Ah Saigon! So much has been told to us about Saigon – the noise, the corruption, the traffic, the seediness…I don’t know why but I really liked the place. It just seemed like a big modern city. Unlike Hanoi, Saigon is dominated by wide boulevards, modern office blocks in places, thousands of restaurants and a more dynamic nightlife than anything you’d ever find in Hanoi.
While Hanoi has the cream of old French architecture, and the winding streets of the Old Quarter, Saigon reflects a different style of town, laid out and built later, it seems to be able to cope with the increased use of motorised vehicles, while still giving a hint of a French provincial city. The L’hotel de Ville is a truly beautiful turn of the century wedding cake of a French building, with the art deco Post Office being the only other building to be able to compete in terms of style.
Our first night had a slight French theme about it as we tucked into fish soup followed by steak and frite at La Forchette, followed by an evening drink at Allez Boo, a popular bar in the backpacker area. It was quite a contrast to Hanoi, with buzzing Vietnamese barstaff, quite obviously enjoying their night’s work, while fashionably dressed Vietnamese young women drank vodka and Orangina (not a likely sight in Hanoi where the hardest thing a Vietnamese woman drinks in public would be a double expresso!). This easy going attitude was reflected in the attitude of people in Saigon and the south in general, easy to chat too, more outgoing, not so phased by western behaviour. The southerners are also a bit more chunky, whether this is just because they were the product of pioneer stock and harder living or due to a superior lifestyle in the south over the last 30-40 years I don’t know.
The next day we met Kris who’d travelled down to HCMC for a city break, so after breakfast we leisurely took in the sights, the post office, the cathedral, a swanky new shopping centre and the Caravelle bar, with panoramic views of the city (no culture for us!). The evening was spent in the Allez Boo again. Unlike Hanoi the bars in HCMC spill out onto the street, with cooling air provided by misty water sprays cascading down from the windows above. This al fresco lifestyle does reveal a less pleasant aspect of Ho Chi Minh City to the visitor, as you are continuously hassled by street vendors, often aged no more than six or seven. It’s a bit depressing when you end up buying cigarettes off a fourteen year old. On one occasion while eating dinner, a five year old ended up sitting next to me while trying to shift some postcards. After being politely being told by us ‘no thank you’, she then proceeded to start sucking on my arm which was most odd, while she muttered ‘no thank you, no thank you, fuck off! Fuck off!’ I can’t guess where she picked up such charming expressions. Another soul who seemed to live in the packpacker district was a Vietnamese boy called Phu, who with no discernable source of income, living off the generosity of visitors. Sadly he seemed to have some kind of disability, which gave him a distracted air. He seemed to be a familiar face to all the bar and restaurant staff who treated him very politely. He took great pleasure in drinking copious amounts of Coca Cola (which on our first meeting he paid for himself), while on the next time we bumped into him, he accompanied us to a restaurant and copied my choice of vanilla ice cream with coffee poured on top – something which he didn’t really seem to enjoy. He was quite a one for money too, in a completely innocent way, often trying to grab Kris’ purse while attempting to add up the bill, which I think made Kris a little bit nervous as it had all her money in it.
After achieving nothing of any cultural value on the Friday, we went mad on the Saturday by booking a tour to the Cu Chi Tunnels.
Bow down to Cu Chi
You know about it before you come to Vietnam, but nothing prepares you for the reality of life in the Cu Chi Tunnels. They feature often in the literature, films and first hand accounts of the war, but a visit dispels the junk accumulated by years of watching Tour of Duty or any of the US Vietnam war films. No more stereotypes of mindless ‘gooks’, faceless ‘Charlie’ or evil ‘VC’. Instead you see at first hand, a place where a people stood resolute in the face of the enemy within an hour’s drive of Saigon. A place where people for over a generation refused to surrender or give ground.
After a drive for about an hour through the Ho Chi Minh City suburbs, we began to leave the urban sprawl behind. A few new planted forests later, and a drive by a former US army base and we were at Cu Chi. Or rather we were at one part of a gigantic complex, which stretches from the Saigon river to the Cambodian border. The tunnels are a gigantic monument to the ingenuity, bravery and stamina of the Vietnamese people. The complex stretches for miles below ground, while the district of Cu Chi above remained in general a thorn in the side of the US and the Saigon regime for the whole period of the war.
Travelling by night, the villagers of Cu Chi were able to let bombs off in Saigon, while being able to return to Cu Chi by tunnel during the day. Through the tunnel complex and it’s stretch to the Cambodian border linking it to the Ho Chi Minh trail, the Cu Chi district remained a flank controlled by the Communists throughout the war, unbelievable considering the proximity to the huge US military presence.
