October 27 - 29, 2005

We were met at the airport by our new guide Duyen (pronounced like the letter "U" and "in" -- Uin"). Because we had arrived early in the day, Duyen did not take us to the hotel right away but to the Presidential Palace. We were dressed for air-conditioned airports, airlines and hotels. When we stepped out of the car the heat and humidity slapped us hard.

As we toured we kept crossing paths with the grade 3 or 4 students. Enthusiastic "hello"s greeted us each time (we responded "sin chao") and they welcomed having their pictures taken. At one point we stood on a small landing by a staircase waiting for the President's private elevator when the troop made its way passed us. We don't know how many little hands we shook plus the teacher's, or how many times we said "Hello. Nice to meet you" but we felt a little bit like a president and first lady. When finally the end of the line came the head teacher asked clearly with a smile, "Are you glad to meet me too?"

Next stop after the Presidential Palace was a square near the centre of Saigon. Bordering the square are numerous buildings including a HSBC glass tower completed in 2000; the Notre Dame Cathedral and the ornate Post Office Building. [Three days later some people claimed they saw the statue of Mary weeping (for the 4th time) and the traffic jams ensued as people flocked to the area.]

Mister Bung, our driver, took us to Chinatown and we stopped at a Chinese Temple. Like crown molding around the open courtyard ornate carvings of happy gathered people looked down on those gathered below. Pink strips of paper lined parts of the side walls, most with Chinese labeling but Duyen was able to translate one written in Vietnamese which recognized the donation of rice, named the family and donation date.

Overhead, in an area before the alter, large spirals of incense hung down in cone shapes like simplistic Christmas trees. The lower end of the coil was lit and, as with other incense, left to slowly burn. These ones were being burnt with prayers for family members on trips. "They can burn up to a month," Duyen told us.

We checked into the Continental Hotel in Saigon, District One, across the street from the Opera House and next to Saigon's first five star hotel, The Hyatt, plus the Caravelle (holding Saigon's only casino, which is not available to Vietnamese ... the closest casino for them is across the border in Cambodia), and the Sheraton.

After getting settled in, we walked the streets on our own. More Americanized than Hanoi but still with the vibrancy of people in motion. We went to the roof top bar of the legendary Rex Hotel ... the watering hole of war correspondents during both the Indo-China War and American War. A man in a blue and white striped linen suit sat at the bar writing in a journal. Every so often, he would gaze up and out to this city with so much history; but he didn't appear to be in this time, but somewhere else with an old friend in his youth.

A stroll through the huge, busy and crowded main market let us drink in the local flavour of daily commerce of the people who live and shop here, as well as a smattering of tourists trying their hand at bartering.

A light dinner at the Continental and off to bed in preparation of another full and exiting day.

A farm lady appeared as we were setting the camera and without hesitation she waded into the hip deep water and picked a lotus in full bloom and a large bud, re-emerged and handed them to Sherrie. Duyen translated our request to take a picture. The beautiful lady graciously stood back keeping her smile (which we believe is a permanent reflection of her personality) and then quickly turned and seemed to disappear again.

What a beautiful moment in our travels.

Life in Vietnam’s agrarian heartland still unfolds as it has for centuries. A myriad of delta waterways brought us closer to the traditional floating market. This is a wholesale version. Sometimes the farmers will bring their produce ~ sugar cane, sweet potatoes, jack fruit and so much more, through the different water channels to the "middle-men" on these bigger boats. Sometimes smaller boats tied behind the larger ones are used to go out to the farms and collect produce for this aquatic market. It’s all negotiated.

Each boat had a sample of what it had for sale hung on a high pole for all to see. At the moment things were quiet. Lunch time. Time to eat, swing in a hammock, do a boat repair or have a bath.

A short time passed the floating market our "captain" maneuvered his craft to the shore and we walked up to some buildings at the end of a narrow pier. The local guide wanted to show us what this Vietnamese family did.

At one "station" a fellow had a large wok set over a fire in a brick enclosure and was stirring something that was very black. The "black something" turned out to be river sand. He measured some rice and spilled it into the hot black sand, then stirred and flipped the sand and moved the wok at a rapid speed. Within moments the rice began to pop, just like popcorn. When it became quiet a second fellow swung a screened wooden frame and the first man poured the contents from the wok into the fame. With some shaking the screen allowed the sand to fall through and back into the next wok while keeping the popped rice. Then the second man swung the screen around, poured the contents into another screened frame and with some fast and heavy-duty shaking and hand-stirring, the rice let go of its chafe which fell through the screen to a pile below.

The second man then poured the popped rice into a basket and once the basket was full (after a number of pours), he took the popped rice over to a machine which cleans the popped rice of any lingering sand or chafe. Meanwhile the first man scooped up some of the chafe to stoke the fire. Great recycling.

