Where Tourists Congregate

Ho Chi Minh tumbles in every direction. Flying in low to land, the city looks like a jumble of legos in various states of constructions. Descending just shy of city level and an orderliness begins to unfold; the buildings, retail and homes are more easily defined. The cab shuttling me to my hotel inched its way between other four-wheeled vehicles and a swarm of two wheeled ones. The vehicles scoot and nudge in a civil if passive aggressive interaction that only intensifies the further from the airport we get.

The city’s architecture flaunts its fusion history and present. Hastily constructed cement buildings sharing foundation with advertisements for Hermes, French colonial structures refurbished as hotels.

Folks zooming on two wheels; look in the background

I am enamored if terrified as I watch women maintaining poise and posture as they side-saddle the back of motorcycles and small children are either perched precariously at the front of the seat of a scooter or wedged between people larger than the child.

a glimpse of Bui Vien

My hotel, a few measly miles from the airport, demands an almost 30 minute adventure through the streets of the city. I take it in, the sun still firmly in the sky. We passed what appears to be a lake that, if the lifesaver rings are any indication, is sometimes used for swimming. We passed an enormous banyan tree, its seemingly endless roots thickening the trunk, giving it the appearance of walking- bored somehow with its original position. Only tourists seemed to notice, stopping to take pictures while downtown Ho Chi Minh churned on in the foreground. Maybe everyone else has already taken in the grandeur and us tourists are simply late in our discovery. Or more likely, given that there are much larger ones strewn throughout Vietnam, maybe it is the equivalent of gawking at grass.

My hotel finally appeared, I almost missed it amidst the bustle of the city.

After an hour or so...hunger set in. Street food is delicious (and to my understanding, Vietnam’s street food is amazing) but I am in desperate desire of vegetables. I looked up a restaurant and walked out of the hotel only to discover I am in tourist central.

Bui Vien, feels like canal street in the heart of the French Quarter. So many people meander in the

street that only a near miss with a motorbike indicated the street is not a pedestrian walkway.

At each intersection I bide my time or follow locals to get across. Whatever rules I think I've established are run over the next time I attempt to cross the street – crosswalk or jaywalking- there is no discernible difference. I watched a little girl, no more than 7, manage the throng of motorized vehicles, pink lunchbox in hand, she didn’t look phased in the slightest. Meanwhile, I got cocky, thinking I'd finally mastered the madness before being grazed by an onslaught of bikes coming from what felt like every direction.

This place requires your wits about you.

I wandered for a while, people watching, food watching. My restaurant selection faded in my mind swallowed as it was by the onslaught of foreign palates. Although that isn’t accurate either. Bui Vien has was appears to be a bustling youth presence. Not just tourists, but local young folks clustered around certain restaurants (a note to myself for tomorrow when there isn’t an HOUR wait on the BBQ octopus that looks so tantalizing).

banh mi for abut $1

I settled on a banh mi. Ironically, the three-wheeled stall was across the street from my hotel. I knew the meat patties were fresh because I had watched him make them. He slathered on the heat, both sauce and fresh chilies, and while the sandwich was delicious, the heat barely registered a tingle on my bottom lip.

Still early, I walked the strip again. I watched a young boy spit flames from his mouth, spitting out the fuel and tamping is lips where hot ash clung.

My mind on a massage, I eyed the small storefronts along the street. Smiling and scantily clad women offered fliers for services. I can’t help but wonder if the massage is really what they are advertising. How practical is a tiny denim skirt for massaging or a blouse with a plunging neckline barely containing the breasts behind it?

I could be wrong. I hope I am. Of course women can revel in their bodies for no one’s pleasure save their own. Or they might simply be meant to grab attention- the Carl’s Junior approach to spa treatment ads. Still, their presence reminds me of the darker side of tourism. The power dynamics at play when tourists come from countries that don’t blink at at 25,000VND sandwich (barely one dollar- which I’m sure I’ll discover tomorrow when I wander out into the wider city, is deeply overpriced) or a 1,200,000 VN massage ($50).

This is only a glimpse...five blocks on a hungry stomach. Tomorrow I get to venture out and see/eat so much more than the tourist district.