Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) to Can Tho

 Photos taken from a moving vehicle .......

Vietnam: Saigon and the Mekong Delta (2026)

 

 

I returned to Vietnam with a sense of expectation. I had read and heard stories of how fast it was developing, and how Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) in particular had become a vibrant and buzzing capital. It is in part true, but Saigon is still littered with pockets of poverty. You don’t have to walk far to see people whose life is a hand-to-mouth affair, and where the stench of rotting waste makes you hold your breath, and piles of garbage collect on street corners and back lanes.

The first sense you get of a country still languishing in the past is at the airport. The arrival process is a shambles and the on arrival visa circus has been borrowed from the Indian chaos experts to the west! If you have been lucky enough to discover one of the several companies online who will fast track your visa process (for around US$40) it only takes about 45 minutes, and you can sit back and joyfully watch queues of people jockeying for position at the visa counter. Mayhem.

Saigon’s Tan Son Nhat airport is about 8 kms from the centre of Saigon and the taxi journey took about 45 minutes. As with so many Asian cities, traffic in Saigon is a major problem, and the number of motorbikes has clearly grown as the city has grown. In any Vietnamese town or city of any size crossing the road involves negotiating a flood of motorbikes who will only slow down if you walk out on to the road and make it clear that you want to cross. They DO slow down, or swerve around you, but it is unnerving the first few times.

The relative cool of the evenings are the best time to appreciate the buzz of the new Saigon. Groups of happy young people move through the streets and open public areas in groups or couples, and many buildings are lit up with neon. The taller skyscrapers in fact become screens for giant light shows and constantly shape-shift from one scene to another as they do on the Dubai marina or the Ginza in Tokyo. The nights felt warm with promise but hide many secrets that the daylight cannot conceal.

I thought I would stay longer in Saigon but I had the feeling that I had seen the best of it, or at least the crowds and intensity weren’t worth the effort, so I scampered off to Can Tho in the delta region – a part of Vietnam I hadn’t been to on previous visits.

I took a private taxi to Can Tho – a delightful luxury. My 30 something driver and I chatted with the help of Google Translate with a modicum of success. I was able to tell him about my ESL teaching had resulted in close contact with many Vietnamese people. As ‘the American War’ and its aftermath had occurred long before he was born I felt like I had given him something of a history lesson. He didn’t seem to mind, and in fact seemed to quite enjoy it. A bonus on this ride was that this young man only played traditional Vietnamese folk music on his car stereo so the 2.5 hour journey played out with a wonderful authentic soundtrack.

Can Tho turned out to be much larger than expected. It has a population of roughly one million – just a bit smaller than Adelaide. It’s situated on the junction of the Hau and Can Tho rivers so sees a lot of river traffic. Big barges similar to those which make their way up and down the major European rivers passed by all day long.

Can Tho is also the jumping off point for those who want to visit Vietnam’s most famous floating market but …… it involves a 5.15 am departure and I decided I’d rather sleep in and enjoy the amazing buffet breakfast at the Sheraton. I figured I’d be able to organise some kind of boat journey from the many boatmen around the town wharf but that didn’t work out. In this case the translation software was a complete flop. And no one was interested in giving me a boat ride unless I was part of a tour, or charging me as if I were 2 people. (In Luang Prabang in Laos one could simply approach a boatman by the river and arrange a boat ride at a reasonable price but it wasn’t the case here.) It was disappointing but I thought I might do better in a smaller town. That turned out to be the case but I did enjoy a couple of long walks along the river fronts in Can Tho. Just away from the riverfront on one of these walks I think I saw a dog on a spit!

My next port of call was Ben Tre, a much smaller delta town. As soon as I got there I knew the decision to come here was a good one. A much smaller town. It felt rural. All strung out along the Ben Tre River. I stayed in a huge hotel room with a wonderful 10th floor view for about $50/night. The hotel itself seemed an anomaly for such a small town but it apparently gets a lot of visitors in peak season – mostly locals from Saigon looking for a delta break.

