So Long, Saigon

Photo: Maryann and Deb in Saigon.

Day 6 Saigon

As usual I got up early for breakfast where I met Judy and Monique, the other early risers in our group.

After downing some coffee and hitting the omlet station, I headed out to do some souvenir shopping. I bought a nice set of chopsticks for Larry and a soapstone Buddah head for Taylor. I got a better deal when I reminded the shopkeeper I was her first customer of the day, which is considered very lucky in many Asian countries.

As for currency conversion, there are 16,000 Vietnamese dongs to one U.S. dollar. Someone in our group calculated that a 100,000 dong note was like a $6 bill which made it much easier in estimating costs.

I then met Diane at the hotel and we went to the Russian market where we bought DVDs for $1 each and matching rhinestone sandals. (Hey, we’re on vacation.)

We picked up the last of the clothes we’d ordered. The only other thing I needed to do was to see about my visa to Cambodia. I had just discovered that everyone else in my group had gotten theirs in Russia. I cornered our Vietnamese guide after dinner. I found out he didn’t have a Cambodian visa either.

We could get visas the next day at the airport in Cambodia, but once again, I needed a passport photo. He walked me over to a photo place so I could have some made. The neighborhood was full of guys on motorcycles who offered their services as “taxis.” After I picked up the photos, I hopped on the back of motorcycle for a five minute drive to rejoin my some of my friends, having negotiated the fare with the driver.

I thought, “I am sitting on the back of a motorcycle zooming through the streets of Saigon. I’m not even wearing a helmet! No wonder I’m distracted from fretting about turning 50.”

My friends were buying cheap pearls at a nearby shop. Five of us bought strands which they made into bracelets. You would think I had enough pearls after China, but at $7.50 each, I apparently could use more. I gave them the tooth test to make sure they were real. After all, I wanted to get my $7.50 worth.

On the way back to the hotel, I went by the gallery to pick up my oil painting. They’d taken off the frame and rolled it up in a tube. The tube barely fit into my duffle bag. It was time to quit shopping and head to Cambodia.

Photo: Our Vietnamese tour guide.

Where to?

Photos: Our "home stay" accomo-dations followed by photos along the river.

Day 5 Mekong Delta

We climbed out of our cots for a Western breakfast (eggs, crescents, cheese and fruit). The best thing we had there, however, was the fried banana leaves the night before. They were yummy.

After breakfast, we had some downtime waiting for our boat and ended up comparing our heat rashes. I live in Abu Dhabi yet I have to leave town to develop a heat rash!

These are caused by the almost unbearable sauna-like conditions here. One of my friends mistook her heat rash for a bunch of small bug bites. But with the buckets of Deet we’d been spraying on, that was unlikely. In fact, the Vietnamese insects probably suspected another American chemical deforestation whenever they got a whiff of our group.

Inevitably, our talk turned to travel and we threw out ideas for our next group trip. Here’s the places we discussed and rejected:

Egypt: Too many of us had already gone. (I am going with my family in December.)

Sicily: Not adventurous enough.

Bhutan: Very expensive and the logistics would be a nightmare.

Peru: Too far.

We eventually narrowed it down to Morocco, Libya and Iran.

Monique volunteered to look into the next trip and asked me if I would do an advance trip to Iran with her. I’ve always wanted to go there so that didn’t require any arm twisting.

She warned me that I’d have to pick up proper robes and scarves in Abu Dhabi as you have to cover up on the plane 15 minutes prior to landing.

We climbed back on the boat for more tourist stops. We saw a building made entirely out of coconuts in which they sold (surprise, surprise) all kinds of things made of coconuts, including a couple that had a “made in Sri Lanka” label. We are in the middle of nowhere on a river in Vietnam. How does that stuff get here?

We then watched a demonstration of some guys puffing rice in a giant iron pan. They then poured it into molds and made candy. This was also available for purchase. (Buy five bars, get one free. That's communism for you.)

We took the bus back to the Majestic Hotel in Saigon. To celebrate our return to the big city, I had a massage at the hotel ($12.50 for 60 minutes).

Photo above: The house of coconuts.

Photo right: Diane back at our room at the Majestic.

Me on the Mekong

Photos: Our trip on the river.

Day 4 Mekong Delta

Today we took a bus trip out to the Mekong Delta. It took hours to get there as our tour bus’ top speed must have been 35 miles per hour. Chugging local busses, chocked full of people, were honking at us to get out of their way!

