Spring Break, Part 1 - "Call me Miss Saigon"

Hi friends,

I'm sorry to have neglected the blog for so long. After coming back from Viet Nam and Cambodia, I had a bit more work to catch up on, which took most of my time. The past week has been quite a difficult one, with the passing of my fellow exchange student, Scott Monat z"l. He was a great friend to many people in Singapore, and will be dearly missed. All of the exchange students here are helping each other cope and are being extremely supportive of one another. On Saturday night, we held a memorial for Scott, since we are all unable to attend his funeral in Atlanta. Things are very slowly going back to normal, as hard as it is to do.

I know I left you a long time ago, in much happier circumstances. Right before I left Singapore, the Chabad rabbi's son became a Bar Mitzvah. It was one of the happiest celebrations I've seen in a long time. I was invited to a small Shabbat dinner for family and close friends (mainly because I had nowhere else to go), and the food was beyond delicious. I had good conversation with Ahuva, the Israeli girl who often attends services, and ended up staying over the same family's house as her for the weekend.

Ahuva works at a kiosk in the mall, selling hand cream and other cosmetics. If you've ever been approached by one of these people in your local mall, there is an approximate 99.9% chance that they're Israeli. Some company offers Israeli kids who are straight out of the army (and usually jobless) a free trip to another country and a meager salary if they work as salespeople for them. I guess the idea works, since they're everywhere. Next time you're approached by one of these people, just say "Lo todah, motek," and watch the facial expression.

After dinner, the dancing started. At first it was just your average Chassidic stuff, circles around the room and using the table as a drum, accompanied by lots of clapping and singing. Then one of the Chabad boys, Leibel, got the idea to put the Bar Mitzvah boy on his shoulders and continue dancing. This was cute, and he seemed to be enjoying it. After a while, I guess they decided that this wasn't joyous enough, so someone else came over and put Leibel on his shoulders. Yes, it was a three-tiered hora. The Bar Mitzvah boy looked extremely frightened, and clutched onto Leibel for dear life. I have to admit, I was pretty nervous as well, but everything turned out fine.

The next weekend, I set off with some friends for our spring break trip to Viet Nam and Cambodia. We flew into Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and immediately hopped on a city bus to get to our hostel. We were the only foreigners on the bus, as most of the other tourists just took taxis to wherever they were going. Seeing as how the bus was 5,000 dong (30 cents), however, we made the executive decision to take the less glamorous mode of transport. The view from the bus was great, and for the hour long ride, we were introduced to Vietnamese traffic.

As my Footprint book says, traffic is the closest thing that Viet Nam gets to true communism; all of your decisions on the road have to be based upon other people's actions. In other words, stoplights are extremely rare and at intersections, people basically just weave around one another. Over the course of our stay, I must have literally seen hundreds of situations where there was almost an accident, including several with our own vehicle. But the best part is the ratio of motorbikes to cars - approximately 20:1. Looking at any city street, there are motorbikes as far as the eye can see. Most people wear helmets, but a good number don't, and I saw a lot of mothers driving with one hand and holding an infant with the other.

After being dropped off downtown, we found a back alley that was full of hostels and wandered around until we found one with enough vacancies for all eight of us. It was the cleanest place we've stayed so far (including the dorms at NUS), and actually was more of a small hotel than a hostel. For $10/night, we got air-conditioned rooms, daily maid service, cable tv, full breakfast and even those little shampoos that real hotels have. The people at the front desk offered us information on the city and good advice, including cheap and easy ways to see the things we wanted, and offered to lock up our passports (which is essential in Saigon).

We spent our first night getting acquainted with the city, and wandering around looking for food. Although Saigon lacks a lot in infrastructure, it makes up for it in character. The people all seem to be extremely happy, and there's plenty of parks and greenspace where everyone gathers to play games and practice Tai Chi. We called it a night early, and got up early the next day to check out Reunification Hall.

After Saigon fell in 1975, the former South Vietnamese capital was turned into a museum and a symbol of national unity. Much as the city of Saigon was renamed Ho Chi Minh City, the government stronghold Independence Palace was renamed Reunification Palace, after a Viet Cong tank came through the front windows. The architecture is retro, to say the least, and the interior decor is both harsh and lavish. For instance, the room for receiving foreign guests is draped in luxurious cloths and has an enormous crystal chandelier, but also has the horns of a large animal blocking the front entryway. The room used for addressing the public and the press has a golden mold of Ho Chi Minh's head. In my humble opinion, it's creepy.

On the roof are spray-painted two markers for where bombs were dropped in an attack, and the entire basement is a tribute to underground Viet Cong operations such as telegraphing, map work, radio signalling, food preparation, and torture. We walked through, politely nodding and smiling, and constantly making side-comments of "is that what I think it is?"

