Saigon and the Winking Colonel

So, I am now in Saigon (or Ho Chi Minh City as it's officially named now) in Vietnam. This place is extraordinary. On falling out of my taxi on the pavement of Pham Ngu Lao (the humble backpacker's district) I very nearly got mauled by the urgency of motorcycles careering on the roads with little care for anything obstructing their destination. They remind me, when I attempt to cross the street, of those scenes that you see on National Geographic where swarms of Pirhana's circle around a rotting corpse at great speed only to leave a few debris of evidence after a matter of seconds. It's fairly manic here and the picture book energy is visible from every corner; from the cyclo drivers stalking vulnerable tourists to the ladies with their conical cone hats balancing starfruit and durian in their thinly woven baskets.

The first night here I befriended an English chap and a Glaswegian, who were both touring the country as a break from their busy lives in Canary Wharf. We watched Vietnam lose to Singapore in a tightly fought final of the SEA Cup at a popular and red-lit bar, Eden. Our Vietnamese waitress, who ensured our glasses of ba ba ba beer were always within arms reach, was inconsolable at her team's poor showing during the game. So much so that we decided to raise her spirits by teaching her to sing 'Who Ate All The Pies' at the rather rotund Singapore goalkeeper. Only, being such urbane creatures, we amended the word 'Pies' to 'Banh Gio' - a Vietnamese Pork dumpling, so that the endearing waitress could relate to the full vitriol of the words we were singing.


Chilling out with Frank the Tank

The next morning we decided to take a tour to the Cu Chi Tunnels, just outside the City. This small area, close to the border with Cambodia, hides 250km of underground tunnels that the Viet Cong utilised during the Vietnam War. Throughout the earthy turns were remains of vicious booby traps of sharp bamboo rods and torturous iron spikes awaiting the oncoming 'enemy' (as they so succinctly describe the Americans and French). The tunnels themselves are cavernous, muddy and claustrophobic to the extreme, with only a flicker of candle light leading you to the tight exit. I felt a little bit like a Borrower, scurrying on my haunches, gasping for a breath of air as the sweat poured down my face and neck. I've felt fitter, happier and more productive.

The real highlight though was the shooting range, which we visited towards the end of the site visit. A theme that keeps surfacing on this trip is that of tours showcasing massacre and human brutality to the extreme whilst in close proximity will usually be a playground for tourists to parade and indulge in the mentality of a soldier. With a slight quiver (of excitement, not nerves...definitely not nerves), I picked up an AK-47 and punched the still midday air with a barrage of noise and bullets, occasionally encouraging the dirt to rise around the battered deer posted target. The last time I felt such a surge of adrenaline pulse through my veins was when the Cobra gang were finally put to the sword by the injured Daniel-San in the final scene of The Karate Kid.

AK-47 Hour

If, like me, you have a curious disposition on the variants in Western fast-food franchise menus outside of home, on visiting a local KFC, I witnessed, rather disappointingly, a very familiar range of options to that of England. However, I was pleased to see the sale of Egg Tarts, spearheading the dessert menu, which is quite the polar opposite of a cool and nostalgic Vienetta. I opted out of dining here by the way, you know I wouldn't betray this journey with a cheap and flaccid suckling at Colonel Sanders's sad teet. Instead, I visited the rooftop bar of the Sheraton Hotel, looking out at a spectacular 360 degree panoramic view of Saigon and the distant murmur of the City streets, whilst supping casually on a Whiskey Sour. I am settling in well with this backpacking experience.


Decoration at The Saigon Palace Restaurant. Note Kriss Kross LP on the bottom left. Oh, you may have noticed, I've bought a camera.

I'll return now to Madame Cuc's Hotel, which appears to house the friendliest staff I have encountered to date, readily fussing over a hint of tiredness or lethargy with a Grandmother's care and attention. My room, although fairly cramped, has a distinct smell of a frozen Margarita. Towards sleep I try and forget that this is the residue of citrus bleach and instead fade out with the thought of my lying in a hammock by the beach, cocktail in hand whilst most of you play haphazardly in the Winter snow.

HCMC Song of the Day: The Veronicas - Untouched
This was on Channel V, a poppy music channel, and I have to concede, this song has a great little string interlude and I'm not embarrassed of my admiration for these two starlets. Just to show you their caring side, in 2006 the band joined Steve Irwin's Wildlife Warriors Worldwide charity. Great girls.

i-Pod Song of the Day: Arctic Monkeys - Cornerstone
Nice song from the rather flat Humbug album