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I have mixed feelings about Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). We have had our first negative experience with AirB&B on our travels, which prompted a premature exit from the city. I don’t want to let that experience cloud our overall impression of the city, as we spent an enjoyable time rambling and exploring the lane ways, streets and more touristy attractions. We also got a better insight into how people live in the city – both in the crowded spaces of prime real estate inner-city Saigon, and in the more affluent suburbs in outlying districts. I couldn’t help being reminded of the Hunger Games, with the numbering of the districts.

The accommodation we had booked, which we understood to be a full apartment (which we had discussed with the owner prior to our arrival), turned out to be a little different than anticipated.
The apartment was in a quirky bustling laneway in District 1 – a great hidden lane that didn’t appear on street maps.

On the bottom level was a little shop, selling clothes and goodness knows what! The young people who ran the shop had vacated their rooms for us when we arrived (we found out only after arrival, not before), and they slept on the floor of the shop. That proved kind of tricky, as they were on a different timetable to us, and it prevented us from us from using the kitchenette adjoining the shop, and kept us kind of detained inside, awaiting until they awoke mid morning to get out (past the large shuttered opening to the shop). We were being polite house guests by not clambering over them or disturbing them! That all wasn’t too bad, and we had no beef about that. An inconvenience but not insurmountable (trying to portray ourselves as rationally reasonable here!).
The issues we had related to security. Late on our first night a stranger came to the bedroom door and said he had stayed there the night before and had left something behind (the rooms being pretty sparse contained very little when we arrived……not even toilet paper). Again no big deal at the time to us.
The next evening when returned from a great day out, we talked with the shop people – incidentally who introduced us to their newly bought puppy (that day) which they named…..ahem…..”Dollar”. All very amicable and friendly. When we went upstairs we found out they had been through our rooms: one room to access the rooftop drying area for clothes (which didn’t bother us too much as we had left that room unlocked): another room which we had purposefully left unlocked as the key we were given didn’t work, but when we came back the door was locked (with our non-working key inside): the third locked room we suspect someone had been into, as some money was missing.
What firmed our resolve in getting the flock out of there, as the shepherd said to the sheep, was that same night someone went through Tadhg’s rooftop room while he was asleep alone to collect the clothes. No damage to him, but it left us with such a sense of unease, perhaps due to cultural differences in our norms of personal space, that we decided to vacate the accommodation fairly lively: exit stage left.

Although I am not a mega-city kind-a-gal, and might now recoil from visiting huge sprawling urban centers (at least until the kids have flown the coup), the experience doesn’t deter me from some of the charms of Saigon. We had an otherwise quite enjoyable time here.

We went to see the Reunification Palace, brushing up on some of Vietnamese recent history. It is a fascinatingly designed building of the 1960s, showcasing an enviable opulence and style for the ruling class.
We also visited the War Museum (hat tip Úna), chronicling some of the turbulent and violent recent past that the Vietnamese are recovering from. Pictures tell 1,000 words, and the photographic exhibition housed there is sobering. I recall seeing horrific scenes from childhood, but couldn’t recognize any of the iconic pictures that made it to the front pages of ‘Time’ and ‘Life’ magazines.

The scale of the Vietnam war is tremendous, and worth remembering:

As of course is the barbarism that each new conflict seems to get remembered for:

Onto socialising in Saigon: the daughter of our newfound Hué friends live in Saigon. A visit to their very comfortable house in the more affluent District 7 showed us another side to Saigon. Our kids were delighted to meet their kids again, and we got to meet their interesting father. He runs a private company/corporation in a Communist country, and his take on economic issues was very interesting.

We found tranquil places in the City, and great eateries.



Tadhg and I avoided the afternoon downpours and spent about four hours after lunch sipping drinks and playing board games in a cafe that supplied numerous board games. Daniel and Ilona were off doing father daughter things – taking undisclosed time to ramble around and do their thing.

Well, I never thought I would see crocodiles in Vietnam! After being so impressed by what we saw in Australia, I kind of thought their (Aussie) habitat had the exclusive copyrights of having the animals within their northern regions……Not so. The Siamese crocodile is all but extinct from south east Asia, except for in areas of Cambodia. Crocs are farmed in Vietnam, and we visited one such farm.

They are different to the Aussie crocs, but equally as impressive. We saw them languishing in the sun, comically with their mouths open, which made them look statuesque!

We saw recently hatched baby crocodiles (2 day olds).

And juvenile crocodiles……

The farming practices were similar to those in Australia, separating the crocs to maintain skin condition and avoid in-fighting.Drats…..now I have that dastardly song in my head again…..”Never smile at a crocodile”!

Chau Doc is a relatively small relaxed town (150,000 inhabitants) on the Cambodian border. About 20km west of the town is the Tra Su forest, the last remnants of what the whole wetland area would have looked like thousands of years ago. It is a firmly managed National Park, and a watery wonderland in the current high water season.

The forest is predominantly full of mangroves and cajeput trees (which I have never heard of, but which must be related to eucalyptus, as they have similar leaves and barks). Their roots are completely immersed in water though, during this wet season.

