Me Love You Long Time

Phnom Penh was a welcome respite from the third-world vibe of Siem Reap. By comparison, it was much more developed, maintained a city atmosphere and appeared much cleaner, although was still dirty by Western standards. Within an hour, I had run into my American friends from Siem Reap, so it was great to have dinner and drinks with familiar faces. It turns out that one of them was suffering from the same affliction from which I had just recovered, offering me assurance that my constitution was no weaker than the next man's. They were still ahead of me on the travel schedule, so once again I bade them safe travels and hoped that I'd rejoin them in Vietnam. I had, however, met two girls from California on the bus ride to Phnom Penh, so I spent the next day exploring the sites with them. They also introduced me to a guy from New York they had met in Siem Reap. The backpacker area in Phnom Penh was great; a dirt alley-way situated next to a large lake full of guest houses, internet cafes, bars and restaurants. Cambodian tuk-tuk and moto drivers lie in wait, hounding travelers for business and trying to sell their "goods." "Hey, you smoke?" "Hey, want marijuana?" "Hey you, where you go? Need driver?" Every ten feet; anything goes in this corner of the world. Guest houses on the lake have huge decks on the water with hammocks, pool tables, bars, tables and chairs. It was a relaxing atmosphere for a drink and offered an island vibe in the middle of a poor urban landscape.


Advertising in the Phnom Penh backpacker area.




Other than the Killing Fields and S-21 (and I also visited the National Museum), there's really not a whole lot to do in Phnom Penh. So I made the decision to cut my stay short after one and a half days. I wasn't sure if I was making the right decision, feeling I hadn't fully explored the city, but after my extended stay in Siem Reap I was anxious to move on and make up for lost time. So I bought a bus ticket for $3.50 bound for Ho Chi Minh City.

The border crossing to Vietnam was a far cry from my entry into Cambodia. Crossing the border on foot to change buses, the facilities were really nice, the process was efficient, and the moment you cross the imaginary line separating the two countries you were in a different world. The landscape was suddenly clean and colorful, with well manicured vegetation and pristine roads. And that's how it was the whole way to Ho Chi Minh city; clean and comforting. The whole trip from Phnom Penh took about 7 hours.

On the issue of nomenclature, the city's name was changed from Saigon to HCMC after the fall (or liberation, if you're Vietnamese) of Saigon in 1975, so I thought it proper to refer to it as such. I was intrigued then when I heard some Vietnamese refer to it as Saigon, so I asked a local I had befriended in a cafe. Evidently, Saigon is still the name of choice for the city (at least in the south), and the south Vietnamese aren't fond of the HCMC designation. Accordingly, in English, locals are called "Saigonese."

I wasn't quite sure what to expect of Saigon, but it is utterly and completely awesome. The throngs of people, the energy, the activity...it's phenomenal. The city is well kept, there seems to be a lot of new, contemporary construction, and there's a lot of French colonial architecture as a result of the French occupation. I'm convinced they must have an army of people manufacturing Vietnamese flags, because there's one every ten yards on every street in the country...no joke. For sure, Saigon is a thriving, and growing, city.




It's hard to capture a city in a photo, but a lot of the streets in Saigon look like this.








Transportation in this part of the world is a trip. It's all about the motorbike. Traffic laws as we know them are pretty much non-existent. The only rule seems to be that might makes right, with smaller always yielding to bigger, and driving into oncoming traffic is the norm. In Cambodia, there were four way intersections with no traffic signals whatsoever. Every one just slows down and snakes their way through the mess. And not once have I seen an angry driver or any kind of frustration. There is no regard for personal safety. It's not uncommon to see thirty people jammed in the bed of a pick-up...on top of an overflowing load of cargo. Families of five seem to have no problem fitting on a motorbike, nor do four adult men. And there's nothing wrong with a man driving his bike with one hand while holding his six-month old baby with the other. They use their horns not out of anger as Americans would, but as a form of communication between drivers, and they are used incessantly.

Traffic in Saigon is a little more organized than in Cambodia, but it's still chaos. There are 8 million people in Saigon, and I've been told there are 3 million motorbikes. And since they never stop - it's a constant stream of motos - there's no waiting for a break to cross the street. So what you do is step right into oncoming traffic...and start walking. You walk slowly so they can see you and drive around you, and you make your movements depending on which way they choose to go around you. It's a lot like playing Frogger, and it's kind of fun and kind of insane.