We drove through rubber tree field while our guide explained that our program would include a lunch of “elephant piss.” Huh?

We finally figured out he was talking about elephant fish. But whenever the guide spoke of the “piss,” which was fairly often in Vietnam, women in their 50s in back of the bus would erupt in laughter as if they were 10 year old boys.

We finally unloaded from the bus, donned our Vietnamese conical hats, and boarded the boat. As refreshment we drank juice directly from a coconut.

Along the way, we saw Vietnamese water taxis and a floating market. The market were a bunch of boats loaded with fruits and other goods for the wholesale trade. They advertised whatever they sold by hanging it on a pole in the air above their boat.

As we went steadily up the river, I felt like I was in a scene from Apocalypse Now. Where was my dossier on Colonel Kurtz? Where was that 60s soundtrack? Where was Martin Sheen?

Eventually, the river narrowed so much we could touch the palms on either side. Actually, I was reminded of the “Jungle Boat” ride in Disneyland. Except this trip had no fake cannibal. There was no snappy dialogue by a helmeted guide. And they weren’t about to let one of us “captain” the boat, probably because it wasn’t on rails.

We stopped at an orchard for a fruit tasting session. I sampled the dragonfruit, which tasted like a kiwi with all the flavor sucked out.

After lunch, it was on to the tourist village where we watched them making coconut candy and rice paper. All of which, they sold. They asked for a volunteer to make rice paper and Judy from our group bravely stepped up. Watching Judy struggle with the thin paper over the hot pan sent the locals into spasms of laughter.

We watched some young women hand embroidering Christmas placemats (in a mostly Buddhist country) as we arrived. They left about 20 minutes later. I’m convinced they were heading back to the sewing machines kept out of sight.

We had a “home stay” scheduled for that evening on one of the small islands. We were sleeping on cots with mosquito netting on top of a concrete slab. This would be home for us tourists only. The local family slept in the large house next door.

After dinner, a local band came by and played a few songs, ending with something that sounded like, and could have been, Auld Lang Syne. We went to bed early and some of the women started singing old camp songs. Luckily, they couldn’t remember the words so that died out early.

I, of course, still remember all the lyrics. (Retaining useless information is my gift.) But I wasn’t going to encourage them.

Photos above: Local woman making rice paper.

Photo left: The floating market.

Photo right: Me and the elephant "piss."

Expat Rules of the Jungle

Day 3 Outside Saigon

Photo: Deb pops out of the hidden tunnel.

Today we took a bus trip to the Cu Chi tunnels. The villagers started digging these in the 1940s, continuing for the next 25 years. They fought whatever invading army was above ground, including a U.S. military base during the Vietnam War.

These guys dug everything with bamboo tools and defended themselves with bamboo staked booby-traps. There were an estimated 10,000 people living underground who only came out at night to tend their crops and stage surprise attacks.

This didn’t sit well with the U.S. military who sent German Shepherds in to sniff them out. While good at sniffing, the dogs were hopeless at booby-traps. So many dogs died that their handlers refused to send them out anymore.

The U.S. found bombing to be more effective. One writer called this area the most bombed, shelled, gassed and defoliated area in the history of warfare, although another critic thought it didn’t have anything on the 1914/1918 Western front.

Today, the area is green and lush again, and part of the tunnels have reopened to accommodate tourists. I was able to go a few feet through one of the narrow tunnels before I became too claustrophobic. No chance I could have been born, schooled, married and died here.

Deb from our group was small enough to fit into one of the tiny trap doors. It is about the size of an A4 piece of copy paper. As I had eaten breakfast that morning, I didn’t even try.

Afterwards, they served us tea and tarrow root. Our guide’s father had lived in the tunnels. He had been the only survivor in his unit after American bombings. And now his son had a cushy job showing this area to American tourists.

Our next stop was the Holy See Temple. Hundreds of tourists climbed into the balcony to see an “extraordinary ceremony.” It was actually kind of a colorful meditation service as practiced by Cao Dai religious sect. Cai Dai is a “new” religion, meaning it’s only 100 years old. It covers all the bases, combining the teachings of Buddha, Lao Zi, Confucious and Jesus.

