Fording the Motorbike River

In one way, Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) and I are made for each other: we are jaywalking soul mates.  In the US, I picked up aggressive jaywalking while running as a means of not waiting 3 minutes for every 5 that I ran.  Especially in college, where the entitled university students feel they rule the streets, that behavior seeped over into my everyday city walking style.  But I am always very aware of all the cars, how fast they are going, and the exact right moment to cross.  And then there's HCMC.  Here, the major form of transportation is motorbike, and motorbikes have a lot more maneuverability in small spaces than a car.  As a result, street lights are sort of a suggestion for motorbikes.  They cross red lights, zip through holes in oncoming or perpendicular traffic, and generally make the most of whatever road space there is (no matter how dangerous it is to actually utilize that space).  To them, a jaywalker is simply a bit of occupied space like any other.  And so you can cross almost any time and anywhere you want.  It's magic! You step out into the road, often waiting for a slightly less-packed section of traffic to arrive, and then just walk at a smooth, steady pace across the street.  As long as your pace is predictable, traffic will adjust around you.  The wake left behind is small and quickly swallowed by the advancing vehicles.  Here, jaywalking is not uncommon.  It is necessary, because motorbikes blast through your walk signals.

Fun fact: There are 6.5 million motorbikes in HCMC, and the most commonly replaced part is the horn.

I didn't realize that HCMC takes an early lunch/siesta (about 11:30-1:30, give or take half an hour) that shuts down the city, so I missed my opportunity to explore the museums in the morning.  Instead, I zipped over to the International Asiana Saigon, a top HCMC hotel, to pick up a package left for me by my friend Eric.  He had felt that it would be "very CIA", and indeed it was.  I handed over the luggage tag, and off they went into the back to find it.  They returned and asked if I knew what the package would be like and I said no.  But finally they emerged with a large envelope, which I gleefully ripped open.  The not-CIA part?  It was full of local snacks!  Very preferable to a gun or information about terrorists or whatever would be in a real CIA envelope.

For lunch, I caught the tail end of Vietnamese breakfast and ordered a large bowl of pho from Pho Thai Son.  The huge vat of broth simmered by the door and the fresh accents of lime juice hung in the air.  The flavors were heaven.  I'm so glad that I can get pho in the US.

And then on to an afternoon of HCMC's (few) sights.  I started with the War Remnants Museum, which is pretty much a denunciation of the American War (as the Vietnamese call it).  The entire first floor was covered with photos, advertisements, and speech excerpts from dozens of nations all denouncing the American aggression.  

The second floor had exhibits on war crimes and the effects of Agent Orange.  A statue, Mother by Nguyen Hoang Huy, was made of collected bomb fragments.  There were also examples of weapons and, outside, a series of tanks, bulldozers, planes, and helicopters used by the US army.  The museum had a very strong opinion, but some of the facts were undeniable.  It was a rather sobering start to my afternoon of tourism.

Since all the tourist sights are in a concentrated area, I also stopped by the Post Office, a beautiful colonial style building with gothic architecture designed by Gustave Eiffel.  

Given my love of snail mail, I adored the building and perused its postcard collection endlessly.  It was sort of funny how much cheaper a set of 10 cards was inside (8,000 dong, or $0.40) versus the starting price of sellers outside (50,000 none, or $2.50).

On my way home, I also stopped by to see two buildings from the outside (the insides being private spaces): the Saigon Opera House and the People's Committee Building.  The Opera House is, like the post office, an example of classic 19th century French colonial architecture.  It was built to stage productions for the entertainment of French troops stationed in Saigon.  The building was damaged during WWII and restored in 1975, since when it has served as a beautiful venue for jazz concerts, operas, Vietnamese dance shows, and ballet performances.

The People's Committee Building is located near the opera house in the busiest, glitziest part of downtown.  Obviously, I was never going to get inside.

I closed the evening with dinner with a friend of a friend, Adrian.  He had sent me directions to a restaurant (33 Xua Va Nay), and when I arrived there was a large table of people enjoying drinks and each other's company.  There were about ten of us, all strangely connected to one another through Yale or mutual friends, enjoying dish after dish (Adrian confessed that he likes to over-order).  We had two entire grilled fish, where every morsel of meat was picked off the bones before the fish was flipped on its other side (and devoured).  There were itty bitty chicken wings; eating these with chopsticks was a very strange feeling.  We had morning glory shoots and fried rice and both grilled and fried squid with a delicious almost sour dipping sauce.  I was informed by several people at the table that Vietnamese cuisine is full of different sauces, all delicious and enhancing the dishes in various ways.  

Partway through dinner, the power went out on our block, but that just fueled the enjoyment of our fellow diners.  A large group inside the restaurant got a singer and a guitarist to come play, and thus began my initiation in tanco (I hope I'm spelling that right).  It's basically a traditional, almost folk comedy act that involves freestyling lyrics to a melody, accompanied by a guitar.  It's incredibly fast and difficult to do, but this guy was incredible.  His bawdy lyrics were accompanied occasionally by gestures or facial expression, which made all of the Vietnamese-speakers die of laughter.  He even did a couple of verses about a girl at our table, who was laughing so hard that she was practically crying.  And so we enjoyed the end of dinner.  I was happy to dine without lights, as it somehow added the right tone for good conversation and a carefree attitude.  Just as we were getting up to leave, the power came back on and our little block was consumed by the throb of the city once again.

Spotted: Girls dressed up in incredibly tight, sparkly, sexy outfits at 7 AM in massage parlors an beauty salons, primping in chairs by the windows.  Enough said.