In another part of the building, again in a wok over a open fire built within a brick frame, a concoction of sugar and coconut was being boiled together making a light caramel. When it was ready for the next step the wok was moved over to a round holder in the middle of the floor. Cleaned popped rice from the machine was measured and dumped into the caramel and immediately men #3 and #4, who held long paddles in each of their hands scooped up the rice from the bottom of the wok and moved it to the top. With each man standing on the opposite side of the wok and with all arms moving in unison and the men themselves going round and round the large wok, it looked like an ancient dance. Perhaps it is. At the right moment, they put down their paddles, picked up the wok, carried it to a table and scrapped out the contents. The table has raised sides and when they spread out the caramelized rice puffs they piled it slightly higher than the edge. Next the "dancers" brought out heavy metal rolling pins. With one of them on each side of the rectangular table, they rolled their metal cylinders in a herring bone fashion quickly with just the barest amount of space in-between, then finished off the edges. Now the rice concoction rested below the edging of the table.

Their next performance consisted of taking metal straight edges, placing them across the table, lining them up with the measurement markers on the table’s edge and cutting "rice crispy squares" into rectangles.

From the table frame the rice crispies went to a low table where three people took each chunk of treat, slipped a plastic bag over the top, grabbed an elastic band and with an eye blurring movement, tied the bag up with the elastic and tossed it onto a pile ready for a waiting market.

As though that wasn’t fascinating enough, at another station a fellow made rice candy, pulled it out into strips like salt-water taffy, cut it up and handed it off to a girl to wrap. With delicate hands, she folded rice paper around each toffee-like bite and then wrapped all that in another paper. So when the consumer received the treat, they simply undid the wrapper and put the rice papered candy into their mouth - no sticky fingers, no candy stuck to the wrapper (and you thought M&Ms were the first "won’t melt in your hands" candy).

Oh you would think it would all end there – but who made the rice paper? It is also made on site. They even got Sherrie to try doing the delicate job – thank goodness she’s not planning to come out of retirement anytime soon.

Soon we ventured out on one of the arms of the Mekong River. The boat crossed over what seemed to be a similar distance on the Fraser River between Fort Langley and Albion (about 400 metres).

Our captain guided us to "a shortcut" by maneuvering through a narrow canal that cut across one of the many Mekong River islands. Our camera seemed to click steadily as we glided around each turn, went under each bridge and encountered the Mekong Delta citizens going about their daily lives. It seemed surreal; like a Disneyland ride that would end by coming around the bend and seeing the paddle-wheeler near Adventure Land. Instead we came around the bend back into the main waters of the Mekong River and crossed over a wider stretch of water before entering another channel. This time a little wider, a little busier as it divided the large island of An Binh. Again the camera clicked away like lazy castanets. About half way across the island we stopped at Mr. Sau Giao's.

Walking up from the river bank through a nursery of bonsai trees and orchids we stopped at a bonsai scene and the local guide showed us an elephant ear fish. "You will be having one just like him for lunch," he said. We thought he was joking. He wasn't.

The elephant ear fish came to the table whole; standing upright like you would see it in the water (like we did! picture right), held erect by four pegs covered with green onion tubes. Also served was a plate of fried spring rolls, rice paper, lettuce (our guide assured us it was washed with bottled water) and mint. He showed us how to make a wrap with the fish and other ingredients.

That wasn't all ... served with the above, were also two large whole shrimp and a small bowl of sugar, salt and sesame in which to lightly dip the shrimp (once we got the shell peeled off).

We ordered some Vietnamese beer "333" or "Ba ba ba" to wash it down. We were happy and content and full. They cleaned some of the dishes off and proceeded to bring to our table soup, steamed rice, steamed vegetables and a plate of beef and french fries (not traditional but it keeps those who can't step away from their western comfort food, content). When the guide and Duyen, who had been eating and visiting with friends elsewhere, came to check on us, we begged them to help us out for we couldn’t eat any more. He brought with him a bottle of rice wine and four shot glasses. We each had a taste ~ well the fellows had a second shot.

Heading back to Saigon, we would only be making one stop. Duyen had told us a story of a little boy who went to school in Saigon. His school teacher had said to the children, "Do not say you 'have to go pee' but tell me instead that you would 'like to sing a song'. The little boy always obeyed his elders and used "I want to sing a song" when he needed to "go".

Summer break came and his parents sent him off to stay with his grandparents in the Mekong Delta. One night when he was sleeping with his grandfather, he woke up and said "Grandfather I want to sing a song."

The grandfather said, "Not now, little one, you will wake the family. Go back to sleep."

When he woke again he said more urgently, "Grandfather, I want to sing a song."

"Not now," repeated grandfather.

"But, Grandfather, I really need to sing a song!"

"Okay," relented his grandfather, "but if you must, do it quietly in my ear."

We stopped at the same tourist stop we had used in the morning "to sing a song."

OCTOBER 29

It took about an hour and a half to drive from Saigon to Cu Chi Tunnels. On the way there was a short stop at a rubber tree plantation. Each tree had a diagonal cut through its bark.

White liquid rubber seeps down the cut into a spigot that drips into a small bowl hung at the cut's lower end.

It is similar to the collecting of maple sugar sap. Dipping the tip of our finger into the bowl, the sap coated our finger like hot wax. Rubbing our fingers together and exposing the resin to air, we soon got a sticky round ball that could be stretched. Because of its congealing properties, the trees have to be slashed once a day during harvest time which lasts for ten months of the year.

