I woke up to discover, to my dismay, that what I’d thought was simply allergies was actually a full-fledged cold, sore throat and sneezing and all. My mind is enchanted by Southeast Asia, but between the stomach issues, heat exhaustion, and now this cold, my body is apparently rebelling against it. This Canadian girl is designed for cold climates, and I don’t function all that well when you remove me from my natural habitat. But, to paraphrase someone we all know, I decided I could be sick in the hostel or sick at the sights, so I might as well be sick at the sights.
After breakfast, I joined yet another local tour that I’d booked, this one a half-day trip to Cu Chi to see the famous tunnels. Cu Chi is about a two-hour (with traffic) drive from Saigon, and has become a bit of a symbol of the Communist regime’s story of heroic guerrilla resistance during the American War, particular during the Tet Offensive of 1968. The immense network of tunnels that they dug to hide from bombings and to mount their attacks have been somewhat preserved, and thousands of tourists flock there every day to see them.
The whole thing feels sort of like a garish theme park, with dummy soldiers holding replica weapons, re-creations of war-era booby traps, craters from bomb blasts, and the requisite souvenir shops. When we arrived, we were first shown a hilarious 70s-era communist propaganda film about the tunnels, and then we were led through the park, stopping to see the various exhibits and to take photos. There’s an 100m section of tunnel that tourists can actually crawl through, providing they’re not claustrophobic. I went through the first 25m or so before exiting; it wasn’t oppressive or anything, but I got the idea pretty quickly, and they tell you to watch out for bats. The tunnels have been widened twofold to accommodate fat western tourists; they originally would have only fit very skinny, half-starved Vietnamese guerrilla soldiers.
All of this was led by a guide who we’d quickly nicknamed “Mr Statistic” because of his habit of rattling off long and boring lists of statistics about Vietnam, such as the export quantities of various grains, the number of pagodas and temples in Saigon, or the litany of names and dates related to a thousand years of Vietnamese history. Away from his rehearsed spiel, though, he quietly told a few of us his own personal history, which was much more interesting: He was a university student in his first year of studying medicine when the war broke out and he was drafted into the army. He worked during the war years as a radio operator for the Americans. After the defeat of the Republic, his involvement with the American side was well documented, and he was sent to a re-education camp for two years. At that point, he stopped talking about it. I’ve read a little about the horrific things that went on at those so-called re-education camps, so I’m not exactly surprised that he wasn’t forthcoming.
Towards the end of the tour circuit, there’s an area with a live firing range, where, for a couple of bucks, tourists can shoot a rifle or an AK47. Due to that, the sound of gunfire was in the background for the entire tour. I found the whole thing rather ghastly and in poor taste, to be honest. I’m viscerally anti-gun, and had no desire whatsoever to have “fun” shooting weapons after spending half the day touring the damage that they’d done. Also, there’s no ear protection provided in the area, and gunshots are extremely loud. To avoid permanent hearing damage, I hightailed it out of the area pretty quick with my fingers blocking my ears.
We got back to Saigon mid-afternoon in the middle of a torrential downpour and thunderstorm. As has become my habit, I went to take a siesta and try to sleep off some of this cold. The afternoon nap is a habit I will need to break before going back to work next week, because I think I’ll get funny looks if I fall asleep at my desk. The short nap and shower left me feeling much better.
For dinner, a bunch of us went to try a barbecue place we’d heard about. It’s sort of like Korean BBQ, where they bring you the uncooked meat on skewers and you grill everything in the middle of the table. The food was delicious, and the restaurant was huge with a lovely outdoor garden. The heat and humidity had subsided a bit in wake of the rain, so eating outside was actually quite pleasant. The amusing part was that it is apparently the place where people go to celebrate birthdays; we counted at least five or six occasions where the waiters played a muzak version of the song and brought out a giant cardboard cake.
The others were heading to the Rex for drinks, but I was starting to fade again, so I headed back to make an early night of it. I’ve actually had depressingly few nights out on this trip. I think it’s a sign that I’m getting old.