Good morning Vietnam! Given the insanely potent coffee here and constant bustle, I can see why it seems like it's perpetually morning. Even under threat of rain, the Vietnamese still ride their motorbikes in droves. Much like India, the roadways seem to follow some intuitive organized chaos. They have wider roads and more lanes designated for different classes of vehicle, but there's a lawless feel to it all the same. Traffic can come in any direction. Stop lights are common but only about 90% of motorcyclists obey them. Optional.
We come into Saigon by bus from Phnom Penh which allows us to see the growing calamity from a safe, elevated vantage point. Interestingly the Vietnamese alphabet resembles English (or any Latin based character alphabet) moreso than Cambodian or Thai, but with seemingly dozens of different accents which affect the pronunciation in ways I'll never remember. Despite potentially butchering the language (not that I'll speak much), this is a huge benefit as we'll be able to identify street signs and places with much more ease. The logistical ramifications are numerous! I'm not sure why I like knowing where I am at all times, (on a map anyway), but it gives me something to do with my idle time.
The rest of the bus ride is both productive and uneventful. I spend hours writing some stories and then watch Captain Philips (showing on the bus' overhead TV) for about an hour before I realize how motion sick I am. I manage not to puke upon disembarking from the bus, but I note that the first thing to greet us in Saigon is, uncannily, the aroma of chicken shit. Amusingly, this brings back (fond?) memories of my home in Los Altos.
We head into the nearby backpackers district and find cheap lodging above a pizza restaurant. Pizza Rex is popular with the locals but for some reason it doesn't appeal to us, which is probably for our benefit. This small district is jam-packed with travel agents, tattoo shops, bakeries, restaurants offering Asian/Mexican/Italian/Indian food, hotels, street food galore, and boutique clothing outlets. Most establishments are stacked a few stories high and it's rare for any storefront to offer only one thing. They are usually a combination of travel agent and hotel but we also saw some that were motorcycle dealers by day and dance clubs/bars at night, or coffee shop/karaoke. Going down the tighter alleys offers a glimpse into people's homes, and even some of these have small eating rooms attached for patrons. Talk about home cooking. I wonder how outlandish it would look if I just opened up my house as a restaurant. In the States you might see some homes converted into restaurants entirely, but it seems rare to find and they are likely near other eateries. Here you don't find such a stark dividing line between place of work and place of family.
On our first proper day in Saigon, we team up with our new friends Sam and Michael to do some sightseeing. We take a bus to Cu Chi to see a network of Vietcong tunnels, and I get a little panicked/claustrophobic as we crawl through them. It was a controlled panic like something an adrenaline junkie might seek out. I entertain the thoughts that follow while stuck in a queue of people as we squeeze through the tunnels--how people were forced to live here--and try to imagine how insane I would become if stuck in here. Of course they did hollow out larger living quarters, but nonetheless I believe I don't have the psychological fortitude for this place, let alone war. I would almost surely be one of the first to lose my marbles (if I survived the bombs from the American devils).
The rest of our Saigon days are a bit boozy and hot, so we embrace the late nights one after the other. Nicole befriends a warm and talkative local named Hoa who works around the corner at a pizza joint called ESPY (Excellent Sliced Pizza for You). Hoa is only 22 and is manager of the unfortunately quite delicious restaurant. On a whim, she joins us for drinks after work and we get to learn more about her and a more progressive side of Vietnamese culture. The following night she and her friend Mars take us out for a night on the town by motorbike. We stop at four different places to eat and we're tickled to be around people who indulge their inner foodie. One of the stops is just a stoop in front of a posh furniture store where people gather after closing time to enjoy a refreshing drink or appetizer. A woman operating out of something less than a food cart distributes various coconut waters or lime-esque juices with some odd balance of salty/sour flavor. Despite all of the exotic treats, the real treat was getting to learn more about Mars and Hoa.
At some point during our hangout, several people hanging out on the stoop around us drop everything they're holding and run to their scooters to ride away down the street. Nicole and I shoot some astonished and confused looks at each other, but Hoa calmly tells us that we have nothing to worry about. In a moment it becomes clear that several of the patrons were parked illegally on the sidewalk and the police have just arrived on the scene. Hoa explains that this is a frequent occurrence and she and Mars parked legally across the street to avoid any trouble. The cops catch several people before they could scuttle away and collect bribes from the owners. One woman unfortunately forgot her registration card at home so the police unceremoniously lift her scooter into a truck to take it to an impound lot. This little regular irregularity of disrupting street gatherings sparks an interesting conversation about police corruption. We hear some stories about cops accosting people that resonates with the sort of authoritarian/bully mentality we experience back home, but differs in that, at least anecdotally, Mars and Hoa knew of several incidents involving cops sexually harassing young girls. It breaks my heart to think that some systems can operate under the guise of protection just to violate that trust entirely, even making it less safe for people out there. I realize that not all cops are this way, just as not all men are rapists. But if an institution is reaffirming this sort of perception, I hope that the people in charge would go to greater lengths to weed this behavior out. We continue to wear our dumbfounded, incredulous faces as we listen to Hoa until a nearby cop decides that we look too comfortable sitting where we are. He makes us get up and walk down the street as some sort of formality, but it's clear that he didn't like our nonchalant behavior. He wanted us to scatter with everybody else. The bully wants to make you flinch. It's about maintaining an image of power, and we somehow threatened that by trying not to acknowledge him. We relocate for a few minutes until they move on to the next street, all the while our food vendor laments how this sort of disruption causes patrons to leave before paying. Fortunately many are repeat customers and pay her back when they return to take their chances on another night.
We part ways and, as much as we'd love to stay, we begin to steel ourselves for the next leg of our journey: diving into the busy streets of Saigon and making our way towards Hanoi by motorcycle.
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