Living in Vietnam

You may wonder why this city of 10 million people is called Saigon AND Ho Chi Minh City. Officially, it's Ho Chi Minh City or HCMC for short, since the Northern Vietnamese communist forces rolled in and seized control in April, 1975. Before that, it was Saigon. Older generations nostalgic for the past cling to the former name, but the name really belongs to District 1, in the city center.

Bus station

Ben Thanh Market

The sprawl of Ho Chi Minh City spreads in all directions from District 1, which is home to a lovely park. I like to wander in the park for relief from incessant noise and heat. I can usually find someone to talk to if I just sit on a bench for a few minutes. Young students who are learning English come up to me, introduce themselves and pretty soon we're exchanging all kinds of information like their plans to attend university in the US or Europe. Eventually, I say goodbye with a promise to meet them again next weekend for more speaking practice. My next stop is Ben Thanh Market, the Post Office to mail a post card, or to search for food and good WiFi for a couple of hours. It's a delight to go downtown and get away from my cranking AC.

Central Saigon

From the Bitexco Tower

People's Committee Building

Tet Holiday

All of Vietnam takes two weeks off for Tet, the celebration of Lunar New Year. I had a short trip planned to see the Mekong Delta and the floating markets, a rice noodle kitchen, and to visit a fruit plantation. 

It so happened that I chummed with another single from Belgium who took the seat next to me on the bus. In our conversation I learned a bit about Belgium from him. He had a girlfriend in Moscow, my boyfriend lived in Grants Pass; we passed time celebrating the virtues of singlehood. It seems like his name was Jonathan. We arrived in Can Tho that afternoon where we had rooms waiting in a small hotel.

Arriving back in Saigon,I discovered a vacant city. No motorbikes, cops, families in the park, taxis, yelling school kids. Businesses were all closed including Vinatex, the Fahasa Book Store, KFC, Pho 24, the chicken stand down the road and all the Pho pots on the street were gone. Empty streets. 

In the teacher’s dorm, Mr Dat was still around some of the time, but I never saw him. I only knew someone was home because a motorbike would be parked inside the front gate. Luke was gone to Da Nang, Nathan was in Cambodia, and I had no clue where Da (pronounced Day) went. I was pretty much alone. 

Presidential Palace

All my roommates in the dorm were men and Vietnamese, except for Nathan who was from Wisconsin and talked with a Midwest twang like a BB round glancing off a fender.

Staying Fed

So my eating rituals changed out of necessity. Mind you, there wasn’t any way to prepare food in the teacher’s dorm. At least the ancient kitchen hadn’t been used in quite some time and lacked necessary cookware. We shared a small refrigerator where I could store yogurt and drinks. But that was it. I quickly discovered that if I planned on surviving Tet, I would have to find food somewhere in the city. The bus! Thank God the busses were still running. 

I had planned ahead and made sure I had enough dong to last me so money wasn’t an issue. I happily flagged #11 and for a measly 4,000 dong headed to District 1, still about a half hour away even without the traffic. But why should I care? It dropped me in the heart of downtown at the seedy little bus station from where I ventured out to absorb the sights, smells, and tastes of Saigon. On a normal day in District 1 you heard a cacophony of horns, revved engines, chickens, and the anemic ping of a bus making a turn. Now the chorus was diminished. I made it through Tet thanks to #11.

Every day during Tet I made the trip to D1 to find something to eat. I tried hard to not finish my meal so I would have a leftover to take home. Without a microwave or oven, cold leftovers were part of my survival strategy. On the ride back I carried bags full of yogurt and snacks I bought from small groceries that were still open for business. When I stumbled upon an open grocery it was like Christmas. Everything in it was a gift.

Ben Thanh Market

Everything in here was questionable. How long will it hold up? Will anyone at home think this is neat? Will it add too much weight to my suitcase? Can I make it down this aisle without feeling a tug and “Madam, this was made for you”?  What happens if I box one of these people in self defense? From both sides, young girls vie for the attention of big white people with deep pockets because whoever wins their attention makes a sale. 