We went back to Saigon where I bought an oil painting. I had gone gallery shopping with about five other women in the group. The expat shopping rule is, whoever spots an item gets first dibs. One must verbally stake out the item by saying, “I’m thinking of buying this”,“I really like this”, “Did you see this one?” or even “What do you think about this?” You must make a decision quickly because someone outside the group could come in and buy it!

We had all liked one particular landscape artist, but I was quickest to select the “yellow” one. After that, Deb chose the other yellow one, Karen bought the big red one, and MaryAnn bought the other red one. (It must have been a very big week for the 79 year old artist.)

The first dibs rule applies only to one-of-a-kind items. When there are multiples, the entire group can buy the same thing. Even if you custom design something, other expats are free to copy for themselves whatever it was you had made. Here’s why: Within six months, one or the other of you will move somewhere else and you will ultimately both have the only one in town.
So the next time you are in the markets of Vietnam with your friends, you know the rules!

Photo right: The ceremony at the Cao Dai temple.

We Get Around

Photo:Thien Hau Temple.

Day 2 in Saigon

Today we took a half day tour of the city, visiting the Reunification Palace, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Central Post Office, Chinatown, the Binh Tay (Chinese) Market and Thien Hau Temple.

I was surprised that the War Museum was not on the schedule. It may have been deemed too graphic, and possibly too anti-American, for our sensibilities.

We had wanted to visit the U.S. Embassy where we remembered the pictures of the helicopters evacuating people before the fall of Saigon. (Incidentally, this event is called the liberation of Saigon by the current government.) This was impossible as the original U.S. Embassy was torn down.

That afternoon, we went to another temple where a bald Buddist nun demonstrated calligraphy. We were jammed into a room with a group of French tourists who complained to each other about us being in their way. You didn’t need to be fluent in French (although at least two of our members were) to get the gist.

It’s a small world, and people should never assume no one else understands what they are saying.

The nun penned a scroll for me, about not putting off tomorrow what you can do today. Not a bad idea, now that I'm 50. At Diane’s request, she added “Happy Birthday Nancy.” I’m having it framed as a souvenir.

I also received a long distance birthday greeting when I was at the Central Post office from Alec, who had called me from Buenos Aires. He seemed so far away.

He pointed out that later this week, our family would be on four different continents: Alec in South America, Larry at a business meeting in Seville (Europe), Taylor at home in Abu Dhabi (Middle East), and me in Asia. We certainly do get around!

What had I said earlier about it being a small world? And we are the fortunate ones who get to see so much of it.

Photo above: The Central Post Office.

Photo right: The caligraphy demonstration with us and the unhappy French tourists.

Next Stop is Vietnam

Photo: The orchid garden at the Singapore Airport. (These are real plants and flowers.)

For my trip to Vietnam, I had the good luck to be flying Singapore Airlines. Other than the seat size, coach class on Singapore Airlines has more amenities than most U.S. carriers have in business. I was greeted with a refreshing hot scented towel. My personal screen offered me a choice of 40 movies. So I have no excuse for choosing to watch “The Break Up.”

I could have also played video games from my seat, in competition with my fellow passengers, identified by their seat numbers, if I’d chosen.

After my seven hour flight, I had a four hour layover in Singapore, one of the best airports in the world. There’s so much entertainment and shopping, it’s a lot like having a layover at the mall. From there, I had a 90 minute flight to Saigon, which is now officially called Ho Chi Minh City.

In Ho Chi Minh, I stood in the passport line, only to be rejected because I needed a visa. That was a separate line. And for that, you had to have $25, a letter of invitation, and a passport size photo. I had an emailed letter of invitation from the tour company and the $25, but no photo.

No photo, no problem, I was told. The official at the visa desk had a “friend” with a camera who for $4 could fix me right up. I gave the friend a $5 bill. I didn’t get any change but he did walk me and my new visa through passport control.

A contact from the tour agency was waiting for me outside and drove me to the hotel to meet the rest of my group, who had arrived an hour earlier from Moscow. Other than the decidedly French architecture here and there, Saigon reminded me a lot of Beijing. Eating, drinking, washing up—all happened in the sidewalks. The streets were clogged with zillions of motorcyclists. Saigon bustled with activity.

We were staying at the historic Majestic Hotel on the river in an area with wonderful restaurants and boutiques. The Majestic, built in 1925, had been restored with modern amenities and yet managed to keep all of its colonial charm.

