War is Bad. Eggs are good.

Hue was behind us; my illness was still raging on and Hoi An was jutting further into the rose gold sky of a late Vietnamese afternoon. Now, despite spending three nights in this popular riverside city, my time among the lantern adorned streets can be broken down into three core activities:

• I watched Stranger Things in bed, throwing nervous glances at the toilet, praying that I wouldn’t need to make the sudden leap to the uninviting ceramic whirlpool. 
• I went with Brendan to a truly fascinating museum which showcased the incredible ethnic diversity in Vietnam, through the different traditional outfits of the tribes and ethnic groups. 
• I ate a dangerous number of burgers. The burgers were sold two buildings down from the hostel and they were bloody good. The fresh, tasty stodge was just what both of us wanted every day and quickly losing any sense of shame we just lay back and luxuriated in the glory of a burger filled existence. 

Brendan did indulge in a few other activities while in Hoi An, however the main thing he did was a big night out with James and Ross from Taipei. After snaffling up an admirable quantity of rum and coke at the hostel, Brendan and the gang were getting ready to leave, while I contemplated joining them. My brain was being gently prodded by temptation, the indistinct memories I had from Hanoi told me to go and have a good time. However, in response to the incessant prodding my brain conjured up the image of me pooing myself on a dance floor. Fortuitously, this was just the image I needed to ignore temptation; well done brain. I retreated to my room and that is where I stayed.

From what I was told the next day at lunch, the night had taken an interesting turn (but not in the manner you may expect from Brendan). The night began as many nights out do, thumping music and embarrassingly drunk people doing equally embarrassing things. But then, right there in the sweaty mayhem of a hedonistic backpacker’s den, a hero emerged. Usually most at home with Superbass verses rolling off his tongue or wallowing in the deep basslines of house anthems, he caught the melodic vibrations of an acoustic guitar drifting through the speakers. Brendan graced the stage at the front of the club and sat down on its edge, legs casually swinging in the sticky air. He began to mime strumming the guitar, playing with such raw emotion that soon the crowd grew silent. Like the Pied Piper’s rats, they walked entranced and gathered around the stage to watch. The horseshoe of people, wearing drunkenly applied neon war paint, swayed like a meadow in a gentle spring breeze as Brendan plucked notes from the air. Soon he was joined on stage by a man who played the air drums and the mellow nightclub acoustic set was complete. They finished their song and were met with adoration; the night came to a close not long after and Brendan walked out a god among mortals. 

Next we took an 18-hour bus to the freezing cold Da Lat, where we briefly relished in the rainy, pine tree infused air that brought our minds racing back to England. However, it was only a stop off before leaving to Ho Chi Minh (our last stop in Vietnam) the next day.

Ho Chi Minh City 

Having heard almost entirely negative reviews on Ho Chi Minh city, we were prepared for disappointment. We dropped off our bags and I took a map. I scanned the sprawling expanse of the city, overflowing with the unknown, hoping to find an area for some food. What I found was the proverbial lighthouse beam piercing through the inky darkness, guiding two weary sailors to safety, to home; I had found 4Ps. Nevertheless, we convinced ourselves that we were open to anything for dinner (liking to keep our options open) and we began walking. Yet somehow, we ended up standing squarely in front of 4Ps (see Hanoi post for more information on this establishment). The universe had sent us a sign. A flawless pizza meal and dessert later, we left and returned to our offensively average hostel. 

War Remnants Museum 

Morning had broken and we decided to just have a really depressing day. First, we side-stepped through the grungy alleyway domain we had somehow found ourselves living in. In those narrow uneven passages, BBQ smoke thankfully obscured the pockmarked but glistening bare torsos of middle-aged Vietnamese men who skulked around in doorways. Dark puddles of unpleasant road liquids, that I’m not confident enough to call “water”, had coalesced in the shallow depressions of the ground and despite their stygian appearance, they reflected the narrow scar of daylight that hovered above the roofs, seemingly disassociated and unconcerned with the world in these murky depths. From Diagon Alley we emerged onto the strip. The walking street of downtown Ho Chi Minh City was a wide bustling street full of bars during the day but during the night it is a deafening, tinnitus-inducing, ocean of people. At the crest of every wave, a new person to get in your face and try to take you to their bar. In every eddying trough, a group of drunk tourists drawn to the excruciatingly brightly lit bars by the promise of more numbing alcohol. But it was still morning, so we managed to pass through the area quickly and started walking to the museum we had heard so much about. 

