Cu Chi

The Cu Chi Tunnels are a portion of the countrywide underground tunnels that the North Vietnamese used as camps during the Vietnam War, to elude soldiers and bombs. They are kept open and are a popular tourist destination.

In addition to tunnels- a portion of which you can crawl through- there are underground bunkers and huts that were home to cooks, tailors, teachers, and bomb makers. There were craters, from bombing raids, and abandoned U.S. tanks. The tunnels are in a wooded, isolated area, about a one-hour drive from central Saigon.

At Cu Chi we were shown hidden entrances to a tunnel, impossibly small openings that no human could possibly enter—until our guide, then I, got in. (The trick is to raise your arms high above you.) Once in, it was pitch black; I didn’t linger. This was a real tunnel. I think that the tunnel reserved for tourists is somewhat larger.

At one point you can fire war-era weapons. I paid $10 for ten bullets and enjoyed squeezing the rounds off from an AK-47 at a distant target, which, frankly, I couldn’t tell if I hit—though the assistant indicated I did well. Rifles are LOUD, and sound sharper than they do in the movies.

We also saw various huts that were home to cooks, tailors, teachers, and bomb makers, as well as a variety of bamboo-spikey boobie traps for injuring the “American devils,” as Americans were referred to in the propoganda film from the 1960's that we were shown. Here's one of a few that were presented to us, in front of a curious mural which was meant to add a realistic touch:

These tunnels reminded me how clever and resourceful the North Vietnamese soldiers were, and illustrated what they were willing to endure to win their independence and "unite" the communist north with less than willing western-supported south. As Ho Chi Minh told us, "You can kill ten of our men for every one we kill of yours. But even at those odds, you will lose and we will win." He was right, except for one thing. They won, yes, but at the cost much greater than the odds he offered.

The Group Tour

Susan and I are pretty confident travelers and generally book our own holidays. But given the language difficulties we felt we'd encounter in VN, and encouraged by our neighbor Kristin who had taken a similar tour, we felt comfortable booking a group tour with an outfit called Intrepid Travel, based in Australia. They promised small groups (12 or fewer), knowledgable guides, and reasonable hotels.

Nine hundred dollars each covered 9 nights; internal travel, which encompassed plane, private buses, overnight train-- as well as an overnight boat in scenic Halong Bay; and numerous excursions along the way. It took the hassle and anxiety out of booking hotels and travel, and allowed us to focus on our experience. Though a little wary going in, we found the experience was overwhelmingly positive—no worries about hotels or transport, with enough optional activities planned to keep things interesting, but also with plenty of free time, where you could split into groups or fade off by yourself.

Our leader Hue was a spirited local young woman of 25, a two-year veteran of touring. She was a college graduate, very pretty with an engaging sense of humor and an attractive accent; her English was excellent.

Other group members included:

Alan and Cythnia, a married couple from Perth who were closest in age to us. They told us it was cheaper for them to fly to SE Asia than it was to get to Sydney. Very fun couple—she was a therapist, he was once a real jackeroo (sheep farmer)! They also told us that their family used to go through a “sheep a week.” And they’d eat everything. Cynthia would dice the offal fine, dredge it in flour and sauté it, apparently the kids loved it.

Tom and Hovia, brother and sister students also from Oz, both very friendly. Tom had a sharp sense of humor and was quite up on contemporary events. They were both exceptionally well-traveled and seemed to take every college holiday opportunity to nip off somewhere exotic. Tom was in the middle of a six- or eight week jaunt through SE Asia and India, and Hovia had joined him in VN.

Adrian and Amanda, a twenty-something couple from (yes) Oz—these two were bursting with life (well, they were accountants, what would you expect?), very good-looking and loved talking bookkeeping shop with Susan.

Gavin was our only solo traveler, a Yorkshireman. He’d been on the road a while—a sympathetic boss had urged him to take advantage of his time off and he was circling the globe. Like Irish co-workers June and Janice, our final group members, he’d been through Cambodia with Intrepid before meeting the rest of us in Saigon. The two lovely lasses June and Janice, both worked in the Irish prison system! Former wardens (!), they both now had desk jobs, and they were a riot.

