First Impressions

Stepping out of the Saigon airport was a sea of people, about half of whom I imagine were waiting for friends, family, colleagues, and the other half of whom seemed to be waiting for me. Even before I reached the taxi queue, scores of drivers approached me: "Taxi, suh?" "Where you go, suh?" "I take you hotel, suh?", all smiling and all eager for business. I had been forewarned by another traveller, who recommended I take a "xe om", or motorbike taxi ("cheaper, quicker, and more exciting"). So, I somehow evaded the taxi men, and proceeded until the motorbike guys found me, just on the other side of the taxi queue. After haggling down the price, the man took my large pack, placed it between himself and the handlebars, and told me to hop on. I did as instructed and away we went. The sea of people turned into a sea of motorbikes. I don't think I am exaggerating when I say there are 50 for every car, bus, and truck in Saigon. Nearly everything moves on two wheels. Not just people (riding 2,3, and sometimes 4 deep on one bike), but all sort of goods are transported as well, the most amazing of which I saw were ten brand new boxed TVs, all carefully stacked, balanced, and strapped on a single bike.

My driver cruised fluidly through what at first looked to me chaotic traffic. There are very few traffic lights in Saigon. At intersections, there is no right-of-way, everyone just goes. Motorbikes, cars, buses, bicycles, and pedestrians all merge together like some massive, moving puzzle. From above, it must look like a M.C. Escher painting come to life. The rule seems to be, pick your line and stick to it, unless of course, you need to go around something in your path. What about those making a left turn? How could they possibly ever get past the rush of oncoming bikes? Well, they drive to the middle of the intersection, and slowly inch the bike to the left until they find the space to weave through. The more intersections we went through, the more I began to understand the order of the chaos. The key is low-speed, lots of horn beeps, and consistency. Everyone goes just slow enough that the other drivers can anticipate where the space will be. Absolutely amazing, I never once tired of watching the traffic flow in Saigon. More on my pedestrian experience in a later post.



Upon recommendation from another friend, I told the driver to take me to Pham Ngu Lao street (and the small streets and alleyways connected to it), where a host of cheap hotels, cafes, shops, travel agencies, and bars cater to backpackers and tourists. It is known by the Vietnamese as "White People Street". You don't have to ask for anything here, a kind Vietnamese person will soon offer you whatever you are looking for. I sat down at a cafe to get my bearings, have a quick bite, and a cold beer before going in search of a hotel room. Within 30 secs, a woman carrying a stack of books 6 feet high, bound with a strap, offered me a Vietnam Lonely Planet and a Vietnamese phrasebook. After a bit of haggling, I bought both. Transaction complete, another kind, smiley lady approached:

"You need hotel room?"
"Yes"
"Follow me"
"Can I finish my beer first?"
"Take your time, I wait on sidewalk, I wait for you. Then I show you room."

Beer drained, the woman showed me to the Guest House Linh. I removed my shoes at the door as I noticed all others had done, and another young woman showed me, after climbing 5 flights of narrow stairs to a pleasant room on the top floor.

After a shower and a quick nap, I went out again to check out White People Street. Its true there were a lot of tourists and backpackers about, but there were Vietnamese people everywhere. The streets and sidewalks are incredibly full and alive. In fact, you can barely walk on the sidewalks, for they are constantly cluttered by parked motorbikes, tables and chairs in front of the many cafes, and street vendors selling bowls of pho, sandwiches, cigarettes, books, gum, etc. I found a nice restaurant and took a table on the 2nd floor balcony overlooking the street. My meal of ginger and lemongrass beef and rice was so delicious I pretended not to see the rat that scurried across the floor and under the drink refridgerator in the corner of the dining room.

After dinner, I went for another beer at a place called Eden Cafe, taking a seat at one of the tables outside. Each of the 5 servers in the cafe came and greeted me personally, all asking the same verbless questions: "Where you from?", "What your name?", "How old you?". All of them moved about, cheerfully attending all the customers, but when they had a free minute they would come back to my table to chat. Two of the servers were young women, dressed beautifully in Ao Dai, the traditional Vietnamese dress. Over loose, white pants, they wore a long, bright blue gown, slit on the sides to just above the hip, occasionally revealing a tiny triangle of flesh; without a doubt one of the most stunning attires I've ever seen. It is simple and striking, covering nearly all but the face and forearms, but accentuating the Vietnamese slim, sylphlike figures. The dress almost completely hides the legs, and yet parades their lithe movement.




One of the women, whose name tag said Qué, but who pronounced it something like Hway with a rising tone, was especially chatty and promised to show me around Saigon the next morning if I was interested. Much obliged, I paid my bill and said good night to the kind staff before going out to walk around a bit more and then finally return to my hotel, after a long, intense, and absorbing day.

So many great first impressions, but at the top of the list are Vietnamese people. Almost all are bright and lively, kind and affectionate, even playful. Complete strangers are eager to chat and not afraid to place a hand on your shoulder, or lightly brush your leg. Throughout my trip, I found it incredibly easy to establish some rapport with them, no matter the language barrier. Folks of all ages were keen to say hello, or ask where I was from, or where I was going. Granted, many of them wanted to sell me some good or service, but I met very few who didn't seem genuinely interested to know just a little about me.

So, without intent to disparage Japanese folks, whose constant reservation I've come to appreciate and admire, though not quite embrace, my initial immersion into Saigon and its vibrant culture was not so much like a breath of fresh air, but like receiving a new pair of lungs.