Our group and guide got out of the minibus once inside a large compound, the sharp cracks of gunfire could be heard, while the overgrowth and jungle surrounded us. We followed our guide into the undergrowth, to a covered pavilion where three dummies stood. The three figures wore different uniforms, which the guide helpfully explained the significance of. One of the women figures wore black pyjamas, camouflage cloak, a floppy wide brimmed jungle hat, carried an AK47, wore tell-tale ‘Ho Chi Minh’ sandals, the soles of which were made from car tyres and finally had the famous Cu Chi checked scarf, which was worn for purely practical reasons, doubling up as it did as a towel or flannel. Another male figure was dressed in green combat fatigues, wore canvas shoes and represented a regular North Vietnamese Army regular, who apparently were able to travel the Ho Chi Minh trail all the way down to Cu Chi from the north. The first exhibit we visited was a small shack which showed piles of military hardware. Helicopter gunship rocket launchers, missiles, B 52 bombs, artillery shells and mines. All these had been recycled by the Cu Chi people to be used against the Americans and the AVRN (southern army).
Next up was a short propaganda film. Amazingly naïve in it’s making, black and white, all crackly sound and bizarre English, I couldn’t but think of a darkened Conway Hall in 1967, packed with people sitting in the dark, the silver light glistening off their eyes as they watched tales of Vietnamese heroism at a meeting of the Vietnam Solidarity Campaign. Perhaps such a film these days wouldn’t be quite so heavy handed, and it would probably be necessary to tone down the awarding ‘medals of ‘American Killing Heroes’, but hey, that’s the way it was.
And then, the jungle.
The canopy cooled our bodies, visibility dropping to a few yards. Now and again the guide would point to B52 bomb craters to either side of the path. Eventually we entered a clearing, and the guide stated: ‘You are now within a metre of the entrance to the Cu Chi tunnels. Can you find it?’ We looked around the deserted clearing and eventually the guide stepped into the middle of our group, scuffled around for a few seconds and opened a hole into the ground which didn’t look any bigger than a postage stamp – the journey was about to begin. I opted out of the ‘get down a hole that’s smaller than one of your legs scenario’ and snapped a few shots of Felicity and Kris squeezing through the hole. An innocent termite mound nearby turned out to be a gun position, while another small hillock represented the exit point for smoke from Cu Chi tunnel kitchens. The smoke from chimneys below ground were slowly allowed to escape by the use of multiple chambers, slowing and dissipating the smoke and smell of cooking over many hours. Initially, to throw American troops off the existence of the tunnels, the villagers would employ pepper or chilli to confuse their dogs, but once the Americans twigged that the dogs had started developing runny noses at certain points, they then became more sophisticated, by using stolen US uniforms or personal affects to make the tunnels smell of Americans and thereby ‘normalising’ the smell of the tunnels from the dogs. Even if sections of the tunnels could be found, the size of the tunnels were too small for the US soldiers to get down, and deadly booby traps awaited the insane.
I braved the first short tunnel, which dropped to three metres below ground. I have to say this probably gave us a false sense of security about what lay ahead, but it proved interesting to see the hospital quarters, which must have kept in utter silence. The tunnel itself just required you to bend your knees slightly, and although uncomfortable due to putting all your weight on your thighs was quite doable. Of course we were in a section of the tunnel that had been widened to cope with the
* cough * more ample frames of us westerners.
Next came the big one. Yes, the three metre below ground tunnel had been slightly uncomfortable, but we’d done ten metres without any real problems so a hundred and ten metres didn’t sound like much. To be fair, the guide did issue a health warning in his own way:
‘now it’s time to rock and roll! This tunnel drops to the second level at six metres, and I should warn you that those of you with breathing problems or a history of heart problems, should not do it’. Considering this is the first health warning we’ve received in Vietnam, we probably should have taken it more seriously in retrospect.
The descent into darknessOnce again it seemed to be not too bad. Although your back begins to ache, and your thighs are now beginning to have a slight burning sensation about them, the first ten metres or so passed off without incident. The way ahead lit every few metres by electric lights – a luxury I doubt the Cu Chi people had.
10 metresAfter a couple of minutes we could stand up in what turned out to be a dimly lit concrete chamber, a group of four dummies sat around a table, one of the dummies gesturing at a map of Cu Chi behind them. This was one of the command bunkers. Each of the figures represented a different section of the Cu Chi leadership. A Ho Chi Minh Youth Union member, a Communist Party official, a Cu Chi woman and a NVA regular officer. Well that was easy was the thought at the back of my mind…it’ll only take a few minutes to knock off the other hundred metres…I mean people can run the 100 metres in less than ten seconds it’s not that far, is it?
