Reporting from Saigon

by aengelson | September 2nd, 2010

Shopping for flip-flops and sunglasses at Ben Thanh Market, Saigon.

We had the day off on the Vietnamese National Holiday, so we decided to take a little getaway down to Ho Chi Minh City, otherwise known as Saigon. I hadn’t been yet during our one year living in Vietnam. Joanie and I did visit HCMC during our round-the-world trip back in 2000, and now it seems quite different. Click here or on the photos in this post for a Flickr gallery of more pictures.

Mostly, I noticed fewer bicycles and motorbikes, many more cars, and slower traffic. It has a different feel from Hanoi–more commercial, and really, almost more Western (although we’ve just spent most of our first day in the Dong Khoi area, which is a place of fancy hotels, shi-shi restaurants and shops selling everyday consumer goods like Gucci, Nike, and Prada).

Our first day, we wandered the city a bit, and visited the Ben Thanh Market, a covered emporium selling shoes, hair clippies, t-shirts and other things you won’t find at Gucci. Then lunch at a pho place, of course.

Then a visit to the old South Vietnam presidential palace, known officially as Independence Palace. I totally dig this place–it’s been kept just about exactly as it was in 1975 when North Vietnamese tanks smashed through the gates  and flew the big yellow star flag from the roof. Funky 1970s decor, a collection of animal heads and stuffed leopards, elaborate guest and meeting rooms–plus lots of rotary-dial telephones. It’s like a set from Austin Powers–complete with a mod “gambling room” and hipster bar, a cinema (where you can see the old projection room, too), and all sorts of old telexes, radios, and other James Bond villain-lair stuff. Reminded me of the old 1970s-ea Air Force One they have on display at the Museum of Flight in Seattle.

I was curious to find the former president’s library. On the shelf I spotted Henry James, Alex Haley, Graham Greene (but not The Quiet American) and some Winston Churchill. I didn’t see any Machiavelli, but I didn’t look too closely.

At the former South Vietnamese presidential palace

The girls liked the basement, with its secret tunnels, and lots more rotary phones, battle maps, and gigantic vacuum-tube radio equipment. Too bad the place was the headquarters of some inept and corrupt regimes the US propped up during its fiasco of a war. One wonders if some day the Afghan palace or the Green Zone in Baghdad will be open to curious tourists…

After a tiring, hot day we went out for dinner at a Spanish Tapas restaurant, Pachara, (not exactly local cuisine, but it was near our hotel, and super delicious–even the girls liked it).

Next up: Cholon and Dam Sen amusement park!

One Response to “Reporting from Saigon”

  1. A little take on the pic of the heli-pad movies milf sex at the Presidential Palace.
    It’s right above former President Nguyen Van Thieu’s bedroom. There’s story about how Nguyen Cao Ky, who was the Premier at the time, liked to land his own helicopter there while the president was sleeping just to get him ticked off.
    That’s him attending the funeral of Vo Van Kiet, former PM of current VN, which was held in the reception hall. This is a guy who bragged during the war that he enjoyed flying bombing missions to the North.

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About This Site

Hi, I'm Andy Engelson, a writer and editor who lived in Hanoi for five years and now lives in Geneva Switzerland. This blog is no longer active, but you can find more of my writing at The Lost Salt Atlas. I'm currently working on a historical novel set in the Northwest United States during World War II. In a former life, I edited Washington Trails magazine. I like to hike, travel, and play with my family.


Do the barnacle larvae care? Does the lacewing who eats her eggs care? If they do not care, then why am I making all this fuss? If I am a freak, then why don’t I hush?
Our excessive emotions are so patently painful and harmful to us as a species that I can hardly believe that they evolved. Other creatures manage to have effective matings and even stable societies without great emotions, and they have a bonus in that they need not ever mourn. (But some higher animals have emotions that we think are similar to ours: dogs, elephants, otters, and the sea mammals mourn their dead. Why do that to an otter? What creator would be so cruel, not to kill otters, but to let them care?) It would seem that emotions are the curse, not death—emotions that appear to have devolved upon a few freaks as a special curse from Malevolence.
All right then. It is our emotions that are amiss. We are freaks, the world is fine, and let us all go have lobotomies to restore us to a natural state. We can leave the library then, go back to the creek lobotomized, and live on its banks as untroubled as any muskrat or reed. You first.
— Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek


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