After leaving, we got lost through the city, until finally finding our way to a taxi and taking a 40 cent ride to the harbor. We then spent a lovely hour and a half on a very choppy ferry ride to the beach, and disembarked the boat only to be attacked by cab drivers. They literally followed us for two blocks, asking where we wanted to go, and trying to recommend places they knew that were "the best". Cab drivers and local businesspeople will often cut deals where the cabbies will get a commission for the tourists they drop off.

After a quick lunch, we found a guy who actually knew his way to the beach we wanted, and arrived at a part of town where Vietnamese people go to vacation, but Westerners generally don't. The beach was very crowded and had people grilling squid straight from the sea and selling cheap sunglasses. We were the only foreigners around, and for a long while we were swarmed by people trying to sell us anything and everything. After it became clear that we weren't spending a dime on food, much less cheap beachware, they left us alone.

We lazed around, having good conversation and sunbathing, for the rest of the day. The waves were pretty high, so we had fun bodysurfing and splashing through the afternoon. After some quick naps and dinner across the street, we found a bus back to the city. We went out that night for drinks, and found a place with a really nice rooftop view. I found a cute bag in a nearby shop that was made from old rice bags, and bought it to use as a daypack. Little did I know that this bag would serve as the groups's entertainment for the remainder of the trip.

The next day, we woke up early again to head out to the Cu Chi tunnels. We took a bus from downtown, and rode for a while through the rubber tree farms and rice paddies. Occasionally we passed by a small town, in which the houses were all very colorful and the people rode bicycles through the streets. We finally got to the tunnels, and walked through the forest and an underpass until our guide started the tour.

He first explained to us the cunning and resolve of the Vietnamese people in their defeat of the Americans, and how the land was essential for victory. He then took us to one of the entrances to the tunnels - a hole in the ground that was about 1 foot by 10 inches, with a removable lid that was easily covered by leaves. He proceeded to hop on into the hole, pull the cover over himself, and hide for a few seconds. After he asked who wanted to try going in next, and nobody seemed very keen on trying, I offered to do it.

After measuring up the size of the hole and the size of my backside, I quickly began to reassess my decision. He assured me that I wouldn't get stuck, but this argument sounded similar to the one I had with a woman selling dresses in Chinatown, who assured me I wouldn't get stuck trying on one of her dresses. After I did get stuck, and my chest was pushed up to about my chin, she chuckled and said, "oh, you bigger than you look!" Thanks, lady.

My friends started egging me on a little more, and finally I slipped into tunnel with ease. It was actually really cool, and I got some great photo ops. My intuition wasn't entirely wrong, though, since one of the girls who went in after me actually did get stuck. We moved on through the forest, and came to a swinging door in the ground, under which was a bed of spikes. Guess who that was meant for.

We were all thoroughly horrified at our guide's description of the trap, but we weren't at all prepared for what was coming next. After passing a huge crater in the ground that was marked "site of successful Viet Cong bombing of American enemy tank", we came upon a long row of displays. Each was a different kind of trap, with spikes placed in different areas and a variety of ways to catch a soldier's body in them. They were named things like "the scissors" and "the lawnchair", and our guide happily demonstrated how each worked. The worst part, however, was the mural on the wall behind them, showing American soldiers getting caught in the traps and gushing blood everywhere. We just stared, dumbfounded, while he proudly showed us the contraptions.

We were then taken to a larger hole in the ground, and invited to take a crawl through the tunnels, if we felt up to it. I climbed in, and quickly realized that light and space were not available. I mainly found my way through the meandering tunnels by shouting ahead to the person in front of me and feeling my way around the walls, which came closer and closer to my body the farther I pressed on. There were points at which I had to slide up and down, when the tunnels changed depth, and I soon had to go from walking bent over to crawling on my hands and knees. I was very glad I didn't suffer from claustrophobia, and tried to tell myself that I wouldn't be under for much longer.

We finally saw a bit of light, and came to the end of our section of the tunnels. We all spilled out, panting, and took a seat while we collected ourselves. Our guide, of course, bounced out of the tunnels with a huge smile, and asked us how we liked our small taste of underground life. It was clear that we all had fun, but also appreciated being back above ground.

Following a quick offer of pricey souvenirs and the chance to shoot a Viet Cong rifle, we were ushered into several underground shelters that demonstrated weaponry, tool-making, rice cake preparation, and other skills. One had propoganda posters hung next to maps showing the paths used by soldiers, with some benches set up in front of a television. We had to watch a short video on the war and the involvement of underground village people in its outcome. About every minute, there was some mention of killing Americans, or of an "American-killing hero", and I repeatedly turned around to look at Tony and Kevin to demonstrate my reactions. It was weird. It was really weird.