The 850ha area has amazing biodiversity and bird life. There was a velvety carpet of green, a blanket of “bao” or type of duckweed which we glided through in our rowing boat. Idyllic and dreamlike floating, watching storks, kingfisher, “kitz”(?) which seem to walk on water, but are so light they tread on the duckweed”…….. amongst others I couldn’t identify.

There were also stretches of endless flowering lotus plants, and an array of reptiles and frogs, which we didn’t see, but heard. The smells ranged from delicate dank decay to sweet perfume from the flowering trees.

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We had the luxury of flying into Saigon (in the vernacular) airport or Ho Chi Minh City (to be technical) to be greeted by a placard with our name on it! We organised a tour around a few places in the Mekong Delta, with the same tour company we used up north, and they facilitated our visit so well and enthusiastically. Traffic crawled out west of Saigon city, average speed for the city is 20km per hour! The city incredibly has around 9 million people living in it. The police enforce the road rules, more so here than up north. So at least people stop at red lights – else they have the option to pay a fine at the police station or pay a lesser fee on the spot (a.k.a. bribe). Once out of the city, the landscape stretched into series of towns interspersed with fields. People and industriousness evident everywhere. We motored further west toward the provinces that the Mekong percolates through. (more…)

Another train hop from Hué to Danang……shorter than the overnighter from Hanoi to Hué, which incidentally I found utterly relaxing, and any time I woke up during the night, the rocking of the train lulled me back to a wonderful slumber.

Our intention to spend a few days relaxing under palm fronds sipping fresh coconut water on the stretching white sandy beaches, kids splashing around in blue waters, us dipping in to the sea to cool off, just as the brochures promised, was somehow dashed by darkening skies and afternoon downpours. The waves were tremendous however, rather what I would imagine it would like to be in the inside of a giant washing machine. Ilona and I ventured in, and got thrown about the place. I kind of had to hang onto my swimming togs, as they were nearly torn off me in the tumult. I couldn’t get Ilona out of the water! Eventually a downpour dumped on us (which didn’t make any difference to us, as we were sea-wet-drenched), but it was enough to coax Ilona out of the water. She really is a dare-devil.
All the rain hampered our attempts to dry clothes, so we spent a while trying to organise a laundry – such domestic trivialities!


We all shared the one room, which has proven tricky with the few times that has happened on our travels. I think we all need our space, when travelling conatantly together. We have gone back to telling bedtime stories, something that we are getting joy from.

I went to the Cham Sculpture Museum, and learned a bit about the Cham/Champa people. The Cham people ruled part of Vietnam between Hué and The Mekong delta for 1,000 years, with evidence of their presence from the second century, with their hey-day in the ninth century. They originated from India, via Borneo, and much of the sculpture focused on Hindi Gods. The Cham people converted to Islam in 11th century, so the sculpture had a range of different styles. We visited a Cham Village on the Cambodian border, outside Chau Doc the following week. The museum itself was purpose built by the French, and is a funny crumbling down, part open roomed sanctuary, with collections from different excavated locations in a somewhat haphazard way.

The Champa people used sandstone to sculpture, and there were interesting influences from Ancient Greece, especially in the clothes depicted in sculptures. Interesting to see the spread of ideas and culture in former times – not like the instantaneous memes of 21 century!

Another insignificant triviality – I saw a rat, the first while travelling in South East Asia. Wasn’t too freaked out by it!

What an extraordinary three days in Hué, the former capital of Vietnam – the seat of the Nguyen dynasty (pronounced “nya-waan” in English, or “nia-mhán” in Irish); the location of Vietnam’s forbidden city; remnants of royalty, rule, power and modest fortunes. It is steeped in a history that the current regime tries to dissolve, evident in a lack lustre effort of heritage conservation in many truly interesting places and spaces. Perhaps history is all too recent in Vietnam, and is still very much being lived and written out. The proverbial ink is not dry on History’s text yet.

We spent three utterly sodden days in Hué! Rain couldn’t stop play however, despite the onslaught of the wet season, I found a magic in the fluvial furrows created in the street debris, a sense of freedom as I donned an industrial rain cape and hopped onto a push bike and joined the masses of people in the traffic that wended through the warren of ancient laneways and onto the busier roads of the city.



I recalled a sense of exhilaration when I first rode with the (cycling) pack as a student in the Netherlands, face to the wind and cold, and joined a community of biped movement on wheels. I got a similar sense of exhilaration, albeit tinged with an apprehensive tang of imminent danger as I set off, cycling rain poncho flapping in my wake, into Hué’s hectic traffic. After an initial nervous wobble, I merged with motorbikes, vendor’s carts, cars, buses, occasional truck, into a fun of movement……and felt surprisingly liberated!……despite rain relentlessly pounding my face and Ilona’s arms clutching my waist for dear life, as she side-straddled the pillion seat. In spite of the constant rain, continuous wet feet and shoes, vain attempts to dry damp and increasingly stale clothes, I can only describe our stay as the absolute opposite of pathetic fallacy (and don’t know whether a word exists to describe that!)…….perhaps “singing in the rain” was penned to suit this time in Hué. We had the most delightful time!

