Sweetness in Saigon

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On my list of last minute things to do in Saigon: get a cup of really good coffee, get a massage, take a look at Mariamman Hindu Temple. That's it. Don't want to be too ambitious my last few hours. I have to get up at 3:30 am to head to the airport.

I thought I'd beat the horrendous traffic by setting out early. Beating traffic is not possible. Zillions of scooters buzzed their collective way down the streets. I held my breath as I crossed a big street. I was in the middle thinking, "my gawd, am I going to live through this?" No break in traffic--I'm in the middle, and they're whizzing by--cars, trucks, motorbikes. They were very considerate, however, and avoided hitting me. Finally a break, and some drivers slowed a little for my crossing.

The women wear face masks and long gloves fit for attending an elegant dinner party--not to keep out the dust and fumes, but to block the sun so as to retain as much white skin as possible. That was unnerving, staring at these faceless drivers, peering beyond their masks.

Thankfully a cool shaded park awaited on the other side of the street. People wearing sports shoes soft jogged their way around the paths, talking with their companions, some panting. Others stayed stationary, and stretched and threw their arms about. Still others practiced slow martial arts moves. Children in a school yard skipped rope--do kids even do that anymore in the US? Other people sat on the many benches, just enjoying the morning.

Men sat on plastic chairs, clustered around tables with small cages housing small birds. Nice decorative touch, providing ambience for the men sipping their iced coffees and visiting with one another. Hundreds of scooters crammed a parking area nearby.

The group of dancing martial arts people who used fans that clacked open and shut during poses mesmerized me. The dance was so precise, so beautiful. The instructor coaxed her students in every move to get the foot and hand placement just right. Nearby two men used some fierce looking weapons in a similar, more vigorous dance. One of the tools was a chain like thing that the man swung around and combined with choreographed movements. He was missing a leg, and balanced on his remaining leg, looking graceful and determined. I noticed his companion, who had been swinging a giant spear like thing, walking away after the practice session, dragging one of his legs, as though he too had a disability that would not slow him down.

I watched them both for awhile, appreciated their work and their dedication. They both acknowledged my presence, and I think they both knew that I admired their work.

I slipped down a dark alleyway. I soon realized it was pedicure street. All the women called "pedicure?" to me, but I declined, even though I need to freshen the paint on my toes.

The Hindu temple was quite modest. Nothing like the outlandish affairs I had visited just two months prior in Tamil Nadu.

Walking back through the park I heard a "yoo-hoo" calling my way. I turned and saw a smiling older woman walking up. "Do you speak French?" she asked, in French. She looked disappointed when I said no, then chatted in English with me. She asked me where I was from. When I told her America, she told me about her children and grandchildren who live in San Diego and Pittsburgh. She had taught geography at the university in Saigon. We strolled the shady park paths, then she said "goodbye" with a radiant smile. "Goodbye" I called, marveling at the goodness I had just encountered.

I lingered over the coffee latte--it was so rich, and pretty on top. And the coffee house was decorated with upside down table lamps hanging from the ceiling.

Coffee houses are popular hangouts for young people anxious to escape the lack of privacy and crowded conditions in their homes where up to four generations live. They go to the coffee houses, and the restaurants, and hit the streets on their scooters--day and night, but especially in the evening. I don't want to cross a Saigon street in the evening without hanging on to the arm of a native who confidently strides across without a qualm.

The massage was the best, a perfect way to end my journey. Other than a foot massage in Hanoi, I have never had a male massage therapist for a traditional Vietnamese massage. I got Meun, the cutest young man ever, with the nicest smile and the strongest hands. He is 32 years old, not married--he says because he has no money. Yes, weddings in Vietnam are very expensive, and if you can't pay the tab, you're going to delay getting married. Meun asked me my age. I told him 62, and I could be his grandmother--no, I corrected myself--I could be his mother. He agreed with that. But then he later told me I was the same as 50. I finally understood, he thought I looked as though I were 50 years. He smiled so sweetly when he said that in his limited English. I believed him, for a few seconds.

I noticed that two male clients got women massage therapists. Hmm, and I got the man therapist. Wonder if that was intentional

I enjoyed his laying the cucumber slices on my face, swooned during the foot massage part, ordered him to push harder around my bad knee. My stomach growled, he asked if I was alright, and we both laughed. I think he walked on my back. At least it felt like it. This was after he rubbed my back with hot stones and kneaded all the soreness away. Some westerners are uncomfortable when the therapist climbs on the table and uses their body weight to push hard on your back. It's just what I needed. You've got to experience one of these massages to believe it. One of the moves was him sitting right behind me, and draping my spine on his knees as he leaned back. "Ai jai yoo" I yelled. It felt so good.

Then when it was done, he got me a cup of hot tea and a jar of ginger slices. He sat on the massage table next to me, and giggled as I kept eating them. I popped my small bicep up and indicated that he was strong--he said I was strong in return. Wonder why. I did give the smiling Meun a nice tip.

Saigon, officially known as Ho Chi Minh City, is not all that bad. I learned that today. I felt as though I was settling in, finally. My fellow travelers have all left, and here I am, spending my last few hours in this noisy, bustling city, finding the sweetness.

Farewell Saigon, farewell Vietnam.

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Comments

[Ann Jacobs]

beautiful
I'm so glad you shared your travels with me. You've seen some beautiful areas and people. Blessings for continued safe travels. Ann

[Traveling Terry]

Travel
Thanks Ann, for traveling with me!

[Kuan Yin]

Famous teacher
I also enjoyed watching the one-legged teacher in the mornings in Tao Dan Park. His name is Ta Anh Dung, and he is rather famous in Saigon. He spends much of his time teaching children, but teaches adults in the early morning and in the evening. I can imagine that none of his students would dare say "Teacher, that's too difficult!

[Traveling Terry]

Teacher
Thanks for this bit of additional info! I feel so fortunate to have watched him.