I was able to negotiate a boat trip for the next day at a reasonable price – something I was unable to achieve in Can Tho. So at a very civilized hour my guide met me in the lobby and we made our way to the riverfront. It was low tide time so it meant treading carefully through several metres of mud before heading off for several hours of very cruisy river travel.

We began in the Ben Tre river which was probably a couple of hundred metres wide. About 40  minutes later we arrived at a small brick factory which was made more interesting by the fact that I wasn’t expected to buy anything.  We turned into a smaller river at a large water junction and stopped at a place where they made coconut candy. I would have been quite happy to buy some of the product after I watched how it was made (quite a tedious and labour intensive process actually) but I was then whisked off to other parts of quite a large shop that sold a range of every imaginable product made from coconut – bowls, cutlery, animal carvings etc. Of course I bought nothing of these (I’d just to have to carry them home!) and it felt a little awkward as it always does.

The shop also had a number of those exquisite treats you find in many Asian markets: bottles containing liquid and various unlikely marinated creatures; crickets, frogs, snakes. I was asked if I’d like to try one of these potions – some alcohol infused with cobra (very good for older people I was told) and I politely refused. A voice behind me said I should taste it and said it tasted just like whisky. The guy and his female partner were obviously Vietnamese Australians and I trusted them I guess so yes I took a sip or two. And yes it did taste just like whisky.

The next port of call was a little more embarrassing as I had to watch a couple of local weavers again with the hope that I might buy some of their wares. It would have been easier had I been part of a group but they were doing their weaving routine just for me. I tried to be appreciative and grateful. I learned later that during the day they will have large groups of people come through so I at least knew then they would quite likely sell quite a bit across the day.

I had one more embarrassment to endure before we returned to Ben Tre but first we entered an even smaller channel and disembarked in a village and changed modes of transport. A short 20 minute ride in the Vietnamese version of a tuk-tuk took us deep into the jungle to places you’d never find on your own. I had a few flashbacks to my time in Sri Lanka where Louise and I were fortunate enough to know people who lived well off the beaten tracks and welcomed us into their humble homes. I had forgotten what a privilege that whole time in Weligama had been; experiencing life at a very basic level just as local people did. I laughed when we got out of the tuk-tuk because even though it felt like we were now deep into delta jungle territory there was a sign saying ‘Shop’! Across from the ‘shop’ was a small hut with the name of the tour company my boatman and guide from Ben Tre worked for.  Behind the hut was a wobbly rickety ramp leading down into a yet narrower channel with some canoe like boats moored on the water.

From here we (or at least our boatwoman did) paddled slowly down narrow channels overhung with arched palm trees. It felt like a cathedral of palms. So quiet, calm, and relatively cool in total shade. An even stronger feeling of being in a very strange and wondrous place for someone who lives in a city far away. So close to nature and the elements, and beholden to a life where you must hold them in great respect. Definitely the highlight of the day and an intimate experience of what it means to live in a delta where it’s only metres to the next waterway; as if the whole thing floats on a waterbed.

Coming out of this dream-like trance I was to face one further significant embarrassment. My guide had referred to having a stop at a restaurant before heading back to Ben Tre. I imagined a cool drink, coffee and a snack. Perfect for 11.00 am. But no, I was seated at a fully set table that was clearly ready for a full-on meal. And the first of several courses began to arrive. I protested and said I wasn’t hungry but still this large beautifully presented cooked river fish was put in front of me. Nothing I said could stop the food coming. I kept saying this would be wasted but tried some of the fish to be polite and pretended to be at least a little hungry. The local river fish delicacy was in fact quite underwhelming: looked great but tasted quite bland.

To save myself from more embarrassment and perhaps stop more food from coming I got up from the table and went and waited down by the river where our boat was moored. Someone chased after me and wanted money for the coffee I’d had – I thought it would be included in the price of the tour.....

