October 23. Partook of a lavish breakfast buffet with Chet and Nancy, outside overlooking the beach and the main swimming pool. Interestingly, Chat and Nancy shared our view of the hotel, incredible both in what it is and in its failure to recognize the disadvantages of a room that seems almost booby trapped for the guests—think Cu Chi Tunnels, dark and trapped, but without the spikes to impale you when/if you fall. After breakfast, we walked back to our villa along the beach. Here are photos of Carol outside our villa and of our villa taken from the beach. (We and Chet and Nancy occupy all three buildings).  
We take a hotel shuttle into Hoi An. We stop in a tailor shop, for which the city is known. Chet and Nancy are more engaged in shopping there, so we part ways with them.   
Carol and I have a good time looking at the street scenes and going to a local market that seems much more authentic than the one we saw in Saigon.        
Around noon, Carol and I taxi back to our hotel and have an excellent lunch in a heavenly breeze by the main hotel pool, over looking the ocean. We head back to our room to rest, read, blog, etc. I take a refreshing swim in our private swimming pool, which is probably 20 yards long and is at the perfect temperature for swimming laps.
Chet and Nancy have arranged for massages, so we are to meet them at 7:30. As Nancy is too tired, Chet, Carol and I taxi into town to a restaurant called Morning Glory, which was recommended to us by our guide on the way to the hotel from the airport last evening. We have a terrific Vietnamese dinner, definitely the best meal we’ve had. Getting there and back we walk througha bustling and colorfully-lit old part of Hoi An, with a lot of street traffic (pedestrians, since no cars are allowed) and shops.
After dinner, we catch the shuttle back to the hotel, and retire.
(I had difficulty downloading some of the photos from earlier in the day and all of those from tonight, so I’m going to see if I can put them into another post tonight.)
October 22. At 8:00 a.m. after breakfast, our guide meets us at the hotel. On the hour and a half ride, we have a far-ranging discussion with Hoan about the issues Vietnam faces today, as well as subjects as far afield as soccer. Hoan is apparently an excellent player and travels with teams to play around Vietnam.
We drive through Saigon’s motor bike-infested roads   to the amazing Cu Chi Tunnels. Built over a period of 25 years beginning in the 1940s to sabotage the French occupiers, the tunnels are marvels of engineering, stretching from Saigon to the Cambodian border. Parts of the tunnels descend several stories deep, and include living areas, storage facilities, weapons factories, field hospitals and kitchens. The tunnels stretch for 250 kilometers and allowed the North Vietnamese to engage in combat in an area completely surrounded by American and South Vietnamese troops. We see the way the tiny entrances were cleverly camouflaged by the Viet Cong and the various forms of traps they built to capture and skewer American and South Vietnamese soldiers.   We continue on to the Cao Dai Temple in Tay Ninh stopping briefly for Hoan to explain about the collection of rubber from rubber trees.  At Cao Dai we take in a small part of the very colorful midday service.      Afterwards, we have lunch at a local restaurant, the proprietor of which fought at age 14 in the Cu Chin tunnels which we had visited this morning. Here she’s pictured with Chet, holding a military commendation below a photo of her with the president of Vietnam.
After lunch we are taken, in a driving rain, to the airport for our 6:25PM hour-long flight on Vietnam Air to Danang, arriving at the airport before 4PM and bidding farewell to Hoan, who did a very good job. Interestingly, though his English was not good, technically, we was completely understandable, more so than guides we’ve had who spoke better English. We spent time in the not luxurious, but comfortable enough, business lounge. Upon arrival in Danang, we are met and transferred to our hotel in Hoi An, Four Seasons Resort The Nam Hai.
Our hotel is incredible, in more ways than one. Our villa is amazing. Here is the living room that we share with Chet and Nancy. It looks out on our own large, private pool, beyond which is the beach and the ocean. And here’s Carol standing in our bedroom suite (which overlooks the pool and the beach and the ocean). And here’s a not very good photo of part of our bathroom, which includes both indoor and outdoor showers. All of these photos do not do justice to the villa and room. Incredible. But here’s what’s also incredible. Chet and Nancy and we both ordered room service for dinner, and they delivered our orders to the wrong suites. Our suite is on three levels, separated by a few dark stairs, calculated to assure that guests will break their necks. The huge desk on the top level of our suite has no plugs to plug computers, iPads, iPhones or anything else into. Now, I’m sure you’re not crying for us. Nor should you be, because our stay will be amazing. I do have to say, though—-Jeeeeeez.