After referring to us repeatedly as his family, our guide bid us farewell and we got back on the bus. I looked down at my arms, legs and clothes to find that my nice little daypack had covered all of them in ink. I was a red and blue mess, and therefore became the comic relief for everyone I was with. The ride back was another beautiful view of the paddies, and cows grazing in fields alongside them.

Once back in town, the girls and boys split up to find tailors. We bought silk nightgowns and robes for ridiculously cheap prices, while the boys got custom-fitted suits for a steal. I also managed to find the Ho Chi Minh Chabad center and speak with the rabbis for a little while. In case you're ever looking for it, you should know that it's almost impossible to find. There's a small sign with an arrow pointing down a backalley, and if you walk in that direction you'll find it behind a gate. I was offered food, obviously.

We spent that night walking around the night market in town, getting some very cheap food and doing some excellent peoplewatching. The crafts for sale were really nice, and we all picked up some things for our friends and family before taking a casual walk through the park. There were a group of boys playing a game that looked a lot like hackey sack, but the object they were kicking had a feather. We clapped along and Sam kicked a stray ball back into the circle, winning the applause of the boys.

Later that night, we met up with some of Jessie's friends who are studying abroad in Saigon, and they took us to a place down one of the backalleys that's frequented by locals and brews their own beer. It's fermenting beer, so it tastes a little different, but it's 30 cents for a pint, so we indulged. We sat in the children's play chairs that Vietnamese people seem to have no trouble fitting into, and got offered a bicycle ride by several male sex workers who shake foot hammers to get your attention. A little boy came by and did a fire-eating show for us, which was entertaining, but depressing.

The next morning we were able to sleep in a little bit before going to the War Remnants Museum. I was expecting it to be similar to the Cu Chi Tunnels, in that it celebrated the death of American soldiers, but I was wrong. The museum had a very somber tone, and mostly paid attention to the damage that the war did in general. There was an exhibit of a prison cell, torture chamber, and execution methods used under the South Vietnamese, next to a list of all the cities and villages that were bombed, massacred, or otherwise destroyed.

A great deal of the museum was devoted to the effects of Agent Orange, and had hundreds of pictures of people who were injured and babies born with disabilities and deformities from the chemicals. The pictures, surprisingly, included both Vietnamese and American victims, and paid tribute to American soldiers who tried to reduce death tolls or protested the war back in the states. There was also information about the effect the chemicals had on the Vietnamese ecosystem and starvation people experienced as a result, along with quotes and information about political and religious groups and people who protested the war both in the US and elsewhere. They showed pictures of the demonstrations and documents written about the war.

There was also an art exhibit of works done both in tribute to, and done by, victims of the war, and pictures drawn by Vietnamese children to celebrate joining the WTO and focusing on world peace. The showed American and Vietnamese people holding hands and smiling, and other countries standing next to them. It was a very emotionally taxing place to visit, but I'm glad I went.

After the museum, we walked to the Xa Loi Pagoda, the largest pagoda in Saigon and the center of the Buddhist resistance to South Vietnamese forces during the war. Inside, there is a huge statue of the Buddha (it looked about 50 feet tall) that is covered in gold and surrounded by relics and pictures. The structure itself is beautiful, and in order to reach the entrance you have to climb a great deal of stairs and pass a lot of panhandlers to whom Buddhists give alms. We weren't allowed inside, but just outside is a case enclosing the charred heart of Thich Quang Duc, the Buddhist monk who lit himself on fire and burned to death in a busy intersection in protest of the persecution of Buddhists by South Vietnamese forces in 1963.

We soon went back to the hotel to gather up our things and board the bus to Cambodia. We chose the VIP bus (which is $6 instead of $4), and settled in for our 7-hour long ride with music, food, drinks and games. Crossing the border was easy enough, since getting a visa into Cambodia is really just a matter of having $20 and a passport that looks remotely valid.

Before we reached Phnom Penh, though, the bus veered slowly off the road and into what looked like someone's backyard. It soon looked as though we were going to drive straight into a body of water, since I couldn't see out the front of the bus, and we were suddenly in a deadlock traffic jam with other cars and trucks. The scenery then started moving. I was very confused, and looked up to realize that we had just driven onto a ferry. Apparently, there isn't enough money to build a bridge there, so cars get from one side of the Mekong River to the other by packing on to a ferry.

The whole thing was absolutely hilarious, and kind of fun. Beware, however, of the giant insects that swarm the river at night. Luckily, our driver knew to close all the windows and doors before we got anywhere near the water, but the car next to us wasn't so lucky, and looked like they were battling bugs on steroids for the next 10 minutes. All in all, a pretty apt introduction to Cambodian transport.

That's all for now, but I'll be sure to write soon with the rest of our adventures in Cambodia (which, by the way, is my favorite country that we've been to so far). If you have access to Facebook, I'm tagged in about a hundred pictures from the trip, so check those out. Toodles!
Until next time,
Lizzy