In the boat on the way back the guide me told me he has asked the hotel where I was staying if lunch should be included and they’d told him yes. (I had specifically told them the day before that I did not want lunch. It was an optional extra.) So there were some crossed wires somewhere. I realised while talking to him that he would be the one who’d cop the expense if I refused to pay for the lunch. I decided to pay for it because it did seem like an honest misunderstanding. He was happy about that – he clearly appreciated it.

However, back at the hotel a quite spirited discussion broke out between the reception staff and the guide about who was to blame for the mix up. I kept out of it. I was still glowing from the wonderful four hours we’d spent on the river that morning and didn’t want to pursue it anymore. In a final note of pure class the guy on duty at reception later said he had heard me say the day before that I did not want lunch on the tour and refunded that amount off my hotel bill. That is looking after the customer!

While sitting on the ninth floor of this gorgeous hotel room later that day gazing out across the delta I started reading a book I’d brought from home about the impact of foreign wars on Vietnamese life, and it wasn’t long before I was in tears. Vietnam has a ridiculously long history of wars against foreign invaders. The Chinese, Mongols, the French, and Americans have all had a go at ruling Vietnam but were all eventually defeated and had departed. The Americans and their allies were the most recent on this list of the vanquished. And that of course included us – Australians. We contributed to the unnecessary hell of the Vietnamese people for 13 years (1962-75) – mass bombings, napalm and constant warfare. I just felt sad and guilty sitting there knowing that my country had been part of that madness. But the Vietnamese people bear no grudges it would seem, and I have never felt anything but very welcome in their country.

On my final morning in Ben Tre I went for a long walk to the edge of town where I found large roundabouts with almost no traffic (yes it was possible to find somewhere in Vietnam with almost no traffic!) – and back along the river through quiet neighbourhoods that felt quite mellow.

My final leg of this brief journey was back to Saigon airport. The first stages of this drive went quite smoothly but the final hour involved inching our way through impossibly crowded Saigon streets until we were suddenly at the airport.

With a sense of relief and some sadness I waited in the lounge glad to be out of the heat and the chaos, but a little weighed down by the thought that maybe this was my last time in SE Asia. It gets harder each time; I feel the tropical heat more keenly each time and it’s slowing me down. I don’t like to think that it could be the last time, but I have to accept that may be the case. I love it – always have. The smells, the chaos, the beauty, the smiles, and the wonderful feeling that wherever you go in SE Asia you are welcome. Apart from my shock introduction to it as a 19 year old, I have always felt very at home there.

However, in terms of my initial expectations of economic progress and improved standards of living this trip was a bit of a let down. Despite currently being rated one of the fastest growing economies on the planet Vietnam still has a long way to go before all its people live free of squalor.

 

 

What Australia Has Lost

I began reading Anh Do’s The Happiest Refugee yesterday. Anh and his family came here as boat people from Vietnam in 1980. It wasn’t long before the tears came. Not just because of the intensely emotional circumstances surrounding their gruelling boat journey away from Vietnam, but because of what Australia has lost as a nation.

Found in the South China Sea, Anh’s family were ferried to Malaysia and after time in a refugee camp they were resettled in Australia. Anh writes that for some years his family used to thank Bob Hawke in their nightly prayers for letting them come and live in his country! In fact, the number of times Anh recounts outpourings of gratitude from his family towards Australia is disarming. I cried because I felt enormous pride that we were once a nation that took in refugees and gave them shelter. I was proud to be part of that Australia. I cried too because our more recent policy towards refugees sees them languishing in a stateless limbo for years. I cried because I’m embarrassed that we have become so mean-spirited to those in dire need.

