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The Heat Is On In Saigon
After a much needed lie-in we were ready to explore Saigon both really excited about what it had to offer. Luckily our hostel was just around the corner from a fab western style bakery so we are able to stock up on baked goods and good coffee to see us on our way. First stop was the War Museum which we were both really keen to visit and first impressions did not disappoint. Set behind a huge courtyard, the museum contains many American war planes, trains and automobiles left behind or captured during the war. This allowed BG to channel his boy genes as he raced from one to the next with his nerdy knowledge of the planes technical names (loser). In contrast, I was borderline impressed by a large submarine, only to be informed by BG (unable to stop laughing) that it was a helicopter. Whatevs.
We had read up on the museum and were expecting a large amount of anti American propaganda but I think even we were surprised at how blatant it was. Unfortunately, instead of giving the impression that the Vietnamese were the superior nation, it just made them look really stupid for missing out huge chunks of information and thinking we were stupid enough to believe their biased side of the story. It was a real shame as the museum was so good and obviously steeped in history and original artefacts that had it given an unbiased account of the conflict it would have probably been one of the best museums we'd been to. Unfortunately, we had to read about the Southern Vietnamese being captured, tortured and ordered to comply by the Americans with no reference to the North / South divide and how amazingly any American prisoners were treated once captured. This was obviously in stark contrast to the way the 'Americans' treated the North Vietnamese prisoners, of which there were many gruesome accounts.
Despite this, we both learnt lots more about the war than we were expecting, some of the amazing war photography was really hard to look at and certainly explained why there is still residual hatred for the American Army. The room that dealt with the after affects of Agent Orange was one of the most awful things I've ever seen and, like the landmine museum in Laos, really hit home the long term affects from the war and how little is being done by the West to help clean up.
There was only one thing to do after such a traumatic morning, and that was to eat ice-cream! After a casual stroll through the park (with a quick stop for a bright red drink with the local students) and the finance district, we stumbled across the rather inappropriately named Fanny's ice-cream parlour. Set in a beautiful colonial style building, Fanny's offered a twelve page menu of ice-creams, sodas and sundaes - heaven. By now it was getting dark and the city seemed to transform as it was lit up by every type of lighting possible. We walked slowly past 'Notre Dame', the night market and city parks to our restaurant of choice, a pho kitchen on a street corner. Three things on the menu, chicken pho, beef pho or something we couldn't understand pho, beer or coca cola, all for £1.50! The steaming bowl of pho arrived along with a huge plate filled with handfuls of fresh herbs, chilies and limes for us to season the soup - amazing!
Next day we headed to the infamous market which the guidebooks told us sold everything you could ever need. And they were not kidding. Row upon row upon row of stalls crammed next to each other under a corrugated iron roof, the place was boiling. Each row contained something different so we wandered down the shoe row, the flip-flop row, the fruit juice row, the DVD row, the dresses row, the tacky Buddha row, the raw meat row (nice) the whole while being cajoled, coerced and hollered at ('you like?', 'you wanna buy?', wah you looking for…') by the women running the stalls. Annoyingly, although the market was completely amazing, the women made the experience so stressful that we soon had to leave having barely bought anything.
After such a stressful environment, we needed to chillax (BG wanted this word removed!) and somehow I persuaded BG that a pedicure would be just the thing! Twenty minutes later and he found himself in the girliest salon ever being attended to by a hareem of Vietnamese girls who obviously did not get many western men coming in for a pedicure. Unable to contain their giggles, they scrubbed, preened and polished BG's dainty feet while he tried not to do a run for it! While this was happening, I got a full manicure (with gel nails) and pedicure for £12. Bargain!
Next day and I had a surprise in store for BG (I use 'surprises' when I know he wouldn't comply given all the facts), packed his speedos and sunscreen and hopped in a taxi destined for Saigon's waterpark. Luckily he saw the funny side and after a hot and sweaty couple of days in the city, could not complain too much about a day at the pool. After paying our £2 entrance fee, we got changed in a grotty changing room and headed poolwards. This place was genius. We think it was probably build straight after the war as it a definite air of the seventies about it. Bright blue pool, red, yellow and blue shoots and slides and - true to the seventies, a distinct lack of health and safety. While we've got used to and enjoy being away from our own nanny state, this place really took the biscuit. Live, exposed wires literally hanging over the pool edge, rusty nails holding the pool lining in place, and a rusty six foot long zip line that deposited you in about 20cm of water! Still, we had an excellent time and spent the whole day on all the slides, chutes and bridges. As we were changing to leave it was unfortunately BG's turn to be the subject of a young Vietnamese guys desire. He shot out of the changing room completely traumatised by having to get dressed as the guy looked him in the eye while stroking his manhood (!) which, although slightly sinister, I obviously found hilarious.
