The airport in Ho Chi Minh City (which I will, from now here on after, refer to as Saigon) looks like every other airport I've ever been to. I didn't feel like I was in another country until I stepped outside through the automatic doors to the sweltering balmy air that carried rich wafts of smoky incense. Strange as it may seem for such a smoggy, crowded city that looks about as densely developed as Hong Kong, but Saigon actually smells pretty good.

I had my hands full. Along with my straw hat and green guitar, I had the frame backpack which was all I needed for a month of backpacking in Europe. I also dragged behind me two blue, wheeled suitcases like a pair of mules loaded with gifts and odd-and-ends that are hard to find in Vietnam. Never in my life have I traveled with so many bags.

At least a hundred people crowded outside the terminal waiting for arrivals. My bro and sis-in-law, each carrying a scooter helmet, found me through the crowd and ushered me and my canvas mules toward the rickety bus waiting to take us to my home for the next six months. Mike was wearing the shamrock shirt that goes with the baseball cap I was wearing--both were Christmas gifts from Kevin. T'was heart-warming to see them back together again.

Currency exchangers in the airport usually charge excessive fees, because hey, what choice do you have, so I still didn't have any đồng on me when we got on the bus. Lucky for me, Lữ came along for the ride to help me find my way home. She talked with the bus driver and negotiated the price, which may have been a bit excessive, since he charged full bus fare for each of my bags. Lữ picked up the tab, which was, by local standards, exorbitant. For the two of us and the three bags, the total came out to be 20,000₫, or about a dollar.

The bus sped off among throngs of scooters and taxis. The streets are a raging cacophony of tiny two-cycle engines revving up and ceaseless feeble beeps from scooter horns. Crossing at an intersection takes fortitude, faith, and luck. Lữ says the safest way to cross is at a brisk, consistent pace. Almost all the scooters will steer clear of you that way, and most of the cars. Not the buses though. Mike says the buses will honk a few times before they run you over. To me, it seems like a collision with a bus would be the hard one to walk away from.

Occasionally, you'll see a really fancy car on the streets as well. Later that night, Mike spotted a Bentley, and told me that, on top of its $200,000 price tag, the government in Hanoi slaps on a 100 percent import tax. You might ask, wait a minute, how can someone in a communist country afford that kind of extravagance? Needless to say, there's some disparity among classes in this people's nation. Average wages for folks in Saigon is around $200 a month. That doesn't buy a lot of Bentleys. Communism ain't what it used to be.

Flashes of scenery though the bus windows and, later on, a stroll through the city confirmed my initial impression: Saigon looks a lot like Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, and not much different than Singapore. Which makes sense. All three cities are bustling trade centers which were once colonial capitals, with a melange of contemporary, traditional, and Euro-Asian architecture set among rows upon rows of shop-houses. Although here in Saigon, the Indio-British style with neo-classical features like rounded arches is largely absent compared to Malaysia and Singapore; in its place is the sharp, Gothic architecture characteristic of French influence.

The powerlines of Saigon tangle like cobwebs.

A perfect testimony of the stark contrast of new and old, perhaps, is the bundles upon bundles of telephone and electric wires overhead. They look like like rubbery-thick black tendrils of steam-punk vines that darken the sky and choke out all other forms of life. Whereas with most cities, in which the electricity that powers them is routed underground, here the wires are in the same location they were when the city was first electrified. It's as if the first electric wires that were installed so many ago were never replaced; they were just built layer upon layer with every successive generation.

The bus pulled into the stop, and we climbed out with bags in tow. Beyond the bus station was the notable Quách Thị Trang Square, which features a horse and rider statue in homage to a general who led the Vietnamese in their independence from China in the 15th century. Across the square was Bến Thành Market, which contains all manner of tasty foods and souvenirs. From there, it was a short walk in the balmy heat to Mike and Lữ's charming little apartment in a quiet ex-pat community in district 1, where its easy to hear the bells of the Notre Dame cathedral around the corner. With only two hours of sleep since the morning of my 19-hour flight, the rest of the day went by in a blur. But, between narcoleptic-like fits at the restaurant with Mike and Lữ, I remember feeling incredibly happy to be here.

Provender:
Bánh xèo with coconut buds