It was really a fun group, and as I write about them I find I quite miss them. We formed a pretty tight bond. I suppose that people who are willing to take the time and effort to explore that part of the world are pretty adventurous, open-minded souls. That certainly seemed to be the case with our travel mates.

So, group tours. I suspect that the more unlikely or challenging the destination, the more engaging and interesting the participants. For travel to a developing country, I'd consider taking an arranged tour again. I have less patience now for the hotel-seeking that accompanies a lot of travel, and I found I was quite happy to have someone else do the work for me.

Now restaurants, that's a different matter, and I'm willing to do my share of research. However our guide Hue came through with great recommendations on multiple occasions. We were particularly fond of this restaurant in Hoi An. There's Susan, me, Hovia and Tom on the left. Continuing around is Gavin, Cynthia and Allen. We're all really enjoying spring rolls, grilled pork kebabs and pork sate, and crepes, all wrapped up in lettuce leaves and rice paper wrappers and dipped into delicous sauces. Here's a closeup:

Just a little hole-in-the-wall place, well off the beaten track in Hoi An. We loved it and gorged ourselves silly. With beer. Followed by a nap.

More on Saigon

DAY 1 was fairly active. We fought off cyclo drivers all the way to Dong Khoi. These are bicycles with high saddles and a cart on front for transporting sitting tourists. They’re usually very cheap—however we did get “taken for aide” on our first one—lesson learned. A cyclo tour of Saigon can be fun and slightly alarming, as these bicycles vie with innumerable scooters and other traffic for the slightest openings on roads. The “drivers” work hard and it must be tiring work to earn a few dollars a day.



Dong Khoi is home to more expensive hotels and was the seat of French power during colonial days. The buildings are magnifient, from the Metropole Hotel to the Opera. It leads to the river and offers a good walking sightseeing tour, starting with the centrally located Cathedral of Notre Dame.







Notre Dame’s brick construction is misleading; it’s actually covered in tile, shipped from France, to serve France’s colonial population a century ago. It is otherwise fairly unremarkable, except for some stained glass and the fine public square it fronts—as well of course for the sheer absurdity of a Catholic cathedral being planted four-square in the middle of a Buddhist country.










Across the street is a rather striking central post office, designed by Gustave Eiffel, of tower fame. I should think that the Stalinist worker statues out front were not part of Monsieur Eiffel’s original design. Inside however the high ceilings and tiled floors keep everything cool. There are banks of public phones in wooden boxes at the entrance, and large ceramic maps of Indochina. A large portrait of Ho Chi Minh now gazes at all who enter, probably placed there following the fall of Saigon to the Communists in 1975.

It was plenty hot, probably the high ‘80’s, sunny and muggy. We walked to the river and stolled along, watching a few boys jump in and out of the probably dirty water. As there aren’t many bridges, barges takes hundreds of commuters, most on motor scooters, across each day. We window shopped a little, finding a gallery that sold Vietnam War-era propoganda posters, colorful, simple illustrations of soldiers and citizens working together for the homeland, copied onto rice paper. These were wonderful, and we made a mental note to return there, on our final day of our journey two weeks hence, to purchase some for ourselves and friends.




Susan then navigated us to the Hindu Mariamann Temple, back closer to our hotel. We sat in the coloful, mythology-filled, shaded courtyard for a while, watching the devoted visit the various mini temples within the compound to pray, touching sticks of incense to their foreheads before offering it to to the Gods.













Then, home for a nap—but not before setting the alarm for a 5 pm wakeup. The jet lag, a full 12-hour difference, was crushing.


Day 2

The next day I woke earlier than Susan, as is usual, and walked around the block for coffee. I chatted with a local who called himself Eddie. He has family in California, worked at the Sheraton Hotel, and spoke good English.


