Well, we ended up getting the bus and ferry from Sihanoukville to Ho Chi Minh City...well, it was a 5 minute coach ferry across a river, that counts right? The Finnish guys we'd met at Otres Beach- Paavo, Yussi and Miko- were with us all the way. One thing I’ve learned from border crossings is that the destination country always likes to set an arrival test for the tourist, to screen their worthiness to enter the country. While the Cambodians test your savvy and initiative with their scams, the Vietnamese test your patience and sanity with their immigration process. Painfully slow is an understatement. Our bus attendant- a man who clearly thought himself extremely efficient- made us get off and on the bus about 5 times in 5 minutes, when it was quite obvious we could have walked those 20 metres. All together now- in, out, in, out, shake your passport all about...This all occurred at sunset too- the mosquitoes sure got a feasting that night.
Enough complaining. We scraped a pass in the patience test and entered Vietnam; that’s all that matters. Before we knew it, dozens of rainbow neon karaoke bars lined the streets; the roads heaved with motorbikes. We had entered Saigon: at first glance, very similar to Hong Kong in its modernity. The bus dropped us off right in the heart of the city, taking a hotel that was 2 seconds walk away. I don't know what's happened to us…back in the days of India, we used to look at least 5 places before deciding where to stay, maybe haggle a bit for fun. These days, its 'Cheap room? We'll take it'. Too lazy!The next morning, we bumped into the Finnish guys, who were just off to have a few beers. Perfect way to spend the morning! Patrick and I also had our first Vietnamese 'pho'- noodle soup with beef and mint. You're probably wondering why I'm not sick of noodle soup yet- have practically eaten it for 3 months straight. But seriously, I can't get enough of the stuff. Delicious! Within a few minutes, I soon discovered another perk/annoyance (it depends on your mood) of chilling in Saigon’s cafes. Forget internet shopping: Saigon is the perfect place for the lazy shopper. While sipping my Green Saigon beer, I bought two books from passing street hawkers, and Miko bought some pimp-esque gold rimmed aviators (Paavo's description, not mine!). Anyway, Paavo mentioned that he and the boys were heading to the coastal town of Vung Tao the next day. 'Why not?' we said- the phrase of our Asia trip, I think- and just like that, it was a new plan.
A few hours later, we found ourselves accidentally doing a bar crawl. Well, it’s hard when bars lure you with offers of free shots and buy 5 beers, get 5 beers free. We’d fall for the promotions then quickly find the catch: it was only valid in the deserted club area upstairs, where the worst D.J in the world (OK, that’s harsh- maybe Asia) is playing. Miko offered $1 to the D.J to play Led Zeppelin, to no avail. Still, we paid for our beers and escaped to downstairs. After we’d been drinking for a while, I noticed a square-faced wild-haired Vietnamese man furiously scribbling a portrait of our group- or so I thought. He eventually revealed his masterpiece- it was a portrait of Yussi! Brilliant, too- it looked just like him! Yussi was over the moon, and bought it for $8. Paavo and I both decided to have our portraits done as well- a great Vietnam souvenir. It was fascinating to watch how Thaam (the artist) drew Paavo; his pencil was always twitching, as though a live thing bringing life to the page. All in all, not a bad night for a ‘few drinks’.
We made a quick visit to the post office the following morning. Sounds average, but this wasn’t your average corner-shop post office. A French colonial, grandiose, salmon-pink building, with a huge picture of Ho Chi Minh, the leader of North Vietnam during the Vietnam War, at the front. The packing process was very, erm, thorough; I think he went through 2 rolls of white duct tape, ensuring nobody will ever get into the parcel. Not quite the pillowcase they made for my parcel in India. Good luck, Colleen; maybe invest in some big shears!...
That afternoon, the journey to Vung Tao confirmed one thing for me: all minibus drivers are lunatics. They all seem to drive a little bit faster and take a few more risks than the average bus driver. Maybe they have a complex about the size of their bus?...Anyway, our minibus ride to Vung Tao was bumpy, sticky, and a little…cozy. After much needed revitalizing dinner and drinks on arrival into Vung Tao, we caught a taxi to Back Beach: a very different beach from Otres. High-rise hotels replace the crude wooden shacks. At night, the market thrives on the streets, consisting of stalls that all sell the same souvenirs, namely giant shells and toy monkeys. Nothing says ‘I’ve been to Vung Tao’ more than a toy monkey, after all. Down on the immensely wide and long beach, only a few food stalls remained. During the day, however, it is a completely different story. While the streets are practically deserted, the beach is literally heaving with food stalls, deck chairs, and fully-clothed Vietnamese jumping the waves. Dodging dozens of parasols, we eventually chose a seafood place for breakfast. As soon as Patrick asked for a crab, they picked him out of the tank, weighed him, and plopped him into a vat of boiling water. Five minutes later, there he was, sitting on a plate in front of us as though still alive, with some lime and salt besides him for seasoning. Some prawn spring rolls, a few Heinekens…not a bad breakfast. It is not a relaxing beach in the slightest, but it was fun to glimpse how the Vietnamese spend their weekends.
After one night in Vung Tao, we headed back to Saigon. Somewhere on the way we lost our Finnish friends; I’m guessing one night in VT was enough for them too. One day we’ll go and visit them in Finland! So, back at Saigon, we finally made it to the War Remnants Museum (see the next entry for more on that), and headed to Ben Thanh Market in a ‘cyclo’- a bicycle with a seat at the front. My cyclo driver had the biggest smile when he realized we wanted him to take us somewhere: a mixture of incredulity and relief. It’s a difficult job in a city like Saigon, which is monopolized by moto taxis- especially for a 60 year old. Patrick’s cyclo driver was 45 years old, and had his four front teeth missing- but that didn’t stop him smiling and chatting away. It was crazy to see them cross the traffic; like India’s cows, they just sat in the middle of the roads, letting the traffic swerve around them. They overcharged us a bit, but hey- they deserve the money, for keeping the slow cyclo alive in a technologically evolving city. Long live the cyclo!
So, we tried our hardest to keep up with Saigon’s vibrant velocity, but now it’s time to move on. A very livable city bursting with excitement and energy; it’s impossible to walk through Saigon’s streets at night and not get caught up in its enthusiasm. Think I’d have to learn how to ride a scooter to survive there, though… Right now, we’re on the bus to Mui Ne, where a more relaxing beach and sand dunes await. See you there! Blog entry on the War Remnants Museum on the way…
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