Later that evening and we were excitedly awaiting the arrival of my cousin, Matthew Sam from my heartland, Brizzol. Joining us for the remainder of our time in Vietnam, BG was beyond excited about boytime and I was beyond apprehensive about the carnage that would ensue. Walking to his hotel to meet him, we turned a corner and literally bumped into Helen and Anna, the two German girls we'd met in Sihanoukville. After a quick catch-up and check that they weren't stalking us (!) we entered Matt's hotel reception to be met by the dulcet tones of a very Bristolian 'COOOOOOOUUUUUUUUSSSSSYYYYYYY' (standard west country greeting!). Although Matt had been on an eleven hour flight, had a two hour wait at the airport, half an hour taxi ride and it was nearly eleven at night, he was of course was up for a drink! After a quick bite to eat, he then insisted that we go to a bar for a nightcap so gone midnight we found ourselves on a hectic street corner drinking beer, catching up and trying to keep our eyes open. At 1am we admitted defeat and headed to bed for some sleep (I wasn't to know at that stage that that was actually the earliest I would get to bed until after Matt went home!).
Next morning we all went to the bakery to stock up on sustenance and boarded a coach taking us to the Cu Chi Tunnels - the location of several military campaigns during the Vietnam war. The tunnels were dug out and used by Viet Cong guerrillas as hiding spots during combat, as well as serving as communication and supply routes, hospitals, food and weapon caches and living quarters for numerous guerrilla fighters and are largely revered as the reason the Americans were defeated. On our two hour coach ride we were kept highly entertained by our Vietnamese tour guide 'John Wayne' who tried to give us some background information in a stand-up style (complete with microphone and nearly falling down the aisle every time we went round a corner) with pigeon English! Once there, we were shown into a large dug out room in the middle of the jungle and shown a decrepid film about the tunnels. Although using lots of original footage (which was interesting), unfortunately the film was subject to the same propaganda as all other museums and we were soon trying hard not to giggle as we learnt that the Americans came to bomb '…our chickens, our ducks, our pots and our pans…' all of which seemed to be given more gravitas than women and children!
Next stop and it was time to see some of the tunnels and if we were brave enough, go through them. Annoyingly, I was having a bad reaction to our malaria medication and struggled to stay conscious, hanging on to BG for dear life as we walked through the jungle being shown various traps and hideouts. The traps were seriously grotesque and still in full working order, so we were shown the delights of how American's would have their legs trapped and impaled, their armpits impaled and their entire bodies turned to mincemeat in carefully concealed underground traps that were barely contained behind a flimsy fence. The propaganda continued as we were asked if anyone knew why the Americans had invaded Vietnam - apparently the Vietnamese are still trying to work that bit out, and hold an annual competition for their people to give suggestions - the winner of which is awarded an apartment. I wanted to suggest that he ask the American's or maybe try google if it was all such a mystery but given our close proximity to the armpit impaler, BG wouldn't let me. We were then taken to a tunnel entrance to experience life underground. Obviously Matt was first down and BG, feeling the pressure, soon followed albeit complaining about how muddy his top was going to get. Five minutes later, and up they both popped, now a curious shade of mudbrown and in Matthew Sam's case, seriously regretting his choice of a brand new crisp white t-shirt!
Next came the part the boys had been looking forward to (and the main reason we were there), the shooting range! Again, health and safety not an issue, we handed over £10 and got ten bullets for an AK 47. Barely able to contain their excitement, we all put on ear protectors (the noise was deafening) and headed to the range. What ensued in my opinion was just five minutes of very loud noise, but according to the boys was just 'the best thing ever' which continued to be talked about the whole way home. Boys. Gah.
Once back, the boys headed back to the war museum so Matt could see it before we left while I wandered the tiny back-alleys barely wide enough to fit through (not that that stopped motorbikes zooming past) with a small bundle of clothes in need of repair. I soon found an old man with a vintage Singer in a dusty alcove who repaired all our rips and seams in just ten minutes and for the bargain price of 50p! After a quick turnaround, we were on our way to the airport excited about some time at the beach after our very hectic city stop.
P.S. You will notice that I don't feature in any of the photos in this album. This is because we have moved into boy time. Girls are now irrelevant.
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Jill xx Genius, genius, genius. I can't wait for the next instalment, especially now that Matthew Sam has appeared on the scene.......