more light-hearted in the afternoon, Robbie and I split. He goes to Ho Chi Minh City Museum and I head for a foot massage. As I ease back into my chair, sipping on the tea I had been handed, letting my feet soak in the warm water bath, my sense of relaxation suddenly comes to an abrupt end. My legs get jilted up and what seems like an hour of being hit, slapped, thumped and twisted into shapes I didn't think my body could make (the foot massage turns into a full-on whole body assault) I leave the "beauty saloon" wondering if my face was still bright read from the heavy handed head massage and whether I would find bruises all over me in the morning. Then again, you can't complain when you are paying just 7 dollars for a 75 minutes of attention. Bring on the pain Vietnam!