Later we took cyclos to the Temple of the Jade Emperor, an early 20th century pagoda north of the old quarter. As with every temple we saw, it was colorful, intricate, elaborate… and in use, as Buddhists lit incense sticks or even long, spherical ropes of incense which hung from the ceiling and burned for as long as a month. Fantastic gods, made of papier mache, sat on elaborate thrones gazing down on us and the ever-present food offerings: bowls of fruit, usually, though twice we saw whole barbequed pigs. We sat in the courtyard, with its two ponds—one filled with small turtles (occasionally plucked to have a prayer written on their shell, before returning to the fetid water), another with holy lotus plants. We chatted with a local. I asked if the woman with him was his wife; he replied no, she was his “gray area.” Apparently taking girlfriends is common among married men.







We walked to the Botanical Gardens there, which also contains a zoo and the fine Museum of Vietnamese History. Families lolled in the shade of the pretty gardens, it was nice to see so many out enjoying themselves together. We walked to see the elephants, and over a neat bamboo footbridge which took us over various wildebeests. We observed a man, not an employee, climb down into one of the beasts compounds and up a tree to retrieve fruit, which he placed in a plastic bag before climbing down and back out! There were monkeys there, but as always, not enough monkeys for me. I love monkeys. We lunched in the park’s restaurant, a casual open-air affair, on rice with grilled pork and a can of beer ($4 for two, like just about every other meal we had in Vietnam), then explored the museum’s impressive collection of old pottery, wood carvings, furniture, clothing, musical instruments…




Then it was back home, stopping for iced coffee and the odd sights that took our fancy, liked this mildewed stucco'd colonial wall with bamboo, which I found beautiful and fascinating, a perfect marriage of cultures.



































That evening we met our travel mates for the first time.

The Sandwich

Banh mi is the generic term for a baguette sandwich, usually available at a street stall, and generally served at breakfast or dinner, rarely lunch.

Baguettes are a relic of French colonialism. It's odd that they survived the departure of the French from Indochine; elsewhere in Asia yeast bread does not exist. It is generally sold there as 8" rolls now, and is only used for sandwiches. Other French staples like cheese never took root: the only kind we saw was the odd foil-wrapped soft processed cheese food with the smiling cow logo. Coffee is another hold-over from the French, though tea, Asia's primary beverage, is also popular. Staying with the French motif, wine was available but heavily taxed-- perhaps for its bourgeois associations. (Sorry about all the French words all of a sudden. Still, it was once lingua franca, until it was displaced by English, then American.) We drank lots of bottled water, coffee (hot, with condensed milk, and iced) and local beer, such as 333, Tiger, or Huda. All were similar in appearance and taste, light, refreshing rice-based brews that complemented the climate and food well.

I love the banh mi, and we would return to our favorite vendor four times in Saigon. This was a sandwich of grilled ground pork patties, each the size of a couple of stacked silver dollars. They were quickly formed and thrown on a small, very hot charcoal brazier and cooked until fragrantly, smokily caramelized, frequently and expertly flipped with chopsticks—this performed by a male assistant to the chef. Our chef, a middle-aged woman, cut open baguette rolls and spread each with a little liver pate (probably pig), then filled each with 5 patties. She added a some cilantro and pickled shredded carrot, then two sauces—a hot one and some kind of sweet sauce-- probably nuom choc, the ubiquitous VN condiment that starts with fish sauce, into which a little dark soy sauce had probably been mixed.

We discovered her by walking down the street our first night in Saigon-- the smell of the grilling pork patties was all the advertisement she needed. We'd initially walked past her; this would be our first "street meal" and I confess to being slightly nervous. But the aroma and her skills, the line of customers, and the fact that she'd probably been doing this for years, and would be doing it for many more, helped us get over our initial fear. We're grateful we did.

