Twenty-four hours in the crown jewel of Vietnam provides sights, sounds and smells in a city on the fast track, writes
Shane Cowlishaw.
Spinning like a whirling dervish, Ta Anh Dung’s chain whip snaps crisply in the warm air. Around, up, down, back again; sweat peaks on his brow as he goes through the motions of his morning ritual in stifling heat.
Dung is a Vo su, or master, of Vietnamese martial arts and he has come to this central park in Saigon to work out. Unfazed by the western tourists watching on, his routine is impressive and even more so considering he is missing a leg. We don’t interrupt, but notice a nearby couple entwined in a ballroom dance blend seamlessly with the rush of ‘‘moto’’ scooters and suited businessmen rushing to their next appointment.
Ho Chi Minh, better known as Saigon to some, is the ultimate juxtaposition. Everywhere you look, old and new clash and combine as the city races forward at a breakneck pace. Tai chi and traffic, noodle sellers nestled under gleaming skyscrapers; Vietnam’s impressive economic recovery and transformation into one of Asia’s ‘‘tigers’’ has created an extraordinary assault on the senses.
With a population that has roughly doubled in the past six years, the country’s largest city now boasts more than eight million residents with more flocking for their chance at prosperity every day.
My colleague and I have only 24 hours in the city, arriving from New Zealand the previous night. After flying in late we’re eager to grab a beer at our accommodation’s famous rooftop bar. Situated on top of the Caravelle Saigon in the heart of the city, the Saigon Saigon Bar has a storied history.
Overlooking Lam Son Square, the location was a favourite haunt of journalists during the war who would gather for a daily briefing and later unwind together with a few drinks. These days the only reminder of who the bar used to play host to is a few Exotic seems like an understatement, with live toads, crabs and various seafood lined up alongside colourful Asian fruit including dragonfruit and the pungent durian. faded photos in the hallway, with the excitement now provided by an enthusiastic samba band from Eastern Europe rather than explosions. The views are still great, though.
A few beers later, we retire to our rooms, soft beds and deep pillows: just what’s needed after a 14-hour flight.
A new morning in a strange city always amazes me, given the fact the morning before I had woken up in my own bed so far away.
The colours, smells and heat of Vietnam hit as soon as we leave the hotel and a stroll through Ben Thanh market is a great way to jump in the deep end. Exotic seems like an understatement, with live toads, crabs and various seafood lined up alongside colourful Asian fruit including dragonfruit and the pungent durian.
Shopping is why many come to Ho Chi Minh and the choice is overwhelming. From souvenir trinkets to knock-off (and legitimate) branded clothing, if you’re willing to bargain you can score a great deal.
Material cravings satisfied, our afternoon stop is the War Remnants Museum. The country’s conflict is impossible to escape on a visit, and nor should it be. Attracting more than half a million visitors each year, the museum contains screes of information on the impact of war on Vietnam and its people.
Yes, there’s old army planes, tanks and artillery outside but the most striking element is the exhibition on Agent Orange, a chemical that was used extensively during the war. Used to clear the jungle, the defoliant is highly toxic and its effects are still seen today in the country through horrific birth defects. While the exhibition title ‘‘Agent Orange aftermath in the US aggressive war in Vietnam’’ is blunt, the information inside is thorough and confronting.
A box of tissues is recommended if visiting and considering a large proportion of the chemical used by the United States in Vietnam was manufactured in New Plymouth, any New Zealanders visiting the country should take the time to see it.
After a sobering afternoon we feel the need to suddenly not be sober, so we have a few more beers to calm the nerves. A quick refresh at the Caravelle and we’re ready to face the heat again, with a night tour of the city.
Our guide, a sprightly young man, is more than happy to oblige when we ask to skip the tourist spots in favour of a more local experience. We each jump on the back of our driver’s Vespa and without hesitation join the heaving organism that is Vietnam traffic.
Like any large, global city Ho Chi Minh doesn’t shut down at night, its pace is rlentless. You know those pictures of countless scooters weaving impossibly between each other on TV? Not an exaggeration.
Motorbikes, or ‘‘motos’’ as they call them here, rule. As we join the fray ourselves, it’s hard not to feel like an ant. Despite the uncountable amount of bikes on the road, everyone weaves together seamlessly in a stream,