October 21. At 8:00 a.m. Our guide, Hoan (pronounced like Juan) picks us up at the hotel. Hoan is 39, married with two children, and is originally from the central part of the country, where both his grandfather and father fought on the side of the Vietnam Cong. After the war they migrated down to Saigon. Ho was a great leader for the North, according to Hoan, but Hoan does not like communism. Asked what he calls the city, Hoan has no doubt—Saigon, Ho Chi Minh is for the North.
We depart for a two-hour drive from Saigon to Ben Tre, one of the country’s southern provinces, situated in the Delta of the Mekong River. On the van we learn a lot about Hoan’s upbringing and background. The eldest son of six children, his family frequently did not have enough to eat. His father was intent on Hoan getting an education and through sacrifices by his parents, grandmother and a cousin in Saigon, he was able to get the money to attend Tourism University in Saigon and graduate. Since then, his other brothers and sisters have graduated from university. One is a lawyer and another a banker. We also don’t discussed politics. Hoan estimates that about 3% of American tourists support Trump. For him, though, the leader does not matter; it’s what they do for the people. His view of the war is that that’s history; what’s important is the future, which is why he and others welcome Americans and good relationships with the US. Hoan is now fully familiar with the wok of GOATs. Surprisingly, he had not previously heard of the group.
As we leave behind the busy city, we pass Rach Mieu bridge before reaching Huu Dinh Hamlet. There we see roadside stores and street traffic 
  
We have a full day of visiting local small businesses. We get on our tri-motor cycle (tuk-tuk) ride to enjoy the lush surroundings of rice paddies and fruit farms alongside the narrow and very bumpy, pot-holed village roads. Here’s a view of our driver from above from the back of our vehicle
two natives in front of our tuk-tuk
a memorial to nine Vietnamese killed by the French
two ceramic dogs posted outside a house to ward off evil spirits
work by the side of the road
and a very large butterfly
Arriving at the waterfront, we board the Mango Cruise for a glimpse of the Delta scenery while enjoying coconut juice. 
  
Here’s Hoan, relaxing on the boat
Along the way, we visit a coconut processing plant
and then a brick making shop, where the locals still use centuries-old traditional methods to make the bricks by hand 
We then stop at the a rice noodles factory “hu tieu”, one of most popular breakfast dishes in the region.
After that, our personalized rower paddles us in a rowing sampan through the maze of small canals, which is definitely the highlight of the day for us. Traveling in these canals, it’s easy to see how Viet Cong and their supplies would have been nearly impossible to spot. Here are a few views of our rower.  
Then our rower takes us back to our Mango boat and we head to the Mango Home Restaurant for a 5-course lunch.
After lunch, the boat waits for us at the pier nearby to bring us back to Ben Tre city. Shortly after the boat takes off, we are caught in a torrential rainstorm, which adds to the adventure of the day and rather soaks us.  
Our van takes us back to the hotel, about an hour and a half later than we’d anticipated.
At seven this evening, we are met at the hotel by Thuan Trinh, the former ABC secretary who we’ve been put in touch with by Tony, the Japanese photographer friend of David Snell. I’d exchanged several emails with Thuan and arranged to meet her at the hotel. She’d asked if she could bring her 24-year old friend, Tam, with and we’d happily agreed. We had dinner at the hotel. Thuan is a total live wire, who left Vietnam in 1975, just as the government fell, and became an American citizen, living in Virginia, outside D.C., and working for ABC, until retiring and moving back to Vietnam in 2009. She has traveled very widely around the world, has relatives in many places and obviously is a master at making connections and utilizing those connections very effectively. It was great fun to spend some time with her. I think that one comment she made sums up pretty well what it must be like to deal with her. At some point, she asked whether I followed/ understood what she was saying. I said yes, but admitted that I had not understood the last thing she’d said. She said that her former boss had told her that when she spoke slowly, he could understand her, but that when she spoke fast, he just guessed.
October 20. Spent the couple hour layover in the Hong Kong business club, where I managed to post yesterday’s blog, AND learn that the Cubs had won. Three more to go.
