Saigon: An $8 Day

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Whenever we go to a foreign major city for the first time we try to take advantage of any city tours offered by the local travel agencies. In London there are double-decker buses that run a circuit around town. The system allows you to jump off at the Tower of London and then get on the next bus for a trip to Buckingham Palace or any of the other major sites. It’s a cheap (cheap is anything less than a $100 in Britain) and easy way to see things and if something seems worthy of further investigation you can always go back on a solo visit. Saigon has one of the best tourist infrastructures of any place we’ve been. Indonesia should pay attention. Pretty much every hotel in Saigon has a tour office adjacent to the front desk. At our tiny abode you can book trips all over Vietnam and Cambodia as well as plane tickets. Karen and I decided to take the one-day Hochiminh City tour, which covers all of the major attractions and includes lunch for a total of $8 US.

While we waited in the lobby for our tour we killed time by examining the hotel’s Christmas tree. The Vietnamese don’t have a real handle on the Christmas thing but they're the kind of people who are always looking for something new to do. Not knowing exactly what to make of it, they spend their time searching the Web and American movies for clues on how to act. We've seen wrought iron fences turned into Christmas card display racks holding hundreds of different images that originated as JPEG’s. Just about every street in Saigon has a Christmas store offering everything from flocked artificial trees to Santa Claus suits for toddlers. A big seller here is a life-sized, dancing Santa Claus playing a saxophone. (We think it has something to do with Bill Clinton dropping the old trade barriers.) Ten minutes late our guide appears. His name is Chister, pronounced: Chee-Star. A 31 year-old Vietnamese man, who looks to be 21. He wears a well-pressed purple dress shirt and a small straw Fedora. His machinegun staccatod English is drizzled with a twangy Vietnamese accent. He’s a dead ringer for the ‘Schemer’ character in Miss Saigon. The kind of guy that could find you a submarine if you needed one and had the price. Our mini-van held a group of nine including us. Two twenty-something-American girls, a Singaporean man, a Brit dude and a Russian couple accompanied by their hyperactive four year-old son. The Russians would nod and smile whenever you spoke to them but never had anything to say. On our ride to the Presidential Palace our guide gave us a pop quiz on the American war with Vietnam. The kids on the bus stared at their shoes as if they had suddenly become important. The Russians smiled and nodded their heads. With the quiz a fizzle Chister launched into a Cliff Notes version of modern Vietnamese history. Apparently after the US pulled out and the VC gained control the Vietnamese got busy tussling with the Khmer boys in Cambodia for a while. In the end the Vietnamese suffered deaths in the neighborhood of 8.5 million people. After the battles were finished they tried collective farming for a short time and when that didn’t work out the country decided to open its borders to trade with the outside world. MTV-juiced cable snaked its way into the country’s culture and then all hell broke loose as the Vietnamese caught sight of Britney Spears losing her kids and Snoop Dog getting totally wasted and decided that they just had to have some of that action too. Since then, the economy has exploded and that’s why Karen and I had a mini-van to ride around in and places to see. Good times.

The Presidential Palace (now called the Reunification Palace) is instantly familiar to any American baby-boomer, who would have seen the building’s facade a hundred times on TV as the backdrop for many a correspondent’s report during the war. Two olive drab tanks sporting bright red stars sit permanently parked in a shady corner of the grounds. These are the original vehicles that broke open the palace gates on ‘liberation’ day. Daily press conferences were held at the palace in the large conference room. These briefings came to be known as the ‘Five O’clock Follies’ by the attending reporters. Command Central was in the basement of the palace and it was there that the daily battle reports were scrubbed clean by the government and distributed to world news organizations. Built in 1960 by the Diem boys it was their home until Buddhist monks started spontaneously combusting on Saigon’s streets. Fearing the same fate, the Diem brothers asked JFK for a flight to cooler climes on November 1st of 1963. Kennedy told them that an armored personnel carrier heading to the airport would pick them up at Saigon’s Cha Tam church. An appropriate spot to say your prayers. As soon as the despots climbed aboard their US built ‘taxi’ they discovered a couple of dozen bullet holes in their brand-spanking-new travelling pants. The last time anybody saw them they were supposedly headed to their tailor for a patch job. JFK took a similar ride just three weeks later.

