Saigon

Our first morning in Saigon, we awoke at sunrise. The night before, our first glimpses of the city had come through the windows of our taxi, our weary eyes widening at the sight of the swarming hordes of mopeds that rule the streets of Saigon. Traffic lanes, signals and stop signs seem to be merely decorative here, as the vehicles surge and wander from lane to lane, to the constant sounding of their horns, honking what Tara described as friendly honks, as if to say, "Hi there, I'm on your left side. Please don't hit me." We arrived at our hotel, exhausted from our journey across the Pacific, but thankful for the safe and comfortable passing we had made from one side of the world to another.

The sunrise of that first morning lifted us gently from our sleep, and we decided to take advantage of the energy we had, setting out into the city to a district called Cholon. Cholon is Saigon's chinatown, known for its pagodas and busy public markets. It was, perhaps not the most appropriate choice for easing into the Vietnam experience. Our taxi dropped us off in front of the Thai Binh market, a labyrinthian maze of vendors, plying everything from fresh herbs and dried seafood to assorted gadgets, toys and clothing. We wandered through the bustling stalls and though we were the only tourists out and about at that early hour of morning, no one seemed to pay us any mind, the sight of pleasantly dumbfounded westerners seeming to be a commonplace anomaly in this and many places like it in Saigon.

Back out on the street, we were greeted by a troupe of eager xe om drivers, beckoning us with waves and smiles, their moped taxis lined up outside the market, just waiting for a couple of confused and disoriented tourists like us to come their way. I was, however, determined to navigate our own way to the nearby pagodas, undeterred by the fact that we were unable to locate any of the surrounding streets on the tourist map that our hotel had provided us. In an effort to at least make it look like we knew what we were doing, and shake off the attention of the persistent xe om drivers, we decided to start walking in the direction of a church spire that towered above the interweaving streets and alleyways, figuring we could then locate the church on our map and get our bearings. This was our first initiation into the comlex coreography of crossing the streets of Saigon. We learned from watching the locals, that the trick is to move very slowly, and allow the mopeds, cars and busses to weave their way around you. Waiting for a break in traffic is futile, and will only get you smirked at by the other pedestrians as they wade through the rushing currents of traffic in what looks to us like a vehicular version of russian roulette. We never realized that the act of crossing the street could make us feel so accomplished.

Once we found our way to the church, we were able to get our bearings and spent the rest of the morning admiring the architecture and hand carved statues and pillars of the Chinese style pagodas. Scenes of dragons and warriors were juxtaposed with natural scenes of animals and landscapes, some were painted on the walls, others were forged from wood or tile. Bright, vivid red colored the walls and pillars, and people knelt in prayer before the Buddha, while smoke rose in swirling whisps from the incense sticks that burned throughout the pagoda. It was a strange sensation to move from the constant noise and motion of the city streets into the quiet and solemn refuge of a pagoda, but there is a subtle sense of intrusion, that Tara commented upon in observing another's religious practice. At one point, a man grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over to a painting of the Buddha whose eyes were made to watch you as you move. I think that he wanted me to burn some incense before the painting, but the barrier of language was too strong between us, so we exchanged smiles and shrugs and made our way back out into the street.

The jet lag was starting to take hold and so we took a cab back to the hotel, where we decided to take it easy and enjoy our luxurious digs. Unfortunately, this "taking it easy" invlolved a bowl of pho and spring rolls wrapped in lettuce that were as delicious as they were damaging to Tara's digestive system. Her stomach troubles were compounded by a head banging injury sustained during the more rockin' section of our wedding reception, and she decided to spend most of the next day in bed.

I made another early morning venture to Ben Than Market, the largest and most centrally located of Saigon's public markets. It was confirmed through this excursion that I should not be permitted to bargain without Tara's supervisions, as I ended up returning to the hotel with a pair of shorts that didn't fit and a polo shirt that I will never wear. By the evening, the worst of Tara's stomach troubles were behind her and we went for a drink at the top of the tallest downtown hotel. We watched the sun set over the sprawling lights of Saigon and wondered why the gecko that chirped at us from the ceiling over our table had bothered to climb 23 stories to the top of the building. Probably for the same reason we had, to see things from a different view; to try and climb high enough to see it all at once.