I spent my first full day in Saigon walking around the city, and I'm loving it. But my enthusiasm for the country is dampened somewhat when I visit the War Remnants Museum, a museum of the "American War," and I'm disheartened when I leave. It's been difficult for me to reconcile my emotions as an American traveling through Vietnam, and the manner in which the museum depicts Americans doesn't help matters. I understand I carry an American perspective, and I understand that we were responsible for countless atrocities, but the narrative in the museum was in no way impartial and can almost be described as propaganda. One caption underneath a photo read "An American soldier laughs as he holds the remains of a dead Vietnamese." The picture was graphic, but clearly the soldier wasn't laughing. For sure, our current situation in Iraq, with parallels to Vietnam, and the global perception of the US these days amplified my discomfort. I felt like if anyone else in the museum knew I was an American they would turn on me with contempt and disgust.


Outside the first exhibit at the War Remnants Museum.






The next day I visited the Cu Chi tunnels, a 250 km tunnel system outside of Saigon used by the VC. I admit it was rather remarkable how the VC constructed and used the tunnels, but once again I really didn't feel good about anything I saw. Before the tour they played a video which could undeniably be described as anti-American, communist propaganda. It was unsettling to say the least. It's hard to say how other Westerners view the museum and the tunnels, but I've been comforted somewhat to hear a few share my sentiments. Just last night I was having drinks with three Australians and one of them, unsolicited, made the comment of how one-sided the museum was.

I wanted to get the perspective on the war from a local but was hesitant to bring it up. I had made friends with a Vietnamese girl, about my age, who worked in a cafe by my guest house, and after talking to her for awhile I asked her what Vietnamese people thought about Americans in regards to the war. From what I understood, she made it sound like people (in south Vietnam, at least) don't really think about the war, and it was only recently that some of them had really seen or heard much about it, and only because of the increase in tourism in recent years and the government's effort to capitalize on some of the attractions, like the museum and tunnels. Later, I was talking with an older Vietnamese guy in a bar, and again it came up. He asked me a question I had troubles making out; It sounded like he was asking me about Iran. Surely I thought I was mistaken and thought he must have said Iraq. To clarify, he spells it out on the bar with his finger. Iran. He was asking me what I thought about Iran, which I thought a bit strange. It seemed he thought because I was an American I had inside information on whether the US was going to invade Iran. Anyway, I think from there I had asked him his take on the war and whether he remembered American soldiers in Saigon. (Just to be clear, what I'm trying to figure out is if images, notions, and references to the war are pervasive in Vietnam, and the resulting attitude towards Americans. It's still such a sensitive topic in our country, I wanted to know how it was viewed over here.) Well, his English wasn't great and conversation was difficult, but he was 10 during the war, doesn't really remember the presence of soldiers in Saigon, and seemed to brush off any thought of the war, as if it doesn't really matter to anyone anymore. I don't know if the perception differs in the north, but generally speaking I get the feeling that the war is a distant memory for a lot of south Vietnamese. My polling sample is, of course, statistically insignificant. So for now, I think I can harbor ill will towards the Vietnamese government, but not necessarily the Vietnamese people. The people here are friendly and welcoming. The fact that I'm an American seems to mean something to them, especially the younger ones. A lot of folks will approach and extend a "Hello" upon seeing me in the hopes that I speak English and will reciprocate. On a side note, most people over here don't understand the "U.S." or "United States." To them, I'm from America, and I've learned to answer the question as such for sake of ease. I say it quietly, though, if I'm within earshot of other Westerners. And they tend to only know two places: California and Washington.

I never did run into my group of four Americans in Saigon, but I did run into the two girls from California and the guy from New York, who at this point seemed to be traveling together. Americans are few and far between on this travel route, so when you meet one it's a precious commodity. Although, I did see a guy in Saigon wearing a Brian Urlacher Bears jersey and a Cubs hat, but he looked like the kind of guy who would wear an Urlacher jersey and Cubs hat while traveling through Saigon, so I chose not to say anything to him. I don't know why it is that there aren't many Americans. Granted, it's a long way for us, but generally I don't think Americans are nearly as well traveled as other Westerners. And the number of Europeans I've met that are traveling for six, ten, twelve months is astounding. It makes my two months feel insignificant. Maybe it's my paranoia of current global affairs, but I get the impression that Europeans aren't too interested in Americans over here. All the more reason why it's so wonderful to discover other Americans. (And for all the stereotypes of the ugly American, there are a lot of Canadian and European buffoons over here.) Nevertheless, I was eating dinner in Saigon with the Cali girls and New York, and I couldn't take it anymore. The girls were only a year out of college and they talked like what every European must imagine a rich girl from southern California to talk. The Clueless inspired dialogue wasn't cutting it, and I thought I'd be better to go it alone. So I paid my bill, excused myself, and proceeded to find a bar where I had full reign of the music selection via the computer mouse which was on the bar for anyone to handle. Brilliant. I spent the rest of the night getting pissed with a Brit who had been traveling for 17 months.



Cruising through the Mekong Delta. The hats are actually quite functional.















Also in the Mekong Delta.