The palace is a museum of 1960’s kitsch. Whites, browns and teals dominate the color scheme. It’s more hotel than palace. All of the furnishings are original including the lighting fixtures. Karen remarked on the maintenance of the same, pointing out an unraveled upholstered chair. We visited the old press briefing room where our guide gave us a garbled lecture on the war. Over his shoulder a golden bust of Ho Chi Minh peered at us suspiciously. I slipped my camera back into my pocket. The scene must have been quite different back in the late 60’s when the room was packed with incredulous correspondents and film crews. I could picture Morley Safer, Neil Sheehan and Dan Rather types scribbling away in small spiral notebooks while the military brass tried to impress upon the world how they were winning the war via a swelling pile of VC corpses. But on this day, all of what was had been reduced to the presence of a middle-aged American Vet and his wife in a space dominated by a VC star and Uncle Ho’s glittering countenance. What a tangled web we weave…

We half-stumbled down a narrow stairway into the presidential bunker. Yellowed military maps of Nam’s provinces hung on cold gray walls. Along the narrow corridors lay plain rooms sparsely furnished with drab US military metal desks under piles of cast-off radio gear. The kind of stuff you’d expect to find in a ham-radio enthusiast’s garage. At the end of one hall we walked into the largest single space in the complex, the kitchen. Metal bowls large enough to hold a small man sat on dusty propane burners three feet wide. Karen posed next to one of the stoves. Probably the first time the appliance had been touched by a real cook in over thirty years.

Outside we were given time for a bathroom break. The Russian man posed next to every piece of statuary on the grounds while his wife snapped away at a furious pace. So many statues, so little time. Their son clung to our guide’s leg like a curly haired monkey hugging a palm tree during typhoon. Back in the van we passed the old US embassy. A building made memorable by news footage of Hueys plucking hysterical Vietnamese from the embassy’s rooftop as NVA tanks rolled through the city spreading new religion. Today the reopened embassy is completely hidden behind a razor-wired wall crenellated with security cameras perpetually scanning the streets for new threats. We kept moving.

We made a stop at the red brick Nortre Dame church in the Old French quarter. An English-speaking priest played to a standing room only crowd of worshipers. The overflow parked themselves under umbrellas in a flowered square in front of the church. Wedding couples posed for their photographers next to the kneeling parishioners. On the other side of the square lies the Central Post Office. Looking more like a train station with soaring Romanesque arches. A bank of finely finished teak phone booths lines both sides of the entryway. A large portrait of Ho sits on the far wall overseeing all.

We arrived at a lacquer shop operated by the Vietnamese government to employ Agent Orange victims. A long trough of water dominated the factory. Men squatted on rough boards over the water, wet sanding beautifully colored trays, bowls, plates and pictures to a high gloss. Across from them, people in wheelchairs occupied tables. Their withered legs lay twisted under their buttocks at impossible angles. These folks busied themselves rough-finishing the various products before handing them over to the sanders. The only sounds in the room were those of splashing water and sandpaper. In another area a few women finely etched mother-of-pearl inlays with scalpels. Our ‘special’ factory guide patiently led us through every step of the manufacturing process. As soon as we hit the showroom her patience evaporated as she hurried to close as many sales as possible. Karen and I beat a hasty retreat to the parking lot to wait for our ride.

Our final stop of the day was the “War and Remembrance Museum”. This is the North Vietnamese propaganda center as well as the most visited attraction in Saigon. Our driver was allowed to drive directly into the cramped courtyard and park. I looked at Chister with newfound respect. No guided tour here as we were allowed to walk through the exhibits ourselves. Most men immediately beat feet for the hardware section where you found US tanks, planes and helicopters parked in an open-aired corner. Boys and their toys. While I photographed foreign men posing in front of weaponry for them with their own cameras, a double-amputee Vietnamese man drummed up spare change with his mangled stumps. A security guard shooed the Russian off of a howitzer where he was posing. The wife pouted. The museum’s main building is three stories high. When you enter you are treated to a short video on Agent Orange and its horrific effects on the unborn. To press the point home, a formaldehyde filled tank equipped with five deformed bobbing fetuses can be found in a brightly-lit corner. A large separate room is filled with children’s drawings of the conflict. You’ll enjoy brightly colored paintings with titles like’ OH GOD! U.S. BOMBING’, ‘Consequences of War Perpetrated by U.S. Aggressors’ and lest we forget ‘The American Iraq War’. This last one shows decapitated heads floating in a sea of acrylic blood while fat gray planes marked USAF fly overhead dropping what look like meatballs. As I left the gallery a Vietnamese schoolteacher equipped with a white bullhorn was leading a large group of children in for a major sit down. Ah, school days…

Surprisingly, the My Lai massacre is relegated to a stuffy corner. In other areas pictures of GI’s posing with dead VC line the walls. Glass display cases hold a huge collection of ordnance and infantry weaponry. Yet another opportunity for a Kodak moment. There were so many flashes going off inside it felt like a Disco. A section of B-52 wing lay on the floor. A man wandered the exhibit room distributing brochures that advertised a water puppet show in town. Above me were two unfinished floors. Perhaps they were planning a future display dedicated to punji sticks and tiger cages. On a bench outside sat two US vets. One was crying into his cupped hands. The other stared straight ahead without blinking. Whether he was in shock or simply trying to locate somebody in the crowd was something I was unable to discern.

