Saigon (cont.) by Ted Guhl

The next morning I persuaded my self-appointed cyclo-tour guide to take me to the market area along Huynh Thuc Khang. This was not an easy task as he had many other ideas for our day's sightseeing. It wasn't that I had no interest in the museums, temples, shops, restaurants and assorted other suggestions he offered, but I wanted to experience the unexpected.

The market and surrounding streets were bustling, noisy, and absorbing in the variety of foods and goods for sale. There were Michael Jackson T-shirts, durian fruit, housewares, incense, sausages, an amazing variety of shoes and sandals, Ao Dais, statues, calendars, blenders, watches, "war-era" magnifying glasses, gold jewelry, and just about anything else one needs to live, survive and keep up with the Vietnamese Joneses. I immediately lost myself in the sights and sounds and odors. It was here that I first realized how wonderful the people of Saigon are; the directness of their gaze, the open and friendly smiles, and their extraordinary energy. These people are alive, and aware of it.

The first conversation I had was with a high school girl who was selling postcards and spoke English quite well. I had bought a pack from her and she initiated a lengthy conversation about her plans for the future, what her school was like, life in Hong Kong versus Saigon , and more. We ended up trading addresses.

While I was looking at some fake war-era binoculars, a man of my age (about fifty) introduced himself and asked if I was an American. When I said I was, he grabbed my hand, remarking that he was so happy to see me here. He had been some sort of military advisor to a Lieutenant Steve during the war; they had become close friends, and when the American withdrawal occurred he was left behind. For several years Steve had tried to get him out, had sent money, sponsored him for an America visa and did whatever he could to arrange for his emigration to the US . The government of Vietnam , at that time, refused to allow him to go. When the easing of restrictions began several years ago, he had tried to get in touch with Steve to no avail. Had he moved? Was he dead?

I asked what Steve's last name was, thinking perhaps I could do something to find him, but oddly, he didn't reply.Instead he took my hand and with tears in his eyes said, "I am very happy you are here again."

I didn't know what to say? I wanted to cry as well.

He gripped my hand hard and said it again, and then moved on.

I decided to head back to the central district and spend the rest of the day and evening there. My cyclo driver was quite incensed when I insisted he not hang around the Rex for four or five hours. I did not know where I would be when I was ready to return. I told him to meet me tomorrow around 11 AM .

As the evening came on, I felt hungry, and a little aimless. I decided to buy some bread and cheese from a street vendor. I ate as I walked. It helped some but I was now quite thirsty. Finally, I came to the realization that I was looking for someone or something to distract me from the emotions of the day. Telling myself that this nonsense must not go on, I stopped at another street vendor and bought a beer.

I walked up a side street that had a steady flow of cyclos and motor bikes, but no shops, plopped down under a tree, and watched the traffic go by. Within minutes I began to realize that I was an object of curiosity. Every few moments someone would see me and suddenly smile, or point me out to whoever they were riding with -- most motor bikes and cyclos carried at least two people. Quite a few friendly souls waved and shouted "hello". That did it, I was suddenly grateful to be here, at peace with myself and the end of the day.

Soon a young man came by and sat beside me, saying, "hello". I offered him a cigarette and we both sat and smoked for a while before he spoke.

"What your name?"

"Ted, and you?

He smiled.

"What your name?" I asked.

"Trouc. From where?"

" America ."

"Ah, America , good. How long you in Saigon ?" We made small talk and after a while he left.

I walked to the corner and got another beer and went back to my tree. Trouc passed by again and offered me a stick of gum. I sat for at least an hour. The sun had set. Time for some more substantial food.

Still feeling anxious about unwashed vegetables, I ended up in a place that advertised German food, eating an overly heavy stew of some sort. This is not going to do, I thought, I'll have to take some risks if I am going to eat well.

Wandering again, I came across a small local restaurant with no custumers but five waitresses, all standing or sitting on stools out front. They seemed anxious for me to come in. I said with a combination of gestures and English that I had already eaten but I would like a cup of coffee. I expected to get tea. One of them indicated for me to come in. It was a very hot evening and I wanted to stay outside, so I sat down on the steps. This was a source of immediate amusement. I was quickly brought a chair from inside.

As I waited, one of them pointed at me and asked, "name?" I told her, she tried to repeat it, and they all giggled. So, I pointed back and asked, "name?" When I repeated her name the laughter was unrestrained. I tried again, more laughter. So, I pointed at another one with similar results. This game went on for the ten or fifteen minutes it took me to finish my drink which was deliciously French-brewed coffee. The game was the only means we had to converse and each us at some point felt some frustration. I vowed to myself to learn Vietnamese.

Around 9 pm , I came upon an outdoor restaurant across from the Saigon Concert Hotel and sat at a table facing the square. Before long a motor bike pulled up.

"Hello!"

It was the same two young women from the previous night.

"Sit down" I said, "Have Coca Cola or a beer."

They parked the bike and joined me at the table.They ordered the local version of Coca Cola, which is fairly good, although a bit sweeter. We exchanged the usual questions. The older of the two sisters was named Lien, the other Huong.

Lien asked, "You here one?"

"Yes", I replied, assuming she was asking if I was alone.

"Tonight you get massage?"

I thought for a bit. I was enjoying the company, I wanted the contact.

"How much, I asked?

"Twenty dollars. Good massage, good sex, feel young."

Feeling young sounded pretty good at the moment.

"Tonight", I replied, "you give massage. No sex. Okay?"

They were still skeptical. I pointed out how much my legs hurt from walking all day. I showed them the bald spot on top of my head. I said that massage was much better than sex. We haggled a bit and agreed finally on a price of ten dollars. I could see that they were still skeptical. They felt that I had bargained my self into sex and a massage at half price. Next we discussed where to go. They asked me what hotel I was staying in. I told them and said I wasn't sure the hotel would allow guests. (I could just imagine the reaction of the desk clerk and white jacketed bellboys at the Saigon International to my walking in with two young Vietnamese prostitutes.)

To my relief, the girls agreed this was a bad idea. Lien said that the police often fined them heavily if they went anywhere near certain hotels. Lien said to come along with them and we all hopped on the very small motor scooter and headed off. Before long it became evident that the scooter was not going to put up with this kind of a load without complaining so Lien got off and said she would meet us back at the cafe later.

We crossed a bridge leading out of central district and soon I was lost as we crossed a bridge heading into a district south of the river. Eventually we turned onto a narrow side street and maneuvered our way through pedestrians and assorted vehicles for several blocks.

In front of me was a very dark, narrow passageway between buildings. Huong took my hand and led me down it. Images from Deer Hunter crossed my mind. I was scared. Oh well, I thought to myself, you have to trust now; this is part of the flow.