I'm never sure whether to call Ho Chi Minh City by its older name, Saigon. Before I arrived in Vietnam, I assumed that the government had changed the name and that was that. Turns out it's not that simple. The map says Ho Chi Minh City but just about everyone I've met, tourists and locals, calls it Saigon. The signs are probably half one and half the other. I've gotten to like the inconsistency. It's a little idiosyncrasy that reminds me there's a lot to learn here.
Right now, I'm in Dalat, which is a beautiful mountain town in the central highlands of Vietnam. The central highlands are roughly the center of southern Vietnam, not the whole country. I arrived last night at the end of what I began to fear was an interminable bus ride. When I booked my ticket, the agent told me we would cover the 300km from Saigon to Dalat in six hours. It actually took nine.
The first part of the bus ride was quite boring as we rode through the regular suburbs of Ho Chi Minh City. Eventually, the bus started climbing into the highlands and rolling hills of forest, orchards, and plantations stretched away from the highway. The last few dozen kilometers to Dalat were even more enjoyable. As the bus crawled up mountain passes, the air cooled, and I started seeing evergreen trees. When we disembarked, a Swiss man I had been talking to said, "Just like home," and I was thinking the same thing. I checked into a nice hotel room with a balcony, ate dinner, tried unsuccessfully to update my blog, and then slept for ten hours.
Tuesday morning I ran some errands: booking my bus ticket and sending a package home. I first tried FedEx, but they wanted to charge me 97USD to send a sub-2kg box. I next went to the main post office, right next to the Notre Dame Cathedral and was relieved to pay less than 30USD. We'll see if it makes it. Jaqi and I met at the Museum of Fine Arts around noon, had lunch at a nearby cafe and then spent the afternoon in the museum.
The Ho Chi Minh City Museum of Fine Arts is a beautiful yellow and white building, constructed by the French. The three floors contain exhibits on traditional folk painting, contemporary art, and older lacquer, pottery, and sculptures. The traditional folk paintings were interesting, but without any accompanying interpretation, my appreciation remained superficial. Each small gallery of sculptures and pottery on the third floor had a short description posted at its entrance, but the artifacts were poorly dated and the historical context was poorly conveyed. To really make the visit worthwhile, I would have had to bring my own description of Vietnamese history.
The most disappointing aspect of the museum was the contemporary art exhibit. Of several dozen works, all but a handful were depictions of the American War. Some of the oil paintings were quite good, but the feel of the exhibit seemed myopic. I understand that the American War defines a huge part of Vietnamese history and culture, but war is a poor cultural focus. The exhibit portrayed the war to defend Vietnamese culture and life well, but then made no mention of what value or beauty that culture and life might have. As I explored the courtyard of the building, however, I discovered four or five art galleries out back overflowing with contemporary works from Vietnamese artists.
The arrangement seemed like a perfect metaphor for the Vietnam that I have seen so far. Walking into the state museum, I discovered the official front of the party--stiff and focused, but walking around behind to the commercial galleries, I found a vibrant expression of life. Which is not to say commercialism is the answer.
After the museum, we walked over to the Rex Hotel, which is a swank, expensive affair in the center of District 1, overlooking the People's Committee Building and right next to several shopping centers. We had a drink on the rooftop bar, which Newsweek called one of the ten best bars in the world back in 1996. It was a pleasant spot. The view was the best I'd seen in the city and gave a nice perspective to our pedestrian tours. A cool breeze blew through the shaded section where we sat and watched evening fall on the city.
The hotel where Jaqi and I stayed is located in Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker area of Saigon. The area spreads over several blocks surrounded by large, busy boulevards. Jam packed shoulder to shoulder are travel agencies, restaurants, hotels, and cafes. Some establishments stand out with some character but most blend into a generic pool of commerce. It is not the place to have an "authentic" Vietnamese experience, but it is an experience. Watching people there is particularly entertaining. Jaqi and I would pick a spot in the evening after dinner, have a drink and share stories while we watched the odd comings and goings of our fellow travelers and the locals trying to make their living from them (and us).
The streets are full of younger Vietnamese on shiny, new motorbikes and vendors walking from cafe to cafe. Booksellers hold stacks of books four feet high, tied together with ribbons, against their hips trying to tempt backpackers with their titles: Lonely Planet Cambodia or China, popular American fiction--Nick Hornby, classics set in Vietnam--The Quite American, and local subject matter--The Sex Trafficking of Women in Southeast Asia. Middle aged women hold babies while selling packets of gum, gesturing to their infant when a Westerner first refuses to buy. Cyclo drivers pedal their fixed-gear, lumbering bicycles with seats at the front slowly past. Men with a vertical rack of dried squid constructed on the back of their bicycle stop at each bar looking to sell someone their snacks. Cigarette vendors act offended that you don't smoke. Young, smartly dressed men pedal bicycles around the block discretely advertising their "massage" service by shaking a rattle made from bottle caps. I did eventually try the dried squid--it was quite bad. Squid is already chewy enough without the jerky consistency. I ate very little and then gave the rest to a street kid who asked for it.
