Day 2 - Saigon
We’d had the presence of mind the night before to change the timing of our tour of Saigon so the day started with a leisurely breakfast on the banks of the Saigon River. Villa Song looks like an impeccably renovated 19th Century French mansion but may, in fact, be brand new. Dave, Mary and I each asked when it was built and all came away with highly definitive, detailed and completely different answers. But it’s gorgeous in any case.
At a civilized 11 a.m., our guide (Jackson) and driver (silent guy) picked us up for a whirlwind tour of key sites in the city. We made a quick stop in the plaza in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, from which you can see the drab building made famous by an iconic photo of the last helicopter leaving Saigon. We crossed the plaza and ducked into the gorgeous 19th century central post office -- still operating and packed to the walls with people doing mundane business (and lots of tourists taking pictures of them doing it). Mary bought stamps. A group of school girls were having their picture taken when we exited -- Saigon was constantly providing gorgeous photo subjects for Mary, Glenn and Holly. We sidetracked Jackson for a stroll down a pedestrianized street of little book shops, each apparently the outlet for a small publishing house. And then back to the minivan to rejoin the tide of scooters for a drive across town to Thein Hau Temple.
Like so much in Vietnam, the temple looks truly ancient, but is actually a 19th century construction. Sitting in the middle of a busy business block with construction at each corner, covered in three-dimensional ceramic figures and gaudy mosaics, it nevertheless manages to be tranquil. Mary and Glenn each paid to attach a paper prayer to a conical spiral of incense to hang from wires across the ceiling -- each spiral burns for about a week, so we left feeling well protected.
Back into the fray and on to the Vietnam Museum of Traditional Medicine, where Dave was seized with the whim to dress up as an ancient doctor, apparently failing to understand just how prominently that would get him featured on Mary’s Facebook page. We loved this museum -- it’s reminiscent of the Apothecary Museum in New Orleans (more pickled cobra and freakishly carved ginseng, fewer horrifyingly primitive surgical instruments). Plus you can buy tea made especially for “hypochondriacal conditions,” though Holly stuck with artichoke tea. It featured an amazing list of theoretical health benefits, but mostly just tasted good.
Onward to the Reunification Palace. As with many places on this trip, this massive building (also known as the Independence Palace) is a palimpsest of cultures and histories. It’s an absolute gem of mid-century modern interior design layered onto a 19th century French colonial era governor’s palace. Plus is has a Dr. Strangelove-ian bunker from which South Vietnam’s president ran the Vietnam war. And out front are parked the two tanks that broke down the gates of the palace in 1975.
Jet lag and (psychological if perhaps not physical) hunger started to set in, but we had one more stop to make -- the War Remnants Museum, because you should always save the most depressing shit for last. Jackson dropped us off and we spent 15 minutes getting coffee and banana cake to fortify us for the hour we spent in the museum. It’s extremely interesting -- if a little ego-scorching -- to see history written by the victors when the victor isn’t you. The most compelling exhibit is of several hundred pictures taken by photojournalists (or “patriotic martyrs” depending on nationality) who were eventually killed in action -- both North and South Vietnamese photographers as well as American and other nationalities are represented. The first floor exhibit of anti-war protest art and journalism from around the world was also engrossing. But generally, unless you really go for sadomasochism and body horror (in which case there’s a lot to love at this museum), it’s a fairly exhausting tour.
And we were exhausted. Our semi-ambitious plan to meet our friend Jeremy at the Rex hotel and then take the boat taxi back to Villa Song was abandoned for a ride back in the van. Those of us still standing made our way to the tiki bar next door for a couple of insanely cheap beers and then an excellent dinner at Quan Boi Garden where we enjoyed both the delectable spring rolls and the humorously obscenity-laced sympathy regarding American politics of the French owner.