She worked quickly and methodically. I have worked with many professional cooks, and she could keep up with any of them. No wasted movement, very fluid-- cutting the roll with scissors and setting it on the grill to warm; shaping patties in a small mold, filling the 12" square grate with meat; retrieving rolls and patties and assembling the sandwiches; then wrapping them with a bit of paper and a rubber band, before completing the transaction and giving you your change from a draw.

The sandwiches were 6,000 Dong each—about $.40. On return trips we’d give her 20,000 for two and have to fight to keep her from giving us the change.

We returned the next night with our guide Hue who we insisted tell this woman how fantastic her food was; by then it was 9 pm and her evening was winding down. She seemed tired but happy for the compliment.

Since our return I've mimicked the sandwiches. You know what? They were fine. But only because I didn't expect them to be the same.

I enjoyed banh mi in Hoi An (this with sliced roasted pork, instead of grilled patties) and Hue-- an interesting slice of pressed meat which had been cut from a length of bamboo, around which the meat had been wrapped and grilled. All were tasty, but our friend in Saigon had the best.

The People

Before I get too deeply involved with VN’s food and how lucky and fortunate I was to visit, I want to say how impressed I was with the Vietnamese (and the Cambodian) people.

First, there are a lot of them: Saigon, our first stop, is teeming with people. It’s a city of eight million people, and according to our guide Hue, there are four million motor scooters on the ground. And they all appear to be out at once. Susan described it as a "low tech Bladerunner."

It’s hard to describe the impact of this density. Certainly, walking and crossing the street can be difficult. But merely being in such a crush of humanity can be a little overwhelming. It’s a kind of crush you rarely see in the west—perhaps the closest would be attending a sporting event or concert when the doors first open.

The sidewalks are not wide and often in disrepair. Commerce is conducted there, as small shops, often consisting of just a chair and some tools (for repair of goods like shoes or watches or scooters or bikes), impromptu markets, and eating establishments set up for business, often supplying their own small plastic tables and chairs. There’s the normal foot traffic. Plus all those scooter have to park somewhere.

The roads are filled with scooters and the odd car, truck or bus. The buses are packed and move just as slowly as everyone else. The scooters have an advantage. Many pull onto the sidewalk or drive against the flow of traffic. While many obey stoplights, many don’t. The noise can be distracting too—the horn is probably used more than the gas pedal. To the uninitiated, crossing the street can be a harrowing experience. Public spaces like parks and markets are also crowded. Walking can be slow going. But part of the fun of exploring a new place is learning their rules, and slowing your pace (or in some European countries speeding up) to match them.

I enjoyed my interactions with the Vietnamese people, finding them friendly, polite and welcoming. They’ve certainly embraced the open economy that their government bestowed upon them a dozen years ago: after China, their economy is the fastest growing in the region, clipping along at 8% a year. Much of it is driven by tourism, the fastest growing in the region. So while the number of scooters can be overwhelming, and may ultimately have a cost of their own, it’s beneficial that many can afford them—and cell phones too, which are everywhere. They’re creating wealth, and with it, I hope, happiness.

They deserve a little of this precious commodity, coming out of their long struggles—first against French colonialism, then against Americans who so deeply feared the spread of Soviet-style communism to another SE Asian state, then against the Cambodians, then the Chinese… they must be happy to have an end to war for the first time in almost a century. I don’t know how they really live, or what they really think, but I know that I felt welcomed everywhere I went, and that there does not seem to be a shortage of food.

One missing ingredient: the obesity that plagues us wealthier countries. While there’s no shortage of food there, one kind is in short supply: the pre-packaged, processed kind. The diet is varied but based primarily on carbohydrates (in the form of rice and rice noodles) with lots of fresh vegetables and herbs with bits of fish and meat protein thrown in. A lot of it is fried. It seems to go against all the diet advice we are “fed” in the west. But I didn’t see any fat people. As of yet, there are no McDonalds or Starbucks, though we did see a few Kentucky Fried Chicken establishments—probably because the concept of fried chicken is one that is somewhat familiar to them. But why you’d want to eat western fried food, when you have such access to incredibly cheap, delicious, fresh food (and coffee, another VN passion) is beyond me.