Uneventful 21/2 hour flight to Saigon allowed me to finish EXIT WEST, which was excellent. Since we left for the airport inChicago at noon on Wednesday, it was a bit surprising to be told to have a good weekend getting off in Saigon, but damn if it wasn’t early Friday. The international date line will do that to you.
We were met by a visa service at the Saigon airport, which escorted us through immigration very efficiently. Our luggage was waiting and we were met at the airport. Standing outside a Burger King at the airport in sultry 80-degree weather, I joked to Chet that if the car didn’t come, we could get an Uber. He took out his phone, and, sure enough, we could indeed have Ubered to the hotel. Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary, as our air conditioned van arrived and drove us the twenty minutes to the very elegant Hotel Des Arts, where we checked in, showered and got some much-needed sleep, starting around 2AM in our large and lovely room. Here’s what appeared on the large, framed TV in our room.
Met Chet and Nancy for an excellent American-style breakfast in the 22nd floor restaurant, overlooking the city. We arranged to move our pick-up time from 12:30 to 11:30 ( this flexibility is a big advantage of traveling on your own) and set off with our guide for a day of exploring the city. No need to worry about the Cubs anymore, as they were ignominiously dispatched by the Dodgers, 11-1. As Chet said, “wait ‘til last year.”
We passed by Norte Dame Cathedral, but could not enter because of renovations. A bride and groom were posing for photos.
We crossed the street to the Central Post Office, built in the French Provincial style with the interior looking like an English train station–a beehive of activity with a large portrait of Uncle Ho at the far end of the station surveying the goings on. 
We stopped to walk through the large Binh Thanh Market, which was okay, but indistinguishable from markets we’d seen in many other countries that were more interesting.
By far our most interesting stop was the War Remnants museum that told the unvarnished story of the American war of aggression against Vietnam. Outside were examples of various tanks, artillary, planes and a helicopter used in the war. Just seeing the size of the armaments and reading about the devastation they were capable of doing was striking. From the armaments we walked to an area that recreated the prison situation in which prisoners of war were held, together with photographs and descriptions of those tortured. The most powerful parts of the museum, though, was the huge collection of absolutely stunning and devastating photographs, called “Requiem”, taken by many war correspondents from countries that were involved in or reported upon the war. Added were more photographs of people deformed by our use of Agent Orange. All of these exhibits provided a visual condemnation of war in general and the Vietnam war in particular. I could easily have spent at least another (quite uncomfortable) hour in this museum.    
From the War Remnants Museum, we drove to the Reunification Palace, formerly called the Presidential Palace and toured the quite lavish, but rather tasteful, building, obviously built using US funds. We saw the various conference, dining, greeting and entertainment rooms, as well as the residential parts.
We were scheduled to go on to the history museum, but the extreme humidity, our relative lack of full recovery from our trip over and the fact that we will see a more complete history museum in Hanoi convinced us to request that we simply be dropped back at the hotel. We went back up to the 22nd floor where we’d had breakfast to have some soft drinks, cakes and dried fruits, then went to our rooms to relax before dinner.
Back in the room, I discovered that, stupidly, I’d failed to take a cord that I needed in order to download photos from the camera to my iPad in order to include them in the blog. This accounts for the lack of photos with this post. Unless I’m able to get that cord from a camera store, which seems doubtful, I’ll need to take my iPad along and download some quite unsatisfactory photos for the rest of the trip. And this, on top of the Cubs loss, does not make me happy.
Well, I had my adventure for the day. I asked the concierge whether they might find a camera store that would have the cord I need. They could not find that, but the store suggested that I get a card reader to accomplish the connection. So, the concierge called me an Uber to take me to the store. Heavy rush hour traffic, drizzle, Vietnamese music blasting on the radio, I’m driven to the camera store whose address the concierge has hand-written for the driver. I’m told that the one-way fare will be 71,000 dong, or just over $3. (Chet and I each became millionaires this afternoon by cashing $50 for over a million dong). We arrive at the place and the guy at the strobe has misunderstood. He thought I needed a card, not a card reader. He says I should go up the block and turn right. I don’t understand, so he explains to my Uber driver, who pulls up to the new store. I go in. The guy brings out a card reader, but it doesn’t work, not enough power. I need to connect to the camera, he tells me. I tell him that I don’t have the cord. I tell him I have a Sony NEX7. He gets on his phone, checks and says he has the cord. He pulls it out from the back and says that will be 35,000 dong, or about a dollar and a half. The Uber driver has waited for me and drives me back through heavy traffic. I give him 200,000 dong, less than $10. He’s happy. I’m happy.
