Saigon: “A Window seat to chaos, please”

Touch down, finally here! Southeast Asia! On today’s episode of Me, Myself & I, riding solo in Saigon! It is Warm, colorful, and welcoming, like a hooker with a heart of gold. I’m here on business, some serious business. After hours of nerding out on Vietnamese history, culture, and food, I’m not just here for the fun. I want to walk through the shadows of its past, feel the weight of its recent troubled history. Let’s see what’s in store!

By store, I mean the Ben Tanh market. After losing my wallet at the airport which shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me, I need a new one. But first, breakfast, Gotta fuel up! Being in the heart of the district this place is a microcosm of Saigon, a bustling, chaotic harmony. People shouting, vendors hawking, dishes clinking. It's a sensory overload. After dodging a million vendors, I finally find a spot to sit down and chow down on some Bun Thit Nuong Cha Gio. Let's see if this can make me forget about my missing wallet. Rice noodles, fried pork, veggies, spring rolls, herbs, peanuts, chili paste, mam tom, and nuoc cham in a bowl. It's a thermonuclear bomb of flavors. Sweet, spicy, sour, crunchy, fresh, hot, cold everything all at once! My taste buds are doing the Macarenaaa! Bomb number two? Sorry! Breakfast number two? Yes, please! Banh cuon, a thin, wide sheet of rice batter filled with ground pork, minced mushroom, and minced shallot. Heyyy Macarena ayy! And then there's the early lunch! Come to Papa! Banh Canh Cua, a rich, fishy soup with thick noodles and crab meat. Mac mac mac mac mac mac macerenaaa! I'm feeling good, so good, I might just forget that I'm broke and take a nap. Ok, enough horsing around and let’s take the serious part seriously.

An hour north of Saigon, after what felt like an eternity thanks to my spectacular google maps failure and poor communication! eventually we arrived at what looked like a leftover set from a particularly over-the-top Hollywood war film. Choppers, Humvees, and tanks scattered across the landscape, rusting in the tropical thunder. a reminder of the action scenes back in the days. True story, A goddamn butterfly! I mean, who the hell sends a butterfly to lure you into a war zone? I followed this little bastard, camera ready, thinking I was about to capture some nature porn. But then it just sat down, like it was posing for a war documentary. And that's when I saw it: a massive hoard of bomb shells, a witness to the devastation of Cu Chi district. It was like a surreal painting, only with a whole lot less beauty and a whole lot more brutality. A colorful butterfly with a dark sense of humor! Touché!

“Cu Chi tunnels”, If this is not a testament to human spirit then I don’t know what is. Imagine bombed in epic proportion by the U.S. Airforce, an apocalyptic rain! And there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. This is what drove the Viet Congs to the unthinkable. They dug tunnels for hundreds of miles under the earth surface, a labyrinth where families huddled, and fighters plotted. After just minutes in the tunnel its hard to imagine living here, this quite possibly be the birthplace of claustrophobia. I wonder what the farting etiquette was. Passing through we duck into a dank, subterranean meeting room, the walls dripping with history. A massive banner, growing vibrant with time read, "KHÔNG CÓ GÌ QUÝ HƠN ĐỘC LẬP, TỰ DO." Meaning, 'There is nothing like Independence and Freedom.' I agree! I say, no matter of creed, color, country, a common man or a convict, we all rally behind the idea of independence. That's what these tunnels were all about. A desperate fight for freedom against overwhelming odds. The Cu Chi people weren't just soldiers; they were farmers, families, kids. And they stood their ground and fought like hell. Moving up the ladder our guide led us through the jungle, regaling the tales of booby traps and ambush tactics. At the end of the excursion, we were offered a steaming bowl of tapioca with nutty sweetness of the peanut salt and sugar mixture, a wartime staple. It was a simple dish, but it warmed my soul. As I munched on it, I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was a victim here, Viet Congs who once called this place home had to spend several years in this hell hole, yes! You read it right, fucking years! Raising family, fighting war and constantly living on edge! On the other hand, controversially drafted US troops who were being psychologically terrorized in each footstep! A vicious cycle of violence and suffering.

As the sun began to set, the looming shadows land on my shoulders reminding me to head back. I need some drinks! A little liquid courage to pull myself out of this horror tunnel and just enjoy the moment.

Welcome to Bui Vien Street, A pulsating artery of the city's nocturnal heart. a teleportation portal into a space of excess indulgence and pure unadulterated fun! Every inch painted by the neon-lit carnival, The bass was so damn loud, it felt like it was rattling my bones. Stumbling through the swirling crowd I had to anchor down, order a beer and watch the world go by! drunk people bumping bodies, the dancers, fire-breathing kids! Looks like a purge from parallel universe without the violence but only partying. Just when I thought it couldn't get any crazier, a Filipino cover band, Ketsup band, rolled up to summon the rock gods and trust me, they fucking did! Red Hot Chili Peppers, Metallica, Nirvana! They nailed every classic riff and solo. The energy was raw, and the crowd was eating it up. After few drinks, I realized there’s no concept of time here and this place will stay lit long after I leave! alas I have a ride to catch in couple of hours. Time to drag myself away from this mad wonderland. Knowing full well this place exists, and I will be back! 