Perhaps the polite, generous welcomes were merely a preamble to a potential sale of some kind of good or service. Didn’t matter. We know they want our money. When we declined, we were still treated cordially. It makes me think of the lukewarm or absent manners that tarnish so many transactions here in the west. I suppose the Vietnamese people have yet to reach the stage where they feel entitled to your custom, and still feel that they have to earn it. Uh-oh, I'm feeling anti-western sentiment creep in, better nip it in the bud. I am grateful for all we have here, though after visiting a developing country I feel that we may put too much emphasis on landill-destined stuff and not enough on real experiences. Experiences are what you remember in your retirement community—not the flatscreens or GPS-assisted minivans or matching dinette set in real hardwood. Travel affords me not just the opportunity to learn about a new culture, but the opportunity to compare that new knowledge to the reality I face at home. It allows me to explore the world's similarities and focus less on our differences. I don't think you get that at Disneyland.

Scouting Ben Thanh Market

The previous shot was taken in Ben Thanh Market, which serves Saigon's Old Quarter, near our fine Sen Hotel. While something of a tourist draw, it is largely populated by locals, as evidenced by the pig brains and cow stomach on offer. The large, warehoused market is constantly swarming with activity, and there isn't much you can't buy there. The butchers, greengrocers, and fishmongers (for want of better words) keep stalls off to one side of the warehouse. The stalls that line the warehouse in concentric squares are dedicated to clothing, "antiques," "art," and other consumer items. The center is filled with food stalls.

Here is a photo from the "grocery" section, taken by Susan, who loved the varied colors of the spiny lobsters on display.

Here's a photo of some of their colorful crustacean cousins:

Nice to see them iced down in Saigon's hot climate. (Later, I had a couple of these fellows grilled. Very tasty, sweet meat.)

After some shopping we sat for a late breakfast of pho, a steaming soup with noodles, basil, cilantro, and various meats on offer. Susan had chicken, I had shrimp.

We returned to the market on our final night in Vietnam, and, as on the first night, ate outside. Here are jumbo prawns being prepared at one of the stalls that appear outside Ben Thanh every evening:

And here is the "restaurant" where we enjoyed the large prawns:

The streets on both sides of Ben Thanh close to traffic (the 4-wheeled variety; scooters are ever present, of course) in the early evening until the wee hours. This one specialized in seafood. You can see the posted menu behind the host/tout, and fish tanks to his left. (Susan is sitting just behind the left of the tank). The couple to the right were from Finland, spending a couple of weeks there with their 2- or 3-year old daughter. We saw many European families with young children travelling through the region, interestingly. Americans would probably wait until their children were older.

Here's Susan enjoying a beer in the "restaurant:"

Looks like "Tiger" beer to me. The beer in general was good, certainly well-suited to the climate and food, crisp and refreshing. Those little restaurants, shacks or stalls that lacked refrigerated would simply add lare chunks of ice (purified) to you glass and serve it to you with a straw. I think there may be some truth to the urban legend that drinking beer through a straw gets you buzzed further; more research, however, is needed.

This would be our final meal in Saigon, by the way. Our flight back to the US, via Narita, Japan, left that evening at midnight.

Who's Darly?

When I worked in Saudi Arabia in the '90's, I set up a bank account there. When my ATM card arrived my name was listed as "Darly Gross." It stuck. My title pays homage to "Travels with Charlie"- John Steinbeck's wonderful travelogue across the United States with his faithful poodle Charlie as companion.

As soon as I figure out this "blog" thing I'll start uploading notes from our January/February 2008 trip to Vietnam and Siem Reap, Cambodia, here.

For now, here's a picture of some porcine organ meat on sale in Ben Thanh Market to whet your appetites. However I'm not sure how I'd feel about buying pigs ears from a vendor who's smoking. It's a little unhygenic. Better stick to the tripe at the beef stall across the aisle.