“Last one out, shut off the lights” said the American Ambassador’s telex to his embassy staff on 10th April 1975, “and could you water my geraniums before you leave?”
It was 25 years before the next US helicopter landed on that roof.
Poor French puppet-president Dong Xien, thought he had it made. Backed by the might of the United States, he probably expected that he would hang on to South Vietnam come thick or thin. Old Hoh Chi Minh and his rag-tag bunch of fighters were always going to be an annoyance at the border with the north, but no one could seriously think that the Viet Cong could defeat the limitless resources of the world’s greatest super power.
But they’re a tenacious bunch, the Vietnamese and like the Afghans, they are good for the long game. They may not beat you in the head to head but just like the Burmese, Chinese, Siamese, Khmer and French, to name a few, they’ll eventually send you home wishing you just hadn’t bothered
Saigon is the largest city in Vietnam, following official reunification in 1976, with a population of 7.7 million. There are nineteen scooters for every man, women and child and seven cars for the lot of them. Car tax is 100% so you probably have to be bent to have one.
Put the usual moped death race to one side, and it is a functional rather than a beautiful city.
A river full of discarded plastic bottles runs through it. Old ladies beg for coins outside Chanel. Children eat noodles on the back of speeding mopeds. They have inherited a taste for good coffee from the French. Apart from that, there is not much to report.
Viet Cong tanks smashed through the gates of the Presidential Palace, sadly missing April Fool’s day 1975 by nine days. Since then it has been preserved in a time warp and relabelled as The Reunification Palace. Balls still sit on the presidential snooker table, as if he was disturbed mid frame. The War Room still shows the state of play at the moment it all came crashing down. It’s eerie but a little irrelevant. The two protagonists are long dead and their legacy is fast being eroded by a booming Tiger Economy that shrugs off the GFC.
The Binh Thanh Market exemplifies the entrepreneurial spirit of the country. A thousand stalls pack themselves into an area the size of a decent railway station. Anything you want, they have. In any colour, any size and any material from silk to silver. But there are contradictions.
Despite the increasingly fast pace of city life, a certain modesty remains; girls always cover their shoulders. Rough looking men you would cross the street to avoid, are devout at the temple, genuflecting solemnly with incense sticks before the Buddha.
The Emerald Pagoda contains the city’s most revered. Dark, and heavy with ornate carving, it is occupied by statues of fantastical gods and heroes that are more Manga than religious icon.
And, inexplicably, a horse.
Wreathed in smoke from the constantly replenished incense sticks at its numerous altars, its halls are full of the chanting of monks and it reverberates periodically to the sound of the great bell being struck.
As if in competition, the Francophile Christians brought out the big guns and built Notre Dame; but in red brick. And it was shut when we arrived, and when we went back. No wonder the Buddhists still outnumber the Christians by ten to one, despite a hundred years of French missionary zeal.
We lunched at Pho 24, Vietnam’s No.1 chain eatery. Pho means noodle and that is what it serves, in mercifully few varieties. It is a brand on the rise having broken out of Vietnam with outlets in Australia, Indonesia and Hong Kong. It is great. Expect to see it on a high street near you.
At night, before we left, we dined at Zoom, the only restaurant in the world constructed entirely of Vespa parts, as if we didn’t have enough trouble dodging them on the street.
And did we miss Saigon?
Of course we did.
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