The Cu Chi Tunnel network is a well known site of both the "French" and "American" wars. Like a giant cobweb of 200 km, the tunnels were built on three different levels deep in the earth.

There were sections for living, cooking, eating, meeting, munitions construction and fighting. During the 1960s and early 1970s, this area had no green trees or underbrush. It was deforested through the use of Agent Orange. Bomb craters still pox the ground where American bombs were not only dropped on targeted areas but dropped freely as a "dump zone" by fighter planes returning to the US base near Saigon. We learned how the "resistance fighters" (known as "V.C." [Viet Cong] by much of the world) built the tunnels, hid excavated dirt, built weapons (and even footwear from old tires), dissipated the smoke from cooking fires, invaded the nearby enemy base and set painful traps for military attackers.

Besides the growth of green foliage the site has changed to be visitor friendly. Once underground rooms have now been opened from the top and covered with palm thatched roofs. A variety of traps are placed in a line so visitors can file passed and envision. Thirty and fifty metre sections of tunnel are available for visitors to experience the tight quarters of the "hallways" and even some escape holes are available to try by those whose size is similar to the small structure of the fighting Vietnamese.

Many former American soldiers come to visit. The tunnels show the "undaunted will, intelligence and pride of the Cu Chi people" and today the preserved areas are "a symbol of the revolutionary heroism of the Vietnamese people".

After freshening up back at the hotel, we went out for a walk and dinner. Just across the street from the Continental, a young girl was selling books and postcards on the street (not an uncommon occurrence) and we prepared to say "no thank you" several times as she would invariably sidestep in pace with our stride for several metres down the sidewalk.

"Want to buy a book? Five dollars," she said predictably.

"No, thank you"

"Post cards. One dollar."

"No, thank you," we answered with a smile expecting the scene to repeat itself with the price dropping. But she fooled us.

This pint sized dynamo whose top of head only came up to Terry's armpit said in the clearest English. "Well, I know you don't need a book but they make great souvenirs. These books are good. This one is about ...." and she went on to give us a summary of the stories.

We were dumbfounded. What was this articulate person doing hocking books and postcards on a corner in Saigon? When we caught our breath, we asked in admiration, "Where did you learn your English?"

"From tourists," she answered.

"Not from school?"

"No," she said, "The teachers don't know how to speak proper English. They only speak Vietnamese English. Their pronunciation isn't right," she said in an accent that would have felt very much at home on a street corner in Vancouver.

"Do you watch tv?"

"We don't have a tv at home."

"What is your name?"

"Ha."

"We are pleased to meet you, Ha. May we ask how old you are?"

"Sixteen," came the answer from her petite childlike frame. "I've been selling for thirteen years and listening to how English speaking tourists talk." Sherrie asked if she would mind having her picture taken. "No. Go ahead" Terry continued to carry on a conversation with her as she told him she had been written about twice in books. "I'm going to own my own business one day," she informed us. Without doubt we agreed. After sometime we realized we were keeping her away from making sales with those who may want to buy.

"Ha," we said, "we don't want to buy a book and we already have postcards, but you have spent so much time with us and let us take pictures, we would like to pay for the pictures and your time." Her demeanor changed immediately. "I don't sell my pictures. I sell books and postcards. I do not beg," she said stepping back and scowling. We had insulted her. We apologized immediately but no matter what we said now, we could not undo the hurt we had caused. We bought some postcards and like children who had been reprimanded, we walked away ashamed of ourselves for not anticipating the outcome of our words beforehand but our intentions were good.

We walked eight or so blocks towards the Presidential Palace and found a garden restaurant. A huge place with lots of tables. The tables occupied were taken by Vietnamese ~ a good sign.

We were seated and immediately attended by four or more young waiters. One was able to communicate with us clearly and very quickly a menu arrived with a sticker on the front that said "English". Page after page of options were presented: fish names we had not heard before, snake, pigeon, frog, rabbit (one which was shown live to a table next to us before it went into the pot in the kitchen) along with the standard chicken, beef and pork.

We selected something simple and recognizable as the large restaurant quickly filled up with the dinner rush. Obviously a popular spot with locals but unknown by the tourist set since looking around we were the only Caucasians in the place. It is certainly a place we wouldn't hesitate to recommend. Leaving the restaurant, we noted how each bike was being directed onto a roped off area of the sidewalk. Handle bar overlapping handle bar they stood nearly the long length of the building. Several motor bikes were driven into the restaurant where additional parking (or VIP) was available.

We walked back to the hotel but were not yet ready to call it a night, so we walked across the square and into the Caravelle to take a look at their casino. A small space and all electronic -- even the dealer at the Black Jack table "dealt" digital cards which showed up on a screen in front of each player. A sign said that the odds were the same as playing with regular cards and the system was approved by the Nevada Gaming Commission. We didn't try it out but instead went up to the tenth floor to the Saigon Saigon night club and were able to get a table on the narrow balcony terrace over-looking the lights of Ho Chi Minh City with the Opera House and the Continental below. Magical !