Chasing Amy-Lou

Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam:

What I thought was going to be a pretty relaxed and lazy Saturday in Ho Chi Minh turned out to be just as eventful as the previous two days. I’d booked to go on a trip to the Cu Chi Tunnels that afternoon so had most of the morning free to do some more exploring.

After the herbal sleeping tablet I’d bought from a dodgy Vietnamese chemist had failed to provide me with more than 5 hours sleep the night before, and as I couldn’t really drift off again no matter how I tried, I chose to lounge in my hostel bunk for an hour or two, stretching and yawning and generally scratching about before heading for breakfast.

Now, it was my intention to quickly scoff my scrambled eggs and down my hot water and be off on a wander, but an American couple I’d spoken to the previous day came to join the table and we proceeded to chew the fat over their adventures in Nepal and their exploration of South Vietnam on a teeny tiny motorcycle.

Before I knew it time had run away from me and I only had a couple of hours before I was due back at the hostel to be collected for the tunnel tour. So in a pre-planning fashion I decided to visit the area where most of the authentic Vietnamese street food was sold, just so I had my bearings for when I went back later that night to sample the weird and wonderful delicacies.

What I came across was an array of market stall holders and street vendors, mostly women, cooking up fantastic flavours and chopping up fresh fruit. The colours were like a rainbow and the smells tickling my taste buds, and it wasn’t even noon. While the streets were still crowded with people and motorcycles and honking scooters, and crazy westerners on a death wish, it was generally more quiet than the busier streets I’d been used to walking down. A slight reprieve from the bombardment and onslaught of relentless traffic. And I loved it.

I purchased some rice paper rolls (or at least I think that’s what they were) and made my way back to the hostel to await collection for my trip to the tunnels.

At 1pm sharp a stocky Vietnamese man pulled up on a scooter outside the hostel and I was directed by the lady on reception to go with him – not another bloody scooter ride! With three litres of water in my arms and a bag over my shoulder I struggled to hold on to my new friend and although we weren’t going anywhere too fast (fast is impossible in Ho Chi Minh as there’s just far too many vehicles on the road), I was slightly fearful about crashing, especially as he appeared to ignore all regulations (if there actually were any) and drive on the opposite side of the road, mount pavements and dodge on-coming buses. But as I said previously, this is Vietnam, and I had no doubt I’d arrive at the bus stop safe and sound. And I wasn’t wrong.

Once aboard the bus, along with around 40 other tourists, we bumpily made our way north west of the city towards the site of the Cu Chi Tunnels. When the centre finally opened up to the murky canals and offshoots of the Saigon river, I couldn’t help but find similarities between Ho Chi Minh’s riverside and the canals of Amsterdam. It all felt very familiar – with bridges linking one side to the other, and cafes, tall buildings and shops on either side.

The Cu Chi Tunnels are a 250km network of underground tunnels that were used by liberation fighters in resistance to the American forces during the Vietnam War. At this moderated and adapted tourist site, visitors get to walk around a short area of the tunnel network and see for themselves the traps and tricks used by the liberation groups in order to snare the Americans.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this trip and even though it was interesting and I was subjected to informative spiels and demonstrations from our witty tour guide about the different kinds of snares and traps one could encounter while fighting in Cu Chi, it was just too damn humid to enjoy it. By the time we’d reached the widened Tunnels in which we could crawl through to simulate how the Vietnamese lived and fought during those times, I was wet through – my face a disheveled, pasty, dehydrated mess; my clothes stinking, my hair a frizzy bouffant, and my shins sweating (yes, my shins sweat). I did make it through the Tunnels though and was pretty proud of myself, especially knowing how I usually get in confined spaces.

If you want a better understanding of how the Vietnamese fought off their attackers in the 60s and 70s then the Tunnels are worth a visit, just make sure you take plenty of water and money, something I forgot to factor in, leaving me gasping for hydration, envying those who were able to buy ice creams at the rest area, in need of a beer or two, and owing the tour guide money for the entrance fee as I’d forgotten to read the small print when booking.

Once back at the hostel, tired and a little drained, I showered and went in search of my beloved street food. Now, I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but my trip to South East Asia has been very hastily put together and I had done no preparation at all; meaning, I’ve not looked up a single Vietnamese word for food and have no translation app on my phone in order to figure out what I could be eating.

So as I made my way back to the area I’d visited that morning, I had absolutely no idea what the vendors were selling – was it frog or chicken? Pork or dog? In my state of bewilderment and with my belly rumbling I therefore thought it wise to just point at a picture and go with whatever the vendor served me up: fried noodles, pork and prawns, with chilli and bean sprouts. That would ding dang do for me. So off I went back to the hostel, food in one hand, beer in another, belly full and mind content.