VIETNAM: THE SEQUEL

Henry David Thoreau wrote that "things do not change, we do".
Henry David Thoreau was full of shit.

Ho Chi Minh City CHANGED, man!

I'd already been primed to expect a city very different from the one I moved away from six years ago. Just thinking back to the changes I saw over the three years I lived there made me positively nervous about the difference that another six years would make. And I was not to be disappointed.

It started from the second I stepped off the airplane, into a brand spanking new (well, three-year old) International Airport. Gone was the historic but dirty terminal I knew so well, and in its place I found clean glass, shiny floors, and vastly overpriced food outlets. The taxi ride into District 1 was down a street that had been widened since I was last there, and took me past highrise buildings that had shot up like mushrooms over the past few years. It was a long time before I recognised anything at all, which was disconcerting given that I once knew it so well.

The online Oxford Dictionary describes culture shock as "the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone when they are suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes." Well, that was me. Except I wasn't comparing Ho Chi Minh City to Australia, or even to London. I was comparing it to itself, six years ago.

Things that freaked me out the most over that first 24-hour period:

• Every single motorbike driver was wearing a helmet. (What what WHAT?)
• The city had installed rubbish bins on the sidewalks, and people seemed to be using them. (Well, sometimes. But the fact they even existed was a shock to me.)
• The vastly inflated cost of food (compared to 'the good old days' of dirt-cheap feasts).
• The completion of the Hyatt, which had stood untouched as an unfinished hulk for the entire time I lived there. And it was properly fancy now.
• SO many new buildings. (I could no longer navigate by the skyline, so had to find myself a tourist map. I felt so uncool.)
• A gigantic shopping centre in the centre of town that would not look out of place in Bangkok or Singapore. It came complete with Gucci, Prada and other luxury stores whose names I'm too impoverished to even recognise.
• The majority of my favourite hole-in-the-wall restaurants and beer 'halls' were gone. My favourite DVD seller's stall had been replaced by a hotel.
• The number of swanky bars in the city had grown from one to...well...lots.

Rubbish bins? Since when?

When I was living in HCMC, it still felt a little like a frontier town. In late 2001, it was still a challenge to find decent western restaurants or groceries; bars and restaurants were for the most part shambolic with their service and standards. Now it looked like the city was all grown up, moving closer to becoming a Bangkok each day, and like an over-protective and clingy parent, I found it confronting and difficult to accept. I had spent more time living in Saigon than I had any other city apart from the one I grew up in. Forget Brisbane, Canberra and Sydney, the place that had felt most like "home" to me was HCMC, so having it glare insolently back at me as if I were a stranger was freaking me out!

I always maintained one could collect
a whole pack of cards from those left
  lying around  the streets of Saigon.

My first night was spent with recently-returned friends who had lived here back in the day, and I unloaded upon them my confusion and culture shock while reminiscing about all the places that were no more. It helped a little, but I was still feeling a bit frazzled. The next night I had a delightfully random and boozy evening with some Aussie lads I met in the backpackers' district, but the more change I saw the more confused I felt. I decided that two nights was enough. I fled north to the former trading port of Hoi An to calm myself down and adjust to this new world order.

It was exactly the right thing to do.

Hoi An had almost been my second home when I lived in Vietnam, and thanks to its being a UNESCO World Heritage Centre, it had barely changed. There I was able to slowly re-integrate myself into the flow of Vietnamese life, and finally shake free of my culture shock. Plus, like every other tourist who set foot in Hoi An, I got a shit-load of clothes tailored at very reasonable rates.

I met up with some friendly travellers at the airport in Da Nang, and we ended up sharing the cost of the taxi to Hoi An. Especially cool were Vinko and Colette, who are now off having crazy adventures travelling around central America by bicycle. You can read all about their ongoing travels here. We all stayed at the same hotel, and spent a very pleasant afternoon eating delicious food and drinking Vietnam's famous "fresh beer" (bia hoi). The next couple of days involved negotiating with tailors,  exploring new stores, and eating a LOT of yummy food. Hoi An isn't known for its nightlife, but we made our own fun one night with an impromptu party in my hotel room. Free wifi + Spotify + Grey Goose vodka + one little balcony + five little travellers = a great night in.

Eventually - unfortunately - it was time to head back to the big smoke. However, the relaxation in Hoi An had done me the world of good, so I looked at the changes in the city as something to be excited about, rather than something to be mourned. This time,I  managed to catch up with some of my many friends who still live in Saigon, and had a wicked time.

but some things never change

Soon-to-be-demolished,

One day was spent luxuriating in the Caravelle's spa with a couple of mates from my Vina-years. One night was spent in a typically Saigon blurry whirl of cheap cocktails, crappy cover bands, motorbike taxis, random strangers, clubbing, and early morning dim sum in a 24-hour restaurant that I will probably never be able to locate again. I also had less decadent days and nights: spending time with a former work colleague who I hadn't seen in years and who has since become the mother of two very active twin boys; meeting one of my Vietnamese colleagues who had dreams of applying to study in Europe (do it!); seeing another Vietnamese friend for the first time since she became a married woman, which was a very big deal given that she had reached the ripe old age (?!) of 30 without having snared a husband.

Don't climb! It'll kill you!

AND I had a really cool "it's a small world" moment. It was a Facebook status update that alerted me to the fact that one of my travel buddies from China (the Bosnian-born Swede mentioned in this post from June last year) was in Ho Chi Minh City at the same time as me. Brilliant! We caught up and compared notes since that last trip. Her life had been much more exciting than mine, I'm afraid, but it was great to hear her tales and live vicariously for a moment.

Eventually though, my time in Vietnam ran out. Despite being stressed and nervous when I first arrived, I'd quickly fallen back in love with the place and was upset about leaving it again. In writing this post, I've been looking at the notes I made during my trip. I think this one sums it up pretty well: "This trip has been crazy! Crazy good!".

Thanks for the good times, Vietnam. Peace out.

The Opera House, Saigon