Southern Vietnam, and the untimely demise of the Pipi Family.

Vietnam, a country where no americans should rightly be welcomed, turned out to be a real delight. We spent a blissful, entire day busing from Siem Riep to Ho Chi Minh City (which i will refer to as Saigon from now on, because it is easier to type and sounds cooler). The following day, we discovered that our hotel was rather more expensive and poorly located than many others, and changed locations, after a wonderful breakfast of Vietnamese savory pancakes (which are served with a salad, and contain all manner of seafood treats).

We spent the afternoon at the War remnants museum, which was just as dour, and much more personal, than the Pnomh Penh equivalent. There are relics from the American presence: tanks, airplanes, jets, 1000 ton bombs, land mines, artillery pieces, and uniforms. The most disturbing part of the museum was devoted to America's favorite defoliant: Agent Orange. This has proven to be a particularly effective substance for stunting the growth of both plants and humans. There are many thousands of babies who have been born with awful birth defects, missing limbs or with severely stunted growth. Another particularly evocative exhibits was dedicated to the free press who covered the war for both sides. It was full of the photographs and stories which they lived, and often died for. Of the journalists covered in the exhibit, more than 70% were dead by the time the Americans went home.

The next day we went on a two part tour, first to the incredibly gaudy Divine Temple, epicenter of the Cao Dai religion, and then to the Cu Chi Tunnels. The first was almost unbearable; the high temple of poor taste. We attended a mass, and were as dismayed by the ceremony (a mix of Buddhism, Catholicism, and Shinto, i think) as by the decor. The primary symbol of the religion is a giant, all-seeing eye, which is depicted all over the temple. The ceremony's main purpose seemed to be the entertainment of the hundreds of tourists who were somehow fooled into thinking the experience would somehow be worth while. That's not to say that we regretted our visit, as it's not everyday that somebody gets to witness such an impressive train wreck.

That we had overlooked the six hours of bus time, and the questionable nature of the temple was made up for by the Cu Chi Tunnels. They are a network of tunnels over 125 km long, with three levels (as deep at 15 meters), and a veritable warren of accommodation for the fighters who lived there. Forced underground by American air raids, the Viet Cong rebels survived because of the tremendous scale, concealment, and booby-trapping of their turf. We were able to crawl through both enlarged (Supersized for full sized tourists) and original (tiny) tunnels, which were lit enough to see corners but not the 6" centipedes. There were working models of all of the booby traps, including a six-foot revolving trapdoor over bamboo spikes. At the end of the tour, and heightening the ambiance for the preceding hour underground, is a shooting range with many of the same options as Cambodia's offered. George and I decided to share a full clip on a Colt-45 pistol. It was a unanimous declaration that it is louder than either the AK-47 or the M-16, and significantly harder to shoot 50 meters than we had hoped. but very, very fun. disturbingly fun, perhaps.

We traveled north the next day, to the coastal city of Nga Trang. The intentions of the pipi family during our last days together were simple: to laugh a lot, and to deepen our suntans on the beach. Difficult though it was, our mission was a complete success. There was another massive beach party, there was the best meal of the trip to date (soft shell crab, and the vietnamese version of fondue bourguignonne). Ian got a pair of black eyes from a painful encounter with a surfboard, and we almost went sailing. We watched some terrific soccer, and we met some very beautiful women. Our good friend Charles described the days most eloquently:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way."

And then, suddenly as nightfall in the deepest of valleys, we were two again. A brief two days in Mui Ne followed, but was not entirely what we were expecting. We arrived expecting a beautiful beach, with the potential for more surfing, but found a row of expensive resorts on mediocre beachfront, and no waves to speak of. we spent a day exploring the nearby fishing village by bicycle, where i was given a beautiful seashell by a young girl. She wouldn't accept a present back, and had the kindest smile. My second favorite child of the trip (after Shiosa from the organic farm in the Philippines). We rented motorcycles for a day, and drove out to the sand dunes for some sand-sledding. It was surprisingly fun, although the experienced was dampened somewhat by the afternoon rain. That evening, we ate the dinner at Luna Artuna, where we sampled some of the best italian food in Vietnam. Before the arrival of our overnight bus back to saigon, we went to a bar and competed in a 28 person poker tournament. Ian, a self-proclaimed poker loser (one who loses regularly at poker) came third.

Back to Saigon, with high hopes for gastronomic success. In his travel show, Anthony Bourdain enthusiastically celebrates the lunchlady (http://gastronomyblog.com/2008/08/09/meet-the-lunch-lady/), and we set out to test our opinions against his. after trekking around the area where she is known to be for around fourty five minutes, and having located an incredibly similar tree to the one she is known to work under, still lost, we retreated to an internet cafe for reinforcements. pulling up the above blog, we called to the residents around us (playing various first-person shooter video games, mostly 12 or younger), and asked if anyone recognised her. of course, they all did: she lived about a block away. the owner of the cafe ran outside, and returned two minutes later puffing hard. "She is upstairs in that building," he proclaimed, pointing to the third floor, "She is in her apartment." Thinking that our luck had finally changed, we returned to the tree in suspect, and sure enough, she arrived on the street a moment later.

"Hello! we have travelled far to taste your blessed soup."

"No Soup Today. Monday"

"Really? Oh no! (forlourn glances) We leave Saigon tomorrow!"

"hmphh"

"thanks"

by the time we had settled on the fact that we weren't going to experience the best soup in the world on this trip, all of the other street vendors had stopped selling their lunch: it was too hot out. Fortunately, we had researched backups, and had for dinner incredible softshell crab at Quan 94 (84 Dinh Tien Hoang Street, District 1). It was cooked three ways, deep fried, sauteed with tamarind sauce, and in pure crab spring rolls. it was heaven, in the most unassuming of ways.

Sorry for the lack of photos, but my camera has picked up a virus and kills computers instantly upon contact. hopefully soon!