On arrival at my hotel I gratefully closed the door to my room, relieved to have survived lack of sleep on the flights, losing my passport and money and negotiating my way through customs without a visa. I anticipated having a shower and crawling into bed for a few hours but the call of unexplored sights was too strong. Within a short time I gingerly poked my nose out of the air-conditioned hotel and breathed in the smells, sounds and sights of Viet Nam.
Much to the amusement of some of the locals I started my acclimatization by sitting on the curbside and watching. Eventually I built up enough courage to walk around the block. The footpaths in Viet Nam have many purposes. They are a place to; repair motorbikes, dry washing, undertake commerce, sew on a treadle machine, pile heaps of rubbish or rubble, cook meals and to sit and gossip. Activities such as these take precedence over walking, which consequently must be done on the road a good deal of the time so, even walking around the block, means that one becomes a part of the unique melee that is Ho Chi Min City.
Remembering Anne Duncan’s advice to walk steadily and unswervingly into the traffic, I felt quite proud when I first crossed the road. Indeed I could be accused of feeling smug the next day as I watched other tourists taking their first baby steps. I was once again reminded of the truism about ‘pride before a fall’ when, finding myself stranded on the wrong side of a major road, I had to shelter amongst a big group of loud American tourists to get across!
Several places where I attempted to buy a bottle of water were not interested in my American dollars so I steeled myself and negotiated, at an exorbitant rate, to change some for Vietnamese Dong. I was then able to buy some dinner. Feeling like quite the intrepid traveler, and determined not to resort to western food, I found a café and ordered Vietnamese spring rolls and a drink. After recovering from the shock of paying 65,000 Dong I realized that this was only about NZ$5.00. Fending off the determined hawkers of books, lighters, wallets, and nick-nacks, but succumbing to the pleas of a number of beggars, I took myself back to the hotel before the sudden darkness fell just after 6:00pm.
The next morning, after a long walk in the wrong direction, (bought on I am sure by the dislocation of being on the other side of the equator), I turned my map upside down and I ventured a little further a field. Leaving the slightly seedy backpacker district of my hotel I made my way down to the central area of the city. The cramped, crowded market, with its pungent smell of durian fruit and fish only attracted my attention briefly and the expensive chain stores not at all. I enjoyed the park alongside the river and admired beds of zinnias, topiary tress and statues of (I think) Uncle Ho.
I find the issue of poverty difficult to deal with. There are many people on the street in HCMC who are disabled. Sitting on the opera house steps, I saw from a distance, a man without legs, in a simple wheelchair, making his way slowly down the centre of the street amongst the traffic. Across his lap was draped severely disabled child. When walking a while later I came across him, still slowly edging along. He was not begging and, uncertain of what to do, I passed him by but his image continues to haunt me. I think that perhaps, despite the risk of causing offense, I should have offered him some money. I do not know how to resolve the dilemma of being such a privileged visitor to this country.
Later in the morning, tired and on sensory overload I decided to make my way early to the airport. As it turned out this decision was fortunate. I have decided that it is not a ‘Travel Angel’ I have with me but a ‘Goddess of Travel’!
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