The Vietnamese know exactly what they are doing without ever attending Harvard Business School. The facts: big white people have money and big white people spend money. I have something they want and I’ll sell it to them. Simple economics. And another fact: when you arrive in Vietnam you’re immediately tagged as western and you must endure the stares of those who can’t imagine how anyone could ever be so huge and so pale. Personally, I think the Vietnamese are lovely and was appalled at all the products in Vinatex, made to bleach and whiten skin. I couldn’t imagine why women would want to alter their natural loveliness even as I secretly coveted their petite figures.

The wonder of food

I was stared at in Vietnam. Open, blatant stares because I was a curiosity. It made me angry at first until I learned to shrug it off. For the most part, Vietnamese are very polite. I remember getting invited to sit down for Pho on the sidewalk right next to the cook pot. They would pull up a plastic chair for me and motion to sit down. I ate with the nice people down my Hem on An Duong Vuong. They just lived a few houses down and had a table outside everyday for people to eat Pho with those veggie wraps. The father played with a small, happy little child. A typical Vietnamese family.

New friends and food
On the way to school I ate breakfast at a spot around the corner. It was convenient for me to eat there and then catch the bus to Lanh Binh Thang. After I pulled up a plastic chair, the nice man brought me a plate with a grilled pork chop, some pickled veggies and rice. Perfect. And just 20,000 VND. 

Bitexco Tower

I frequented another favorite spot across the street. The home had a dining set-up downstairs which served Pho with glass, or bean thread noodles. Yum. I usually showed up for breakfast, but I also liked an early lunch. 

The lady’s son was young and chubby. After school I would see him hanging around. I figured out he was learning English and the women kept coaxing him to speak with me. But the boy was shy. I asked, “How do you do?” and he ran away embarrassed. I laughed along with the ladies.

I could probably write an entire travelogue just on dining out. Another eatery further down An Duong Vuong was also a good place to go. They had a couple carts right out on the sidewalk and I could point to what I wanted, then they would bring it to my table. I left my Xe Om helmet there one day, sadly. There were several guys who waited on tables and collected dong. They didn’t speak English. I would ask for my bill and they would come over with a calculator in hand and type in the amount because they couldn’t say it in English. They tried a couple times to tell me in Vietnamese and I sat there not comprehending. So they always wrote it on paper or typed it.

It paid to be observant in these places and notice what other people were eating. Then you could point to request the same thing. Simple sign language was all you needed. Forget about anything more sophisticated. I always wanted to avoid blank stares, both mine and theirs, so I tried not to mix things up with words.

Bun Cha

Ooh ahh, those tasty morsels. I guess it was made of beef, or…? They served the delectable meat balls with noodles and a dipping sauce. The usual array of fresh herbs was placed on the table and you grabbed whatever you wanted from the tray and started dipping and slurping with chop sticks. This place was within 2 blocks of Apollo English at 26 Phung Khac Khoan. I never ran across anything similar in other parts of Saigon. The first time I ate here was with Darshika and her boyfriend, Steve. Eating was my replacement for having a boyfriend; I had some interesting culinary delights in Saigon.

Women wearing the Ao Dai

Forget KFC

I remember walking a lot: walking down to the Chicken Place, down the street past the school and Vinatex, around the corner by Pho 24, Past KFC and the little park where the children play. The same park where I sat and cried from overwhelming loneliness. Anyway, the Chicken Place. It had the best damn chicken I’ve ever had. Fresh fried without any horrible coating to ruin it. A seared crispiness with rice and a few greens on the side. The walls and floor had a greasy film. A little dog snuffled around looking for scraps. All the dogs in Vietnam look mangy and sick, but this one enjoyed a doting family. He wasn’t destined for the cook pot like some canines. 

I got used to walking in and finding the nearest empty table without a pile of greasy dishes on it.  They had condiments of hot sauce and a tub for cutlery in the middle. I figured out the cloth over the silverware was meant to divert flies. On the wall above my head was a huge oscillating fan to provide relief from the sweltering heat. It blew my hair around and I didn’t care. It was always 35,000 dong to eat there and they only served one thing: chicken.

Ben Thanh Market