During the next five days, we saw the sites, ate wonderful Vietnamese food and shopped. Diane and I ordered lots of custom-made clothing, including some pieces with beautiful hand beading. The prices were more than reasonable but the main cost to us was time because of multiple fittings.

Our group also contributed to this capitalistic economy by buying art, silk and embroidered everything, lacquerware and Buddhas. (By the end of the trip, I think our group of 16 probably averaged three Buddha purchases per person.)

But the whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder what American soldiers who fought in Vietnam would make of this seemingly-thriving city today.

That Country Joe and the Fish song kept playing in my head: “And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for? Don't ask me. I don't give a damn. Next stop is Viet Nam”

Photo above: The view from the balcony where we breakfasted at the Majestic Hotel in Ho Chi Minh.

Photo right: Diane ordering a raw silk suit at "Creations" tailors in Ho Chin Minh.

DEET Tour

An important item on my packing list for Southeast Asia, especially as I had chosen to forgo malaria tablets, was mosquito repellent with DEET.

But I wasn’t having much luck finding any. At the third pharmacy I'd tried in Abu Dhabi, I launched into my description of insect repellent. The clerk led me to the insecticide section. The only mosquito repellent they sold was proudly labeled: No DEET.

Okay, so did they have mosquito coils? After explaining what a mosquito coil was, the answer was no.

What about converter plugs? After another explanation from me, the answer was again no.

Anxious to mark SOMETHING off my shopping list, I asked for a bottle of contact lense solution, an item I’d previously bought there. “No stock,” she said.

Feeling as if I’d morphed into some Monte Python sketch, I said, “You do sell products here, right?”

The clerk erupted in laughter and went behind the counter to fill up a small sack for me with all kinds of free sample products to “prove” they did sell stuff there. I came home with several travel sizes of medicated shampoo, blackhead scrub and Retinol.

I eventually found mosquito repellent with Deet during my four hour layover in Singapore, a place that knows something about mosquitoes. But that shopping experience, while ultimately more successful, was not as much fun.

Photo: Diane and I wearing our Vietnamese hats and plenty of DEET in the Mekong Delta.

On the Road Again

I am off to celebrate my hemi-centential in Viet Nam and Cambodia. Check back for updates after Nov. 20.

Waterlogged

The Rotana Beach is one of the most beautiful luxury hotels in Abu Dhabi. It’s the place where companies put you up to impress you during the job interview. After you’ve signed the employment contract, you’ll be staying at the Sheraton or Hilton.

I was at the Rotana last night. I could see the full moon over the sea behind the negative ledge pool. Surrounded by palm trees, the lush tropical setting couldn’t have been more lovely. But I was in no mood to appreciate it.

This is because I had been in that pool for hours practicing SCUBA skills to get certified. This included tasks like filling my face and nose mask with water and then blowing it all out with air from my regulator--all without resurfacing.

Other underwater duties included losing our regulators, recovering them, blowing the water out and then resuming breathing. We also practiced taking our weight belts off and holding onto them, a process that initially left me so unbalanced, I would immediately tumble over.

My fingers tips were shrunken shreds and my muscles ached. Getting certified is not a process to be untaken lightly. So far, I’d done a Discovery Dive, spent two days in classroom training, watched a video, read a textbook, completed five chapter quizzes and today spent five hours training in a pool.

It seems that SCUBA is a very safe sport if follow all the rules. There are a lot of fail safes built into the systems. I have an easy-to-read gauge that tells me how much air is in my tank. And if I screw up and don’t look at it, my required “buddy” has an extra regulator so I can breathe off of his tank. If I can’t find my buddy (that’s Screw Up #2 as you are always suppose to be close to your buddy), I can still ascend to the surface. This is assuming I haven’t exceeded the depth limitations for my recreational classification. If I’m too deep, that’s Screw Up #3 in a row and I’m in bigger trouble.

With all this training, I can now "sip" air underwater from a freeflowing regulator. I can regulate my depth by inhaling and exhaling. I can refill my BCD underwater manually by blowing into it in between inhaling from my regulator.

But I'm not done yet. Next up are ocean dives at lower depths to further practice waterlogging ourselves and changing oxygen supplies underwater. Are we having fun yet?

Photo: Nancy, second from left, in her more natural expat environment, a coffee at the British Embassy.