The walk took us through the downtown area of the city, passing by tonnes of restaurants, an underground food court in which we dabbled on more than one occasion, parks and a very inviting KFC but despite the allures of its crispy chicken we continued on and into the museum. 

The War Remnants Museum, was a large cube of a building surrounded by all manner of exciting wartime vehicles (these brought my thoughts dangerously far from where they needed to be to prepare for the inside of the museum). On the ground floor was a tapestry of condemnation for the Vietnam War from nations all over the world, with pictures of protests and words of solidarity from world leaders. On the floors above were the most graphic and affecting exhibits I had ever seen. The first was a collection of photos taken by various photographers of different nationalities showing, in chilling detail, the extent of the atrocities committed in the war. From photos of the burnt mutilated corpses of a mother and her children huddled together in fear, to the images of US soldiers dragging Vietnamese soldiers behind tanks until they died. Each photo was accompanied by brief explanations from the photographer themselves and they gave important contextual information that helped to flesh out the scene. They also brought added emotion from a personal perspective to the photos, each one playing out as more than just a snapshot in my mind’s eye. One common thing between the photographer’s accounts was the need to not intervene, to only capture the occurrences in their truest form. Due to this, one particular account really cut through the rest and affected Brendan and I deeply. As a Vietnamese prisoner and his family were being dragged off to be executed by the Americans, one particular photographer stopped them in the act to take a photo of them in their final moments, then turned away as they were shot. No matter the medium, capturing the regression to our most basal human instincts within the amphitheatre of war is undoubtedly important. The photographers here showed that despite our advancements, our supposed system of civility and order, the tribalism of our nature is ever present. While leaders pull the strings from afar, for power, resources or pride, the people on the frontlines cast aside societal teachings and wade back into the more primitive parts of what it means to be human; sides of ourselves that stay hidden during the comfort of modern life. However, when the photographer intervenes to stage shots, the chaotic truth of the conflict is lost and the photographer becomes a participant in the violence, possibly even an advocate. 

Into another area of the museum the photographs continued yet focussed on another subject matter, the effects that the defoliant chemical “Agent Orange” had (and continues to have) on generations of Vietnamese people. The small amounts of dioxin in the herbicide (which was sprayed over swathes of the countryside of Vietnam) immediately affected civilians and soldiers alike. Children developed health problems such as mental disabilities, cleft palates and extra fingers and toes. However, the most shocking to both of us was the birth defects and genetic diseases seen in the next generation. Photos of children dealing with the most debilitating diseases was saddening enough but the final room really brought the sentiment home. It was a small room with artwork done by many of the children we had seen photos of and in the corner, was a teenager playing the piano. He was born with no eyes due to his parents being exposed to Agent Orange.

We went back to the ground floor and looked through the information on display there more closely after feeling a lot more in touch with the conflict. We looked around the aircraft and vehicles which surrounded half of the building and left, humbled and shocked by the museum’s exhibits. 

I felt that photography, as a medium, was the perfect choice for the exhibits we saw. The arresting reality displayed in each snapshot in time allowed us to connect with each scene, to imagine ourselves there and wander outside of the specific time and place of the photo, briefly living within that past.

Independence Palace 

After an evening trying to come to terms with horrible things human beings do to each other, we got some sleep and awoke for a new day and a new adventure. The city still held things to see and do so we set out in their vague direction. First, we saw went to the cathedral and admired its Sunday League level of magnificence from the outside because today God wasn’t taking visitors.