There were a few things I missed in Ho Chi Minh City. I would have liked to visit the Cu Chi Tunnels constructed during the war and see the History Museum, but I'm glad for the change to Dalat.
Right now, I'm in Dalat, which is a beautiful mountain town in the central highlands of Vietnam. The central highlands are roughly the center of southern Vietnam, not the whole country. I arrived last night at the end of what I began to fear was an interminable bus ride. When I booked my ticket, the agent told me we would cover the 300km from Saigon to Dalat in six hours. It actually took nine.
The first part of the bus ride was quite boring as we rode through the regular suburbs of Ho Chi Minh City. Eventually, the bus started climbing into the highlands and rolling hills of forest, orchards, and plantations stretched away from the highway. The last few dozen kilometers to Dalat were even more enjoyable. As the bus crawled up mountain passes, the air cooled, and I started seeing evergreen trees. When we disembarked, a Swiss man I had been talking to said, "Just like home," and I was thinking the same thing. I checked into a nice hotel room with a balcony, ate dinner, tried unsuccessfully to update my blog, and then slept for ten hours.
Tuesday morning I ran some errands: booking my bus ticket and sending a package home. I first tried FedEx, but they wanted to charge me 97USD to send a sub-2kg box. I next went to the main post office, right next to the Notre Dame Cathedral and was relieved to pay less than 30USD. We'll see if it makes it. Jaqi and I met at the Museum of Fine Arts around noon, had lunch at a nearby cafe and then spent the afternoon in the museum.
The Ho Chi Minh City Museum of Fine Arts is a beautiful yellow and white building, constructed by the French. The three floors contain exhibits on traditional folk painting, contemporary art, and older lacquer, pottery, and sculptures. The traditional folk paintings were interesting, but without any accompanying interpretation, my appreciation remained superficial. Each small gallery of sculptures and pottery on the third floor had a short description posted at its entrance, but the artifacts were poorly dated and the historical context was poorly conveyed. To really make the visit worthwhile, I would have had to bring my own description of Vietnamese history.
The most disappointing aspect of the museum was the contemporary art exhibit. Of several dozen works, all but a handful were depictions of the American War. Some of the oil paintings were quite good, but the feel of the exhibit seemed myopic. I understand that the American War defines a huge part of Vietnamese history and culture, but war is a poor cultural focus. The exhibit portrayed the war to defend Vietnamese culture and life well, but then made no mention of what value or beauty that culture and life might have. As I explored the courtyard of the building, however, I discovered four or five art galleries out back overflowing with contemporary works from Vietnamese artists.
The arrangement seemed like a perfect metaphor for the Vietnam that I have seen so far. Walking into the state museum, I discovered the official front of the party--stiff and focused, but walking around behind to the commercial galleries, I found a vibrant expression of life. Which is not to say commercialism is the answer.
After the museum, we walked over to the Rex Hotel, which is a swank, expensive affair in the center of District 1, overlooking the People's Committee Building and right next to several shopping centers. We had a drink on the rooftop bar, which Newsweek called one of the ten best bars in the world back in 1996. It was a pleasant spot. The view was the best I'd seen in the city and gave a nice perspective to our pedestrian tours. A cool breeze blew through the shaded section where we sat and watched evening fall on the city.
The hotel where Jaqi and I stayed is located in Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker area of Saigon. The area spreads over several blocks surrounded by large, busy boulevards. Jam packed shoulder to shoulder are travel agencies, restaurants, hotels, and cafes. Some establishments stand out with some character but most blend into a generic pool of commerce. It is not the place to have an "authentic" Vietnamese experience, but it is an experience. Watching people there is particularly entertaining. Jaqi and I would pick a spot in the evening after dinner, have a drink and share stories while we watched the odd comings and goings of our fellow travelers and the locals trying to make their living from them (and us).
The streets are full of younger Vietnamese on shiny, new motorbikes and vendors walking from cafe to cafe. Booksellers hold stacks of books four feet high, tied together with ribbons, against their hips trying to tempt backpackers with their titles: Lonely Planet Cambodia or China, popular American fiction--Nick Hornby, classics set in Vietnam--The Quite American, and local subject matter--The Sex Trafficking of Women in Southeast Asia. Middle aged women hold babies while selling packets of gum, gesturing to their infant when a Westerner first refuses to buy. Cyclo drivers pedal their fixed-gear, lumbering bicycles with seats at the front slowly past. Men with a vertical rack of dried squid constructed on the back of their bicycle stop at each bar looking to sell someone their snacks. Cigarette vendors act offended that you don't smoke. Young, smartly dressed men pedal bicycles around the block discretely advertising their "massage" service by shaking a rattle made from bottle caps. I did eventually try the dried squid--it was quite bad. Squid is already chewy enough without the jerky consistency. I ate very little and then gave the rest to a street kid who asked for it.
There were a few things I missed in Ho Chi Minh City. I would have liked to visit the Cu Chi Tunnels constructed during the war and see the History Museum, but I'm glad for the change to Dalat.