Day 2. 

10:00 AM, and I'm questioning reality. Was it all just a dream? I yank open the window, nope! I'm really here. Of course I missed my ride, not a shocker! Just means I'll have to come back another time for Can Tho, No problema. kind of a good excuse, I’d say. I’m starving, time to dip on the free breakfast, hit the streets, let my eyes, nose and legs take over. 

Saigon, man, it's a swarm of mopeds out here, but you can't miss the fruit stalls. Every corner, every bike, they're like nature's candy shops. Ignore these, and you're missing the show! Mangosteen, star fruit, rambutan, rose apple - it's like end of a rainbow, and I'm here for the honey pot. But let's not get too carried away with the fiber fest. 

My Spidey senses tingling, something's calling me. Ah, there it is -behold the Bahn mi. The French may have left, but they gifted Vietnam the baguette, and boy, they decolonized this stuff from the inside. And I've got company, Mr. Wisdom himself. I believe everyone's got a piece of the puzzle. Sit next to me at the table and we're chatting. That's just how it goes. A musical maestro - director, composer, keys, violin, you name it! From Ghana, but the world is his stage, and Saigon is his latest pitstop. Get this, his wife is from the same speck of India as me! Huh, you should have seen my face, the man was too stunned to speak! A message to my new friend, “if you are reading this! I’m still holding on to what you gave me, there is still some time left on the clock!”. Downing three Bahn mi’s and deep into life's mysteries, he offered me a lift to my next adventure, and I grateful accept. So long adios amigo! 

Hoping to escape the sun’s brutal assault, I step into the museum of madness: Ho Chi Minh City's War Remnants Museum. If you are ever so slightly a non-ignorant person, then you know the scores, you know what went down here. The place is packed with used arsenal, exhibits and galore of photographs. An invitation to walk through the hell that was Vietnam. The name “War Remnant Museum” sounds very sane, almost polite. But watch out! It’s a gift-wrapped Napalm, the afterburn will leave a scar. When it opened in ‘75, they called it “Museum for American War Crimes”, No shit. speaking of Napalm, Here’s that photograph, “The terrors of war”.  A little girl, 9-years old running naked down the street, skin burnt by the napalm bomb. This image flipped the script of American people’s opinion on the war and was awarded Pulitzer Prize, rightfully so. These walls hold the truths essential in telling history. Each one is a story, a nightmare of soldiers, civilians and families torn apart, terrified and staring into the void. Then there’s a room painted in Orange. If you know you know, dedicated to that toxic cocktail. A window seat to the aftermath of arrogance and cruelty of modern warfare. Museums are supposed to be enlightening right? but damn this one hollowed me out. I’m slowly turning numb, time to leave. Better to face the harsh sun than the darkness within these walls.

After that soul-crushing descent into human depravity. I need to find some love, peace or some vestige of human spirit. The touristy independence palace, nostalgic post office, pretentious cafés ain’t cutting it for me. It’s Sunday evening, hordes of locals are heading back to their colonies maybe I should follow them, embark on a night safari and see. Before long, I find myself in Vinh Khanh street, and see I did. Endless seafood joints, the air is thick with deep-fried smell, sidewalks packed with tiny plastic stools facing the street, like it’s a Broadway show.  The people? It’s everyone, foreigners and locals chasing a good meal or a good night, one man street karaoke competing the roar of mopeds. Ok enough observing, it’s time to let the place suck me in and put me on a table. After some finger pointing my order’s in, beer poured over ice, now watch the action unfold on the streets. Next to me I see a pair Vietnamese man laughing, clinking glasses and slurping snails on competition. My food is here! Questionable but hey fear is for the weak. Cooked Uni in its own shell, oyster with everything on top, big ass lobster and some crab ready to bite me back in all its spicy, garlicky, charred glory. Ignoring tonight’s entertainment of darting children, shouting vendors, I’m focusing on the feast before me, each bite washed down with cold beer. Vinh Khanh doesn’t stop. Man! It’s relentless in its pursuit of the next plate, the next customer, the next night. The street has no beginning, no end. It’s just a stream of people, food, booze, and madness. You don't just visit Vinh Khanh Street - you endure it, survive it, savor it and might just come out the other side with a story to tell. Fair, to call it a day and my time in Saigon. 

In spite of everything, eventually the scars blend into your skin, the wound turn into stories and the pain forgets your name. Over 50 years have passed and There is no dimming the spirit of Vietminh’s. Listen to Kim Phuc Phan Thi, AKA the ‘Napalm Girl’, when she says, “I am no longer a victim of war, but I have a new picture about my life. The Picture of love, hope and forgiveness. That picture is about 50 years later, and I am a survivor, too, calling out for peace.”.  Wander through Saigon today, and you'd hardly believe the history it's lived through. The city is a sanctuary for all kinds, a melting pot of culture, where the food is as rich as the history, and opportunities are sprouting like weeds in the monsoon. If you look around, you see happy people everywhere, as night falls everyone from the old to the young spill out to the streets like one big happy family, makes you want to be a part of it. Sayonara Saigon! You've shown me that after the worst of times, life not only goes on, it thrives.