Next, we literally went to a post office. Admittedly, it was much nicer than the standard high street post office you’d find in the UK but at the end of the day, you can be built in 1891 all you want, you’re still a post office. Not particularly impressed we stumbled upon a pedestrianised street with only bookshops which was nice and then headed back along a wide boulevard towards the Independence Palace.

We had passed the decadent building already from many angles but hadn’t been in. Consistent with many stories on this blog, I couldn’t be arsed to go and see inside this particular attraction. We had walked quite a lot already and what I thought was just a big fancy house wasn’t really enticing me. But Brendan insisted and who was I to crush his dreams? Once again Brendan’s curiosity paid off and we had a whale of a time. To be perfectly honest it was kind of just a stupidly posh, plushly decorated house (save for the war rooms in the basement and the helicopter on the roof). But, when you do stuff with your best mate even the most mundane thing can become fun and it turned out to be one of the most fun attractions we had been to in Vietnam.

Finishing off the day, we went for expensive Korean food near to our hostel. I ordered Kimchi and chicken fried rice for starter which turned out to be a massive portion of unbelievably tasty and spicy food. Then to round it off we each got the spiciest plate of Korean fried chicken they had on the menu. This was a mistake. A terrible mistake. It was so uncomfortably hot that we could no longer taste the food. Each mouthful brought in more sweet, cloying, capsaicin tar which adhered itself to every area of delicate mouth tissue, numbing both my senses and my perception of reality. The contradictory nature of the chicken was that while numbing me it also inflicted untold pain and misery. So, with tears streaming down our faces and napkins being used at a rate of knots, we sat basking in regret while we cleared off the rest of the food.

Cu Chi Tunnels 

Booking through the hostel we hopped on the tour bus out of Ho Chi Minh and I immediately felt out of place. We drove for half an hour to a shop selling arts and crafts done by victims of the war and they were all incredibly impressive yet, not once did the thought of parting with any of my money for a plate, vase or box pass my mind. We reached the final destination not long after and were led off by our group’s guide. 

The day consisted of hopping between various reconstructions of certain buildings and learning about the tunnels and their uses during the Vietnam war.  It was only once we went into the tunnels that we started to appreciate what life must have been like for the soldiers. Widened for tourists, the tunnels were a nightmare to move around in, shuffling along with my bum on my heels, my head scraping the roof and my shoulders folded around my chest, it was truly horrible. Emerging from the pitch black and glad we hadn’t taken a wrong turn in the rabbit warren, we sucked in the air and learnt more about the tricks the Vietnamese had used to stay undetected by the Americans. They included things such as chimneys that took smoke away from their position and scattered it among undergrowth, escape tunnels that led directly into the river and gruesome booby traps hidden in the jungle floor. At the end of the day we could pay lots of money to shoot some rifles or enormous tripod mounted machine guns but the price was too high. Nevertheless, just hearing the sound of real guns being fired, I did come away with a new-found level of respect for my family’s previous army profession and the armed forces in general.

Final thoughts

Despite all of the historical intrigue in this section of our trip through Vietnam, there are two things that stand in the forefront of my mind about Ho Chi Minh City. The first, the underground food court. Incredibly easy to miss, this food court hid such treasures as a sushi utopia selling incredibly tasty and cheap rolls for £2 or an Indian place selling a meal for less than a fiver. It was an Asiatic food paradise and we revelled in its glory on many occasions.

The second, last and possibly most important thing I remember from this Ho Chi Minh trip was a piece of information I was given by one of two lovely English lasses we were drinking with one evening.

“A solitary egg holds all the nutrients you need for a whole day except for vitamin C.”

Now, I haven’t consulted a nutritionist on whether this is indeed accurate and obviously, as all of you will know from my long food diatribes, I will not be living off a lone egg and a measly tangerine for a day. However, it is something that has stuck in my mind ever since. So, if you ever need a tasty nutritious snack, just crunch into a good ol’ reliable pocket-sized egg.