History, or rather ‘Herstory’ came alive for us through the surprising chance encounter afforded to us, by a twist of booking fate in our AirB&B accommodation reservation. We ended up being hosted by a daughter of the last emperor of Vietnam (Bao Dai) who abdicated in 1945 to avert certain bloodshed given the inevitable support for political change at that time (brought about by Ho Chi Mihn), and a son of a former Vietnamese Premier (the Premier was somewhat of a prodigal father, who left our host, at the age of three, with the grandmother, for political reasons).
I teased this info out of our host, on the hunch that the dignified humility I immediately felt when we were warmly welcomed into their modest but subtly grand home (in a very French sense of old, sturdy but ornate quality furniture and decor), was somehow different to other Vietnamese homes we had visited. I asked him (through Google translate!) how the families of the former royalty were treated after the war. He paused uncertainly to take stock of my question, and to size me up, then told me that his wife was of the royal family. In answer to my question, he said they were treated “mixed”; they were spared their lives but ostracised and faced many hardships.
Their stories are somewhat suppressed, although over the course of our three day stay with them, they generously shared many fascinating stories and insights with us, relating to Vietnam’s turbulent past. I have a much better understanding of twentieth century Vietnam, the political alliances and the former deep divide between North and South Vietnam; all which shapes contemporary society and the healing process that continues into the twenty-first century.

Our host’s daughter and two grandchildren were staying also for a few days during their school holidays (who fortuitously were the same age as Ilona and Tadhg, and became instant playmates). The daughter acted as translator for her parents, but more so, is our newest friend. She is a truly interesting and beautiful person, and we spent many hours sipping tea and conversing, late into the evenings.

I felt overwhelmed by a sad irony when we took her (the daughter’s) kids (our host’s grandkids) out with us on an excursion on the third day. We went to visit Hués Royal Art Museum, housed in a crumbling down former palace of the last Emperor.

It contained scant remnants of more opulent times, with limited or little information or interpretation given. Our host’s grandchildren have no knowledge of their family heritage, as their parents choose not to impart any info to them yet, lest it militate against them. So these two kids  wandered through the lonely dank rooms of their forebearers, accompanying a random kiwi family on a tourist escapade to (in their eyes/words) just an old building. They were completely oblivious to the haunting screams of their ancestor’s ghosts in their attempt to remain unforgotten. The four kids happily vacated the crumbling mansion and high-tailed it outside to the rambling gardens after a cursory dash upstairs and downstairs, as Daniel and myself continued reading the scraps of written information on  interpretive boards. I tried to appease a disquiet surfacing within me.

I found the four kids out the back pursuing an all-the-more-interesting thing to do: cracking stones in an attempt to fossick for hidden treasures captured in ancient rocks (as my kids often do, mainly at the beach in NZ). It is such a bitter irony that these kids’ family treasure remains locked tight within sealed lips. No doubt, in due course, they will be told and the stories will not remain suppressed.


It all made me a bit sceptical about whose story is written and what stories get passed on. Although much of the Forbidden Palace is now a UNESCO world heritage site, they retain and restore buildings, but seem to make no attempt to document the stories of the people and witnesses who lived through it all. History is selective – usually written by the victors, not the vanquished.

Hué cuisine is quite specific and unlike that of the rest of the country. It has intense strong flavours. Other areas of Vietnam balance the five tastes, whereas in Hué cooking, one flavour dominates the dish. Our host cooked for us, and we sampled rice shrimp cakes, pork soup (both for breakfast! – two weeks ago it would seem unimaginable that I would eat that as a first meal of the day); chicken with Asian basil; noodle soup amongst other fresh delights.

So, nothing dissolved or dilute about Hué, despite all the rain.

Vietnam is a Communist country. This is the first Communist country I have visited, despite spending lots of time in post-Communist countries, and indeed doing my post-doc on the former East European communist states, researching the aftermath of socialist regimes moving to a more market economy.
Two weeks in, what does this mean for us?
Very little, except that our journey through the country is being logged by the State. The owners of every home stay, house, apartment we stay in, have to check our passport and visa, manually fill out a form copying our details, bring it to the local police station, who then input it into a database. A tracker system (just in case anyone was worried we would fall off the grid here). At least someone knows where we are, as I feel blissfully lost in new places I had never heard of!

We got out of Hanoi, taking a six day tour of the North of Vietnam with a tour group called ‘Ethnic Travel’. (more…)

With all certainty, this much I know: There is so much I don’t understand about Hanoi!

I am trying to pick out clues, decipher hidden codes, interpret the visual cues, glean from historical facts, tracts, texts, conversations and stories…..but I am left feeling there is so much hidden under layers of complexity.

Some Overly Simplified Observations:
1. Buildings of significance are painted yellow:

2. UNESCO heritage sites herald the rich historic past, civilisations and dynasties I have yet to learn so much about (Cham, Funan, Oc Eo…) somewhat making a mockery of the underdevelopment of the country in the 19th and 20th centuries (but colonisation and globalisation of ideas mid 20th century have a lot to answer for!). (more…)