A short flight (delayed for an hour by a flat tyre which needed 10 people to prod and poke it, before attempting to pump it up with a bicycle pump) takes us to HCMC, formerly the capital and called Saigon until is was renamed by the Hanoi Government following North Vietnam’s defeat over the South in 1975. Everyone here still refers to the city as Saigon, but officially, it’s only District 1 where most of the government buildings and tourist attractions are that still goes by its former name.
We’re staying at the brand new Elios Hotel (www.elioshotel.vn) in District 1 and most things of interest are either a walk or a cyclo ride away. I have developed a deep sense of respect for the cyclo drivers who, I have discovered through my recent steep learning curve about the Vietnam war, were previously doctors, teachers or journalists here in South Vietnam. Post-war, they were punished by the new communist regime for siding with the U.S. (they didn’t, they were just too intelligent and the communists feared that they would not accept the new ruling without question) and sent to re-education camps, for months or sometimes even years, and stripped of their citizenship. Since their certificate of official residence has never been retuned to them, they cannot own property or even a business and are forced onto the streets, sleeping in their cyclos and eating on street corners. The government is now talking about phasing cyclos out so you have to wonder what will become of these men.
The traffic here, although far heavier than Hanoi, is much quieter, partly due to the fact that the bikes get their own lane on many of the streets. Even when our taxi knocks one of the ubiquitous bandana-wearing ladies off her motorbike, he merely hops out, wheels the bike to the side of the road and drives on.
Our tour around the city takes us to the Reunification Hall (previously the Presidential Palace) where the first communist tanks charged through the gates in their governmental overthrow. It’s a monument to the 1960’s, both in its architecture and it’s interior design of brown and yellow swirls on the carpets. It formerly housed the South Vietnamese president Diem, but he was hated so much that his own air force bombed the palace in 1962 in an attempt to kill him. The place where the two bombs were dropped has been marked and can clearly be seen from the fourth floor balcony. They might have missed, but his troops had more success and managed to kill him one year later. We’re slightly disturbed to find out that one of the pilots who bombed the palace is still a pilot, now working for Vietnam Airlines, who we’ve flown with a few times. I hope he’s calmed down a bit. Following the bombing of The Palace, it was rebuilt with a bomb shelter in the basement. These concrete tunnels also housed a cell, an impressive war room and a telecommunications centre to make Virgin Media proud, but that’s not really too much of a compliment.
The Vietnamese History Museum is housed in a gorgeous old wooden house with a beautiful courtyard in the centre. It’s located just inside the gate of the zoo so a wander around there seems like the natural thing to do. Sadly, there’s nothing natural about this zoo. The animals are at best living in cramped, dirty conditions and at worst, going out of their minds. We witness 4 elephants rocking back and forth in an area less than twice the size of our garden and an ape screeching and pulling frantically at the bars of the cage, as well as on otter scratching over and over at the same tiny piece of metal cage in a desperate attempt to get out. The various types of deer seemed to fare slightly better for space although several of these were limping.
Speaking of limping, we’re not really at all surprised by the treatment of the animals when you consider that the war veterans are seen on most streets, with one or more limbs missing, sometimes also blinded in one eye, and reduced to begging to survive. But with no other means of support (apart from their crutches), that’s the life they have been forced into. At least the zoo animals are fed and housed.
We visit Paris Square with a replica Notre Dame cathedral (from the outside. Inside it’s less impressive than my local, St Peter’s) and a post office designed by Monsieur Eiffel but with a huge portrait of Ho Chi Minh looking down on everyone. Not sure if Mr. Eiffel would have approved. Surely it’s the job of the French to look down on everyone?
Sunset drinks are imbibed on the 26th floor of the Sheraton, where a round of drinks during happy hour sets us back more than the price of a meal for 4 (including drinks) at most restaurants. Dinner at French restaurant L’en Tête ensures we’ve well and truly blown the budget once again.
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