Return to the hotel in time for a quick shower, then off to dinner with Chet and Nancy in a very happening part of town at a very-hard-to-find French restaurant called The Temple Club, located on the second floor of an old house. Dinner is quite excellent, and we Uber back to the hotel and retire.
October 18-19. We ride with our friends, Nancy Schaefer and Chet Kamin, to O’Hare from which we are flying Cathay Pacific, through Hong Kong, to Ho Chi Minh City, formerly called Saigon. (Originally, we were to fly Korean Air, through Seoul, but Nancy was concerned about flying through Korea, given the current political climate, so we switched.) Nancy and Chet are quite recent friends of ours. Though I’d known Chet for many years through the legal community, we really only connected about three years ago through opera in Santa Fe because of our friends, the Kipharts.
Besides opera, which Nancy and Chet are very involved in, we share interests in the theater (Nancy, besides being a lawyer, is a playwright), in art, in travel and in politics (Chet and I were active in progressive causes when we were younger and the two of us are now involved in a group called the GOATS (Guys Organizing Against Trumpism). Chet and Nancy live a few blocks from us, and we’ve become quite good friends in a short time. After this trip we’ll either be closer, or not on speaking terms (I’m betting on the former).
We are spending our entire two weeks in Vietnam, so we will be able to cover the country quite well. We planned the trip with the guidance of our great travel agents, Jean and Ahdina Zunkel of Santa Fe. Carol and I have used the Zunkels before in Africa and been delighted by their knowledgeable, professional, personal and responsive service. And they’re fun, too. So, if you’re looking for somebody good to help you with a trip, I’m happy to provide this shout out. (jeanzunkel@gmail.com; ahdinazunkel@gmail.com)
Here’s a better map of Vietnam than the one that was in my initial post.
It’s actually a bit surreal, going to Vietnam. I spent a good part of my 20s avoiding that country, and now I’m paying big bucks to visit.
It’s hard even to think about Vietnam without appending the word “war”. That war shaped our history, culture and consciousness.
Personally, I avoided the Vietnam war because of the rule that was in effect exempting men married before a certain date from the draft. I’ve always felt a bit guilty about that. Had I been called up, I would have served, though I think I’d probably have been a lousy soldier, because I don’t take orders well. And I’ve never thought of myself as somebody who is likely to storm the barricades. Too much of a chicken.
I spent a key year of the war, 1967-68 in London, ostensibly studying at the London School of Economics. It was a bit crazy, viewing the US through the eyes of the foreign press. We looked like a Third World country, what with the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, cities in flames and the chaos surrounding the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, which the Walker Commission Report described as a “police riot.”
Recently, Carol and I watched the Ken Burns documentary on the Vietnamese war. If you have not seen it, I highly recommend that you do. It is not at all a pretty picture. One gets a sense of the horror of the war from the footage that is shown and some appreciation for what people went through from the interviews, both of Americans and of South and North Vietnamese. It’s not easy to watch how we were sucked deeper and deeper into an unwinnable war through five presidencies. It’s also not easy to watch how the American people were out-and-out lied to about all aspects of the war. In a very real sense, we are still living the legacy of, and paying the price for, that war today.
Though I think that ours is a pretty damn good country (especially when one considers the alternatives), the whole uber-patriotism thing scares the shit out of me. It reminds me far too much of Germany in World War II. While I choose to stand for the playing of the national anthem, I believe very strongly that people have the right to sit or kneel, if they want to, and should not have to fear reprisals for doing that. Indeed, I would support and participate in, an effort to show support for those who choose to kneel by fans in the stands. And I am bothered by simple things like asking people to stand and applaud to honor a military person in the fourth inning at Wrigley Field. I have nothing against the people being honored, but I don’t plan to stand and applaud until others who serve the country equally well – teachers, firemen, etc. – are similarly recognized and honored.
Well, I realize that the reflections above are quite a digression from describing our trip, but as this blog serves as a journal for me, I do, from time to time, digress to talk about what I’m thinking. And, besides, it’s a long plane trip.