20 metresSo the trauma began. Again, I stared off on my feet, but my back was beginning to aggravate me. This was coupled by my head now scraping against the tunnel roof, as you had to fight the mental imperative to stand up. The tunnel floor began sloping gently down towards the six metre level.
30 metresThe passage began narrowing, my elbows and forearms scraping the rough hewed walls. Felicity was a few yards in front of me. she had already descended onto all fours. No panic yet, although my breathing began to be laboured as I attempted to suck in more of the moist dead air. Sweat began to cascade off my face, my arms already puckering with rivulets of moisture, my trousers slowly absorbing the damp salty drips from my legs. But this was keeping it real…I only had to do this for a few minutes, while people had lived for decades like this…
40 metresThe floor appeared to bottom out, as had my enthusiasm. There was now just enough space to adopt the lotus position as I rearranged my now tangled limbs into a new configuration, now crawling on all fours, my knees became the main problem, while the thighs still throbbed away.
50 metresWhat is it about the human mind, that when enclosed in small spaces, suddenly demands that the body that carries it should now stand up? Why is it now an issue, I thought. The dark way ahead now rarely punctuated by lights. Breathing was becoming increasingly haggard.
60 metresIt’s all dark. Felicity is ahead somewhere in the black before me, a disembodied voice informing me that ‘it’s wet here!’ Nothing can be seen, so your eyes begin entertaining themselves with green and pinks swimming in front of your retinas.
70 metresAnother change in position, another ludicrous angle to negotiate. The tunnel is now twisting and twirling, as we seem to be trapped in some kind of insane giant hamster cage. I am now totally soaked by a combination of my own sweat and the flooded floor of the path.
80 metresPassageways open to the left and the right of us. Our bodies are now screaming in agony, my knees bruised and the scratches on our arms and backs now reaching bleeding point. Felicity is now shouting: ‘Hello? Hello? Which way is it?’ A disembodied voice ahead replies helpfully ‘this way’. Felicity calls after them ‘can you wait for us?’ silence is the response. We all want to get out as soon as possible, every person is absorbed by this thought.
90 metresGod. It can’t be any longer can it? I am now on my arse, waddling along. I am not enjoying it. Now the floor drops and I have to slide my way down a gentle slope around a slight corner.
100 metresIs it my imagination or is the floor now gradually sloping upwards? The lighting seems to be improving too. My crab-like movements are slowly eating through the centimetres to the surface.
105 metresYes! The floor is now on a distinctly upward slope and my creaking joints and aching limbs make one last stumble towards daylight
110 metresI blink at the light, as we crawl out of the tunnel to find ourselves in a small canteen area. A long table is piled high with Cu Chi delicacies. Semolina and bread fruit. Christ, after spending days in tunnels with would drive me mad, they then ate this stuff! Both Felicity and me are shattered. We cast evil glances at those members of our group, who having decided not to do the tunnel are now posing at the exit hole pretending they’ve just completed the 8th task of Hercules. Humph.
Heading southAfter our exploits in Ho Chi Minh City we awoke the next day to catch a bus to Chau Doc, a small town on the Cambodian border. At 8am a small bus pulled up to transport us to the ‘bus station’. After a fifty minute ramble through Ho Chi Minh City’s suburbs, picking people up from their houses we eventually arrived at the bus station (a hole in the wall with just enough room for everyone’s luggage) for the connection to our ‘big bus’. Come back An Phu all is forgiven! The ‘big bus’ turned out to be the miniaturised version that Mercedes seem to have developed for the Vietnamese body frame. Us big ‘uns got shoved in the back as a concession to our slightly larger bodies – not that this made a difference as they then proceeded to squeeze another three people into the back, later on topping this up with a random traveller making the total six on a seat that a Ford Cortina would have been proud of. To add to the cosy seating arrangement the air conditioning seemed incapable of coping with so many people and by the end of the journey from hell it was with great relief that we found ourselves dumped off in what looked like waste ground on the outskirts of Chau Doc. Actually to be fair, the other four people we shared the back seat with were great, one young boy, a tiny baby and mother and a teenage girl all were very friendly and the time was passed with the baby experimenting in touching and pulling the hair of my arms – obviously bemused by its hairy neighbour. Despite the six hour journey the countryside also provided a distraction from the cramping limbs, as the vista began to expand, revealing criss-cross water ways, bamboo bridges, stilt houses and a plethora of water activity.
