Years (and years) on, there I stood: at the foot of the Rex Hotel, the hub of American wartime correspondence and the military command's Daily Conference throughout the late 60s and 70s. The History and Politics graduate inside me got that Christmas Eve feeling - it was really happening, I was really shadowing the footsteps of some of the most ground-breaking twentieth-century political events. I looked around me, ready to see hoards of equally as awe-struck students and tourists alike, glassy eyed and camera-ready. But alas, all I saw was a busy city full of busy traders and business men and a hell of a lot of motorbikes. Life went on around this ground-breaking site, and I was brought crashing down to the less glamorous reality that this city is developing - and fast - and to those who have walked past the Rex Hotel every day for the last 40 years with decreasing interest and perhaps only shadows of resentment and anger, this day was no different to any other and this still-used hotel was a nearly forgotten protagonist of South Vietnam's past.
Or perhaps everyone was just more interested in the ritzy Chanel shop which now occupies the ground-level of the building. A strange sense of irony.
When I arrived in Ho Chi Minh, I had rode off the back of a typhoon - a weather phenomena that I had never come across before. It started as a heavy but unimpressive rain shower (18years living in the UK - I was hardly impressed by a little rain storm) but quickly progressed to dominating the national news and a total shut down in transport and trade. This had made my crossing into Chau Doc and my questionable choice to hop on the back of a motorbike to tour the vicinity of the Vietnamese border somewhat regrettable. Whilst the driver - Hao - assured me those rolling black clouds and distant thunder claps were not going to be a problem until the evening, I found it hard to appreciate his stopping by a river-measure to show me how dramatic the 12-foot floods were the year before. When I tentatively suggested perhaps he should just return me to my hotel now, Hao laughed, swerved the motorbike to avoid a family of cats, and proceeded to drive me up the side of a mountain. He must have had a poor grasp of English, or perhaps just a really specific sense of humour.
Nonetheless, I made it to a post-storm Ho Chi Minh city and was pleasantly surprised to find the temperatures ever so slightly more enjoyable and slightly less damp.
The first obstacle that any visitor to the city must cross, quite literally, is the traffic and road system. By foot, the task that the infamous proverbial chicken faced of crossing the road to get to the other side became a far greater challenge than could be imagined and was many people's ideal of a total nightmare. Traffic is endless - swells of motorbikes undulate through the vast, multi-lane city roads. I could count the number of actual crossings and traffic lights that I saw on one hand (and even that hand might be a digit or two down). I was quickly advised to walk in a long, slow-moving line with other people across the roads so that the motorbikes have a better chance of dodging you (what a reassurance!). I survived unscathed but I wouldn't recommend squeezing your eyes shut and making a dash for it.
Getting around on foot is, otherwise, a pretty great way of seeing the city. Small, for a capital, but with the very concise air of a city on the increase. Buildings were going up higher, and the city borders were moving out wider.
Hotels and corporate hubs were coated a familiar glossy, reflective-glass exterior, giving the buildings that general city-vibe. They could have been anywhere; not distinctive to Ho Chi Minh in any way. However, seek and ye shall find: I soon found myself stumbling across dramatic Art-Deco buildings, and ceremonial halls and visiting the most impressive post-office I have ever seen (high ceilings, dramatic Art-Deco-esque murals and a mandatory, huge framed picture of Ho Chi Minh himself - puts the postie-cum-off-licence next door to me to shame, that's for sure). The post office also faced the city's vast and surprisingly full Catholic Church. I was dutifully informed by a Vietnamese woman sitting on the steps that the church was a sight to behold at Christmas. The church was circled by fast and busy roads, and pavements which were being mounted by helmet-clad motorcyclists, one of which I saw on the other side of the road promptly swipe a large SLR Camera in it's bag from the shoulder of one tourist and speed off. Some fellow tourists rush to help and offer comfort, but most people kept walking, perhaps having seen this happen many times before. Personally, I found it a little hard to imagine a magical Christmas Eve here.
The whole city got a little bit more sparkly by night and a tad more blurry after visiting a fine establishment celebrating the height of Vietnamese nightlife and fun - karaoke.
You rent a room, with a television, a couple of microphones, a few sofas and chairs and an endless catalogue of Western and Asian music options. Options were therefore not so much in short supply, however the selection seemed extremely random. Instead of Adele or Whitney Houston belters, we had Men At Work's 'Down Under'. Instead of Frank Sinatra or Aerosmith, we had several language translations of 'English Man In New York'. My personal favourite being a performance from another man in the room who roared out every English word in a heavy German accent.
Thankfully, the wine was cheap. Or it was if you ordered Vietnamese wine (Dalat Wine). Whilst I admit that even a portion of Fish and Chips would have run away to hide from this stuff, I developed a bit of a taste for it. But for £2 a bottle - who wouldn't?
Despite being the largest city in Vietnam, my brief time in Ho Chi Minh City did little for advancing my personal understanding of Vietnamese culture. Tiny flecks of the long-gone French influence existed there in the form of delicious bakeries and patisseries, and there were copious authentic restaurants ready to serve you their personal take on spring rolls or fried noodles - with or without Frog - but this was slightly overshadowed by a distant feeling of Westernisation. Whilst there was not a McDonalds in sight, nor any other visible Western food franchises, the city-dwellers grasp of English seemed surprisingly developed and the fashion shops would not have looked out of place on Oxford Street.
Nonetheless, this was culture in itself: Ho Chi Minh City is a melting-pot of people in a transitional period into a fast developing and growing capital city. The turbulent Vietnamese 20th century history is far more absent than I expected considering its comparatively recent discourse, but perhaps that makes it easier to see Ho Chi Minh City's growth as recovery as well as modernisation. Still far more modest than cities like Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur, I can imagine HCMC will soon be an economic hub of South East Asia and I already can't wait to revisit in a decades time - perhaps I can stand in view of the Rex Hotel once again amongst a greater international appreciation. Or perhaps it just won't exist any more.
Either way, I hope they continue making the robust but bargain-buy Dalat Wine.
UNMISSABLE: Cu Chi Tunnels - a truly astonishing insight into the Guerilla warfare techniques of the Vietnamese. You can observe and even try-out the vast network of hidden tunnels which Vietnamese soldiers fought, hid and lived in as well as see the surprisingly graphic torture and booby-trap displays. Very illuminating with the slight bizarre option to shoot AK47s in a mini-shooting range at the end. All ages welcome and protective clothing optional.
EATING: Pho 2000 is worth a visit for some Saigon delicacy with a real Vietnamese local feel to it. And apparently Bill Clinton went here too. Near a large market which is also worth a visit beforehand.
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