February 23, 2024
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any weirder, Friday night in Saigon showed up.
Teresa and I, having just arrived from Da Nang, stepped out of our elegant hotel, the appropriately named Mai House (with excessively loud Muzak), and headed to the curb looking for a way to get to dinner. A safe way to get to dinner.
A gang of 12-year-olds showed up on Vespas and approached us as we headed down the sidewalk. “Hey Mister”, they shouted, “We show you good time.” Intrigued, since there was no Uber, we asked for details. In no time, we reached an agreement for them to show us the town and we both hopped on the back of their revving scooters and took off. First stop, a rendezvous spot to pick up other “clients”.
We headed to a nearby trendy hotel and met up with other members of the gang. They had a couple from Australia. John, a farmer from north of Melbourne, and his 18 year old daughter, Zoe. They were celebrating her graduation from high school.
We went to a bar on the rooftop and had the first, of what would soon be many, drinks. The sun was setting and the bar overlooked the glittering skyline of futuristic high-rises. Below, a scene of utter chaos with the sounds of horns beeping, tires screeching and electronic music thumping.
Where Hanoi was small, old and historic, Saigon is big, shiny and new. Like Washington DC compared to New York City.
The night was young so we finished our rounds. Looking for adventure (or whatever comes our way), we headed back down to our gang with their motors running. We headed out on the highway. We were born to be Hoang Dã!
In an instant we were blazing through a sea of traffic. Weaving, pushing, beeping, dodging, jerking, stopping. Other scooters whizzed past us as we whizzed past other scooters often centimeters from colliding. Trucks, buses and cars merged and veered into and across our paths, their high pitched horns calling out meaningless warnings. Pedestrians appeared and disappeared out of nowhere. An elderly club footed woman wearing a sampan hat roared past, sitting in the gutter. Her old style oversized boom box next to her playing rap music.
Crossing the streets of Hanoi, we were like rocks rolling across a stream of steady water, dividing its non-stop flow. Here, we WERE the raging river splashing and foaming over everything.
“Hold on mister”, my Evel-Knievel-Wannabee yelled.
We zizzed past green, yellow and red traffic lights and merged with other orange helmeted gang members with their bug eyed passengers. We were now one large buzzing monster.
A freeway ramp appeared and we took it. 40, 50, 60 miles an hour, we tore over bridges and through tunnels. I held on.
A sudden sharp turn to the right and we exited the freeway back on to filled streets and pulled over for more drinks and food. We ate “Vietnamese Pancakes”. This was not IHOP though the scene looked “international” in the bright white LED lighting.
We repeated this scene for a couple of hours in the neon Saigon night. Hop on our scooters, tear through town, hop off, drink some sort of liquor, eat tentacled things wrapped in lettuce leaves and repeat. It was becoming all too normal. Something weird needed to happen.
And it did.
“You want good time?”, my little junior-high-school-driver asked. “Sure”, I said with the confidence of 9 shots of vodka. “We go to rock and roll bar. Good time!”, he said.
I climbed on the back of his revving vespa and we took off.
We were now zigging and zagging down the narrow and dark back alleys of old Saigon. A conga line of smoke spewing mini-bikes.
We stopped in front of an old stone staircase. I took off my orange helmet and my driver, named Thinh (I was calling him Thin-Mint at this point) pointed and said, “Rock and roll bar. Music loud”.
I turned around and looked. Under the back of the stairs was a three foot tall opening. A hole in the wall. A literal hole in the wall bar. Off in the distance behind me I heard the Australian yell, “Good On You”.
I bent over and climbed through the small hole and entered an other-worldly-scene, as if the preceding hours were somehow normal now. The music was loud. Thin Mint was right.
It sounded like Spanish music. Inside, I could see a packed house, the lighting fire-engine-red. We descended a small flight of steps, ducking our heads down to avoid the low ceiling timbers overhead. A small table with stools appeared and we took it and ordered more drinks.
There it was. On stage. A Vietnamese flamenco band. 12 string guitars railing. Castanets clapping. Conga drums beating. The singer, a 200 pound Vietnamese woman on stiletto heels and wrapped in black plastic Saran Wrap belting out the lyrics.
“Yep”, I told myself. This can’t get weirder.
Then she sang Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”. In Spanish. A flamenco band throbbing in the background.
Welcome to Saigon.
February 24, 2024
After a wild Friday night in Saigon, we spent a more sobering and contemplative morning visiting the Viet Cong war memorial 22 miles northwest of Saigon called Củ Chi.
The large area during the war was controlled by the VC and was their command and control center for their operations in the south. Everything was built underground beneath the jungle. There were tunnels, baracks, kitchens, the works. The US bombed it from the air with B52s but that proved ineffective. Seems sort of obvious that such tactics would not work but that decision was above my pay grade.
After the tour of dioramas, punji stick demonstrations and bunkers, we headed to the the souvenir shop where trinkets and coffee cups are sold and where you can shoot machine guns with live rounds of ammo. A very loud scene.
“Nyet”, I said when offered a live gunnery position. Too many have already paid the price.
Terrible and sick but that seems to be the way humanity works sometimes.
Tomorrow, we head to the Mekong Delta where we will visit Mr. Chow’s farm.
February 25, 2024
It’s the end of Chinese New Year as the full moon rises and we enjoy a last evening in Saigon from the rooftop bar at Mai House.
In the morning, we head back to the Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Saigon where we catch our next flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia and home to the Angkor Wat Temple.
Before leaving Vietnam, one of the amazing stories we heard was about Pham Nhat Vuong, a 55 year old entrepreneur and Vietnam’s first billionaire.
All across the country from north to south everyone told us his story in tones of both amazement and reverence. We started referring to him as “Mister Vinfast”.
We first noticed the turquoise colored cars when we exited the airport in Hanoi and quickly found out, from Son’s narrative, that the cars were Vinfast cars and the turquoise ones were electric taxis.
Soon we learned that Mr. Vinfast also owned companies that made cell phones and networks (Vintel) and hospitals and clinics (Vinmed) and scooters and buses (Vingo) and cities and highways (Vinestate) and on and on. This guy is into everything.
Everywhere we went we saw huge new developments of three floor condos. Mile after mile. Tens of thousands of brand new condos and cities. “If you buy one of Mr. Vinfast’s condos you get a free electric Vinfast car”, Son explained. “But they all look empty”, I said inquisitively. “They are”, Son said. “They are purchased as investments.”
Hmmmm, I said to no one in particular. Sounds like a potential problem.
“What about high speed rail?”, I asked thinking that Vietnam would be perfect for it given the country’s size and shape. Son just blinked at me. “Give me Vin’s number. I will call him and propose a deal for ‘Vinzoom’.”
This guy makes Elon Musk look like a slacker.
Watch out, Ho, there’s a new star rising in Vietnam.
AMAZING!
I wanna go!