Sitting in the airport in Ho Chi Minh City, preparing to
take off for Hanoi, this is the first time I’ve wished we could stay somewhere
a little longer. Vietnam is so far my favorite destination and there’s
something about Saigon I really like. It’s busy and not very clean, but the
people are friendly, the buildings bright and quirky and there’s a nice blend
of modern and cultural. It’s very charming. Like…Old French meets the 60s meets
Vietnamese tradition meets New York City. The French bakeries and ridiculously
cheap prices don’t hurt either.
We arrived late Monday night and immediately got ripped off
by a cab driver who refused to give us correct change, even when confronted by
an employee at our hostel. The family that owns the hostel we stayed in felt
horrible, and gave us a lesson on money…things are priced in thousands, just
like in Indonesia, so all of the zeros can get overwhelming, she told us. That
wasn’t the problem, but it was a nice gesture.
Tuesday, Brianna was feeling sick, (finally we’re both
better!), so we slept in and eventually made our way to the Notre Dame
Cathedral and sat in a nearby park. Many businesses close for a few hours
during lunch, so there were students and others chatting and sipping drinks all
around us. For a city of 10 million, (and six million motorbikes!), Saigon
seems very relaxed. We meandered down what our hostel owner called “richest
street,” looking in on designer stores and watching the street vendors around
us. At the end of the street we came to the Saigon River, which we overlooked
from the roof of the gorgeous, historical Majestic Hotel.
We ordered drinks on the roof and I found my new obsession.
Vietnamese coffee is strong, flavorful and almost thick, like espresso. In
other words, it’s amazing. Imagine the strongest coffee you’ve ever had times
five, and with a unique nutty flavor. Brianna took a miniature sip and went
back to her smoothie with a pinched face and gagging noise, deeming me crazy
for liking such a thing. The best part is it’s served with it’s own personal
brewing system. They place a little silver pot of grounds and hot water over a
silver plate with small holes in it, and put that on top of your cup. Then you
wait for it to brew. “Only in Vietnam we have this,” our waiter said proudly. I
want to buy one but my backpack is already bursting.
Refreshed, we walked across the city to the Reunification
Palace, home of the President of South Vietnam during the Vietnam War. The war
ended when the North Vietnamese Army drove a tank through the front gate of the
palace, and a replica of the tank sits in front. We toured the palace, which
was also used as a work place for the president and South Vietnamese Army. The
basement is painted an eerie seafoam green and the hallways were windy and
narrow, leading to control rooms in the basement that are supposedly untouched
since the war. It was interesting, and kind of crazy to imagine people actually
using the radios and other devices. The rest of the palace was a lot prettier,
if not a little strange. The living room is decorated in 1960s art deco style,
while the dining rooms look much more classic and what you would expect from a
palace…then there’s a movie theater and pool table.
Next door is the War Remnants Museum, which left us feeling
terrible and guilty. Inside, we read stories and saw pictures of victims of
Agent Orange. The disabilities are heart wrenching, especially because the
effects carry on for generations. Women today are still advised not to have
children for fear they’ll be born with a birth defect due to the chemicals.
After reading a letter from one such woman our age, recently written to
President Obama, we were amazed everyone here is so friendly toward us. Throughout our lives we’ve learned a
lot about the Vietnam War and the protests against it in the United States, but
nothing we learned prepared us for the anecdotes in the museum, or for seeing
people everywhere on the street here with missing limbs and other disabilities.
Feeling not so proud to be American, we walked in silence and horrified
thought.
Eventually, we found a place for dinner and started to
resume our usual banter, now turned toward our adorable waiter who looked about
14-years-old and terrified to be serving us. I don’t remember the name of the
restaurant, but we had the most delicious creamy pumpkin soup. Probably the
best thing we’ve had so far, (although the pastries at the French bakery by our
hostel were a close second).
On day #2 in Ho Chi Minh City we woke up early for a cheap
bus tour we found to the Cu Chi Tunnels, about an hour outside the city. The
tunnels were used by the Viet Cong
during the Vietnam War, and their guerilla tactics and intricate network
extending for miles is what ultimately caused American forces to withdraw and
the war to end. Weaving through a large part of the country, the tunnels are
definitely impressive. The Viet Cong lived in them, which must have been
difficult, staying underground for as long as possible and only venturing out
for supplies. The three levels of the tunnels range from three meters to 12
meters deep, each more narrow than the last. Wiggling our way through them I
couldn’t imagine staying in one for any extended amount of time. They are so
narrow and dark! By the second level you’re crawling because there’s no room,
(and this is after they’ve enlarged them for Western tourists…seriously).
Definitely not for claustrophobic visitors. We also saw different types of
traps used for catching American and North Vietnamese Soldiers. They were creative in a very disturbing
way…metal spikes spinning and trapping your body as you fall through a hole,
trap doors ending on floors of more spikes…basically every trap was a different
wood/metal spike/falling contraption. Our guide, who thought he was hilarious
as all tour guides do, kept trying to get us to try them. “Ladies first!”
After the tunnels we explored Ben Tanh market where we found
cheap sunglasses and wallets, then we rewarded our stomachs for finally not
being sick with an Italian feast.
Bored waiting for our delayed flight to Hanoi, Brianna and I
decided to get our hair washed, (famous in Vietnam), and surprised ourselves by
getting haircuts at the last minute too. This was an extremely adventurous
move. If you know us, we love our hair. Brianna’s lush, dark waves, and my
long, very blond tresses are our prized possessions. My hair is very finicky,
and therefore I am very picky when it comes to getting it cut or styled, and I
am terrified of hair dye. Yet, somehow, there we were in a tiny salon off a
side street, sitting in spinning chairs with capes secured around our necks.
There was no turning back. “I just want the ends trimmed,” I tried to explain.
“I have a lot of layers, and I like them, and don’t want them short…just a tiny
bit.” Then she started cutting, and shearing, and thinning. She seemed to know
what she was doing, moving more quickly than any other hairstylist I’ve ever
had and ruthlessly cut off inches and razored away thicker spots. She did a
good job. She really did. The layers are nice and even and my bangs look good.
But it is so thin! Vietnamese women do not have thick hair, so I don’t know if
she was trying to make it like that so the layers would fall like theirs, or
what she was thinking, but my hairband goes around my ponytail three times
instead of two now, and it’s like five inches shorter. Good thing it has a few
months to grow before I get back and can have my regular stylist do something
to it. They washed my hair after cutting it, and it was easy to see why it’s
famous here. They shampoo your hair three times, and give an amazing head, neck
and ear massage. The women working at the salon were funny, and so sweet. Only
two spoke English, so they kept translating for the others. “How do you color
your hair?” the girl washing mine asked. When I said I didn’t she got excited
and called over another. “We were all wondering!” she said. Later, they kept
telling us how beautiful our hair and skin was, which was really nice of them,
especially because we think on this trip we’ve looked pretty grimy and like,
well, we’ve been living out of a backpack. “We all keep talking about it!” they
said. It’s strange not knowing the language and realizing an hour later people
have been talking about us the entire time while we were unknowingly giving
each other horrified/amused looks as our new styles took shape. Brianna got her
hair washed first, and seeing my layers when she was done she made it even more
clear she wanted only a trim. “Not like hers!” were her exact words. After
pictures with the girls at the salon we were off for ice cream and finally our
flight to Hanoi.
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