A Disneyesque reconstruction of the infamous Con Dao Island jail filled a corner of the compound. A mock-up of a tiny cell was jammed with tourists looking at photos of beaten and tortured prisoners. Everybody wanted a photo of himself or herself peeking out from behind the bars. In another cell, closed to the public, an emaciated mannequin sat bolted to an iron bar. The stone walls were covered in sad looking Vietnamese graffiti; ‘ I got ‘dem Con Dao Island blues’. Just when things weren’t getting weird enough I stumbled upon a French guillotine. What it had to do with the war I do not know. Maybe a B-52 dropped it by mistake. The basket under the blade was sans head. Everybody including myself looked. Adjacent to the head-lopper was a gift shop selling hats, antique coins, postcards and Christmas ornaments but no guillotine key chains. Those I would have bought. Nail trimmers.

In a small building confidently labeled ‘Historic Truth’ I was surprised to find a copy of Secretary of Defense McNamara’s book ‘In Retrospect’ displayed like a Vietnamese book of the month selection. The rest of the place was filled with pictures of B-52 strikes and F-111’s. On the other side of a moveable wall a display entitled ‘Requiem’ depended heavily on Life magazine photo spreads from the 60’s of US combat troops in action or dying. The word ‘quagmire’ was used more than once. Another area was dedicated to the peace movement. Original anti-war posters formed a collage from floor to ceiling. In the next room we learned what Vietnam is like today. Pictures of smiling amputees and General Giap, the architect of the North Vietnamese victory. Apparently he now spends most of his time posing with smiling amputees.

Chister seemed nervous when we headed out. Kept asking us what we thought about the museum. They don’t get many Vietnam-era American’s here. I asked Chister why he thought that was and he said that he thought we were afraid to come. That maybe, we felt that the Vietnamese didn’t like us because of the war. He told us that he really hadn’t seen many Americans at all until recently and those that do come are mostly young people. He might have a point. A few years ago I expressed my desire to visit Nam to a group of fellow Vets. They looked at me like I had fallen off a turnip truck. For some people Vietnam will always be a place of carnage and loss. For some, a visit here would be like pressing on a rotted tooth. When we first arrived I wondered how we would be received. It’s not as if you can hide your nationality. Any hotel you stay in will hold your passport until the bill is paid. In reality, they couldn’t care less where you are from. Most of the people we meet seem preoccupied with downloading ring tones. Half of the population of Vietnam is 25 years of age or younger. Like our kids, all they know is what they get in school and like our kids, they don’t get much. At least not in Saigon. South Vietnamese tell us that north of the DMZ they have very long memories and much to remember.

We closed our day with a coffee at Lam’s. Across the street the old cigarette lady played with her baby granddaughter . They were laughing.

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Photos

Backpacker Inn
The scene in one of the cells at the 'War and Remembrance Museum'

The 'Reunification Palace'
Left remarkably intact after the forces of the North seized the building.

Chister the Tour Guide
Looks like a used car salesman but knows Saigon like the palm of his manicured hand.

Uncle Ho
Now presides over the room where Dan Rather once scribbled his notes.

The Palace's Central Hall
The round carpet in the central hall is significant because of the number of fingers the embroidered Dragon on it posesses. Useless factoids for your perusal.

Back In The Kitchen
Karen inspects the disused kitchen in the palace while thinking of a future in Vietnamese catering.

Lacquer Factory Sanders
Can you imagine doing this all day/ six days a week?

Would You Like To See My Etchings?
This lady was mightily proud of her work as she put the finishing touches to these plaques.

Oh God! US Bombers Are Coming
One of the many paintings done by kids in the museum.

Life Magazine Stories
The museum borrows liberally from the US press for many of its exhibits.

Find Karen
The front of the War and Remembrance Museum.

Fun Stuff
The crowds liked the hardware best.

Another Fine Contribution
from the US military to the people of Vietnam.