Anh Do’s story is full of references to decent human behaviour from average Australians helping newcomers adjust to life here. On the personal level, when you do someone a good deed it generally makes you feel good. And when you receive sincere gratitude in return you feel even better. Imagine all the cases in those times when Australians helped out newly arrived migrants and were bestowed with kindness and gratitude in return. What an enormous well of karma and wellbeing must have been built up from all of this selfless giving. On the collective level we can think of it as a vast store of social capital: it made the country feel good about itself. Societies with deep reserves of social capital exhibit effective functioning of social groups through interpersonal relationships, and a shared sense of identity. And not only did this result in a large number of people feeling good about themselves and the society they belonged to, but we also benefited from having wonderful people like Anh Do becoming part of our culture.

In contrast, what we have now is a policy that turns refugees away or keeps them locked up in off-shore detention indefinitely. There is no opportunity for Australians to demonstrate their generosity to newcomers; no opportunity to feel good about helping others who come from far away; no opportunity to gain invaluable social capital and feelings of wellbeing on an individual or collective level. Instead, we have become a nation that turns its back on those who ask for our help. How many Anh Dos have we turned away or confined to offshore detention? We will never know. Instead, we are left with the self-satisfaction that we have denied access to those in need; a strange and empty feeling that we have somehow protected and preserved our way of life. All I feel are awkward feelings of guilt and sadness – sadness that we have squandered a golden opportunity to simultaneously help others, nurture a national identity that is proud of its willingness and ability to welcome those in need, and improve the diversity and richness of our communities.

What a sad and shallow nation we’ve become. I’m glad that we did at least once upon a time accept the likes of Anh Do and his family into our lives.  

 

Song #17 Welcome to the Eighties

I think this was the first time I wrote a song for a specific purpose. I was playing at Gingers on New Year's Eve, 1979, and wanted to have a new song to celebrate the passing of the 70s and the arrival of the 80s. It's a mixture of nonsense and serious ideas that tried to encapsulate some of the significant themes and trends of the time. It was the kernel of a good song but like so many others I didn't ever take the time to refine it. It had quite a pleasant, upbeat rocky feel.

WELCOME TO THE EIGHTIES

 

Welcome to the eighties: it’s been a little shaky

Makin’ it this far and seeing the seventies out

No matter how you’re feeling your head may still be reelin’

It’s been 16 years since Twist and Shout

The Beatles never did reform; police still wear uniform

It’s even more the age of “complete this form please”

 

Will the pie carts go stereo, computers steal your radio?

Talk to friends on video?

Silicon chippio; space shuttle it’s a go

Will you work out where you want to go?

We haven’t seen the last of Mexico

 

Doom and catastrophe, will interstellar geography

Be within the reach of the simple man?

If the awesome brand new eighties features such a creature

If the awesome brand new eighties features such a creature

 

Peace, love and happiness, or peace, love and syphilis?

Or dole bludgin’ blues in an urban slum?

Queueing up forever buying cheque-fulls of sun

Queueing up forever buying cheque-fulls of fun

Queueing up forever buying cheque-fulls of glum?

 

 

Tricky Dicky Nixon and smilin’ Jimmy Carter

Darling Maggie Thatcher – Big Jim couldn’t catch here

Dear old Mother England has lost her way

Sone quit and rested; others were arrested

Making mega buck-ups the political way

Vietnam, Afghanistan, the Middle East and Africa

Iran, Pakistan, Uganda, Kampuchea

What’s there to say?

 

Electronic pinball; Tommy’s gone to Rollerdrome

Can’t escape those neon lights, there’s a moog in every home

 Windy Hill by laser light; casinos take your dollars right?

They’re all run by UFOs on eastern mystic guru might

Buddha, Hare Krishna, praise the Lord and Allah

Will the 1980s please tell us just who the hell is right?

 

Well if you’re confused then join the club

Join me on a flight to Sirius tonight

If you’re confused then join the club

Join me on a flight to Sirius tonight

                                     to Sirius tonight

                                     to Sirius tonight

It’s too serious tonight.

 

Copyright  31/12/79