You’ve heard of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, well, navigating Ho Chi Minh City on foot is a sort of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Mayhem.

I have never seen such a swarm of motorcylcles and scooters before.  The streets are awash in them, and seeing as there isn’t much in the way of stop signs, it all turns into one giant neverending stream of two wheelers. 

 

This one is just the parked ones on the sidewalk:

In order to cross the street, waiting for a break in traffic is futile and sprinting into the mash is foolish, so you take a zen approach and slowly but purposely walk into the swarm, and like magic you’re somehow integrated into the flow and the bikers dodge their way around you.  It’s like the hero in an action movie.  Bullets whiz all around him, yet somehow he never gets hit.  After awhile it becomes your favorite part of the city…you feel as though you could just close your eyes and zen your way all through Ho Chi Minh to nothing but the sounds of motorcycle engines and incessantly bleating horns.

Interesting mix, Ho Chi Minh (aka Saigon).  It has the Southeast Asia feel naturally, yet there’s a strong French influence and then there are all the reminders of the war like the Museums and the old Viet Cong tunnels outside the city that are now tourist spots for Westerners.  Because it’s the Vietnam War we’re talking about, it’s a whole other experience than, say, visiting Normandy or Lexington.

I went to the War Remnants Museum today.  Formally called–and I quote–”The House For Displaying War Crimes of American Imperialism and the Puppet government of South Vietnam”.  I guess the “Suck It, America Museum” was already taken. 

Kidding aside, it’s a pretty heartwrenching place, in particularly the section on Agent Orange.  The pictures of napalmed children kicks you in the gut.

As for the tunnels, you’ll have to get someone else to give you a description.  Once I heard  that over one section you have to crawl hands and knees, blocked in front and back by other tourists, I put aside any thoughts of going.

I don’t know if you remember the Seinfeld episode where George plows through a bunch of kids and shoves an old lady with a walker in order to flee a fire…well, put me in a tunnel below Saigon and I’m going to make George look like a saint as I Heisman my way outta there in claustrophobic panic.

Above ground?  I’ll be the first to open a door for the person coming the other way.  Below?  Get the eff out of my way, granny; I’m about to swallow my tongue whole.

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Ended up with a great mix of people last night.  Getting off the plane, I shared a taxi into the city with Brett and Amanda from Las Vegas.  She had connected on Couchsurfers.com with an Aussie living here in Vietnam.  The Aussie, Natasha, had put together a group of aabout 15 people–American, Welsh, South African, Aussie, Filipino, Hong Kong, Spanish, Malaysian, and Vietnamese…possiby more; I lost track.  About half lived here and half were visiting.

 The reason for the following picture of me and these four, is because when I introduced myself to them and they said where they were from, it went in exact order of my trip so far.  The first was from Hong Kong, the next said she was from Manila, the third was actually from Mindanao province–the island my parents married–and the last, Malaysia.  It was my trip in microcosm.  Well, if my trip were a pretty Asian woman.

In case your mind was going elsewhere when you saw this picture, it was in no way an excuse to surround myself with 4 pretty Asian woman.  (I’m shocked…shocked you would even think that of me).

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I called it an early night and walked home.  Like clockwork, Solo Guy Walking The Streets of a Big Asian City got the “Me get you girl?” treatment a few dozens times.  Though this time there was a twist–sticking with the motorcycle theme, I occasionally had a woman roll up onto the sidewalk on her motorbike asking if I’d like a ride.

I think I had that exact dream every night from the age of 15-18.  Alas, reality is a little darker than an adolescent boy’s fantasies, so back to the alley guesthouse alone I went.

One thing I have imbibed in though is Vietnames coffee.  Worth the trip itself.  My heart has been beating about 3 times it’s normal rate after a double Vietnamese black.  Hopefully it won’t throw off the necessary zen calm needed to keep me from becoming Ho Chi Minh roadkill…I’d hate to miss out on  Cambodia tomorrow.