Speaking of which, yes long—15 hours to Hong Kong, 2 hours layover and then 2 1/2 hours to Saigon. We’re flying business class, which ain’t cheap, because we’re too damn old to be flying coach on these flights any more. One payoff of having turned 75 days ago is, for the first time, not having to take my shoes off when passing through security even though TSA pr-clearance does not apply on international flights. Poor Carol is relegated to her socks for a couple more months. One advantage of business class is a comfortable lounge with food (including, importantly, M&Ms and chocolate chip cookies), and drink at the airport.
One benefit of a trip like this is that it shields you, somewhat, from having to face the depressing political scene at home. It’s not that we won’t be aware of what’s going on—the Internet will make sure of that—but we will not have to deal with the constant, and to me very debilitating barrage of news alerts, Facebook posts and the like that consume so much time and energy on practically a minute to minute basis. I know that, in theory, one can distance oneself from that barrage at home. But I can’t.
Another side of this news cycle, though, is that as an American traveling abroad, I feel embarrassed by our country’s position in the international community. I’d like to wear a big button that says, “I didn’t vote for, and don’t condone, anything about our fucking president.” (Hey, there may be a business opportunity in producing those buttons and setting kiosks up in the international terminals of all US airports. I wonder what percentage of international travelers from the US support Trump.).
I recognize and respect that many people in our country were extremely unhappy about President Obama and disagreed vehemently with his policies. But, as Ta-Nehisi Coates said when we heard him speak at The Chicago Humanities Festival the other night, nobody could be embarrassed by President Obama, as a human being or by the way he comported himself. With our current president, we are embarrassed by something new every single day.
And I’ll be spared experiencing, first-hand, the likely elimination of the Cubs by the Dodgers. In a way, I’m fleeing from Wrigley Field, having witnessed last night’s third loss by the Cubs. From a distance of 8000 miles, it may be possible to appear somewhat philosophical about a Cubs defeat, even if I don’t really feel that way.
Well, maybe I’ve ranted enough for the time being. I guess I should take advantage of the long flight to Hong Kong now by reading, perhaps watching a movie or two and trying to get a bit of sleep. I’ll let you know how I do.
Carol finished a book called ON THE FRONTLINES OF THE TELEVISION WAR, written by a Japanese photographer, Yatsutsune Hirashiki, known as Tony, because Yatsutsune was too difficult for Americans to pronounce. Tony photographed for ABC during the Vietnamese War and we learned of Tony and his book because our youngest daughter’s father-in-law, David Snell, was an ABC journalist in Vietnam who became a friend of Tony’s. When David heard we were going to Vietnam, he reached out to Tony and Tony has put us in touch with a former ABC employee with whom we will have dinner in Saigon on Saturday evening. Making connections like this is one of the real joys of travel.
Anyway, a chapter of Tony’s book is devoted to David Snell and consists largely of writings from David’s journal. David is an excellent writer and the journal entries provide a small window into the harrowing life of a journalist in a war zone. Here’s an excerpt from his journal that conveys the journalist’s attitude in combat, “as we ran toward the shooting, I thought, ‘At last I’m getting some action’ then, as if by magic, the shooting stopped, and all was quiet. Not ‘deadly quiet’ just ‘nothing’. I was disgusted. The only sure way onto ABC’s air was with action film. I was missing out again…… [To my camaramen] I lamented the missed action, the wasted day. ‘It’s the story of my life. When I arrive, peace descends like a dove.’….An hour later I was lying on my back, a hole through my leg, and the middle knuckle gone from my right hand.”
David’s stint was shorter than it would otherwise have been because he was evacuated after being wounded by a land mine. His prose brought home to me that my saying that the Ken Burns documentary gave Carol and me some appreciation for the horrors of war and what people went through is somewhat ridiculous. Nobody who has not experienced it can truly appreciate the experience.
On the plane, I also read more than 3/4 of a very good novel, EXIT WEST, by Mohsin Hamid. I passed on watching movies. Though my seat converted to a bed, I rested, but did not sleep. When the captain announced that we were approaching Hong Kong and the local time there was 6:45, I had no idea whether it was morning or evening. It was evening. If there is wifi in the Hong Kong airport, I will try to post this. Here is Carol standing on her seat to get into her bin on landing.
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