A Saigon Ghetto

I’d lived 16 months in Saigon when the experience of living in a Saigon ghetto came to pass and I had my thoughts about the Vietnamese change majorly.  Nestled between two main one-way road systems is a complete city block of sharp turns, junctions and small alleys. Juxtaposing with small businesses, an open air market, a pagoda, and a tiny school for position; are motorbikes, cyclos, pedestrians, chickens and dogs.

In between incomes I’d spent the last couple of months seizing hold of the very generous offers of friends to occupy their spare rooms.  That time had been spent living in luxury apartments complete with gyms, swimming pools, 24 hr security etc.  I had been spoilt and knew it.

Traveling light (or my version of it, still with 5 bags in tow) I took a taxi to my hotel in a part of Saigon I hadn’t been to before but which equated to the nicest online photos with the cheapest price.

It was nighttime and the taxi driver, who had no idea of our destination, dropped me at the end of an alleyway running off a big one-way street and used body language to explain, while he unloaded my 5 bags onto the street, that this was the end of the line for us.  How he imaged I was capable of pulling a suitcase, have a pack on my back whilst carrying 3 more bags on my own towards a destination that I had no idea of, I wished I’d had the ability to ask.

I managed to get the attention of another taxi driver just in the process of dropping passengers off, showed him the address of what appeared to be a problem location because had to ring one of his colleagues for directions. Five minutes later I was successfully deposited right outside the hotel having been transported through tight dark back alleys, negotiated around almost impossible corners and a veritable rabbit warren of tenement housing and street food stalls.

Smile planted firmly on my face I tried to dismiss thoughts of swimming pools, trees and landscaped beautifulness from my mind.  The hotel had a working lift and the room and sheets were reasonably clean.  The air-conditioning worked, the water pressure was good and there were 4 condoms in the ashtray!  It’s the considerate extra touches that count.

In bright sunny daylight the next day I walked around my new hood, investigating and gaining the lay of the land.  Living quarters of multiple building blocks 5-6 stories high adorned with laundry and pot plants sat atop business after business.  Big white buckets displayed many varieties of rice in its raw state; there were fabrics shops and tailors, clothing shops, laundries, fruit & vegetables stalls, whole ducks and pigs, seafood and fish for pets or fish to eat, everything it appeared could be sourced here.

The best and most surprising part of this ghetto however, was the people, smiling, friendly and helpful.  This city block was sitting in the middle of another time in Saigon, less developed, less westernized. It was less stressed and had way more content.  The people, instead of wanting to discourage me, a foreigner, from being in their lovely almost hidden world, they drew me in, eager to share.

On asking a Xe Om (motorbike taxi) driver near my hotel what his price to my destination would be answered with the customary quote of 50,000 vnd ($2.5) for a 5 min journey.  While he hastily pulled on his work shirt over his singlet, his mates gestured for me to sit down with them on the small plastic chairs. Here they play chess, drink coffee and put the world to rights.

We then started the customary bargaining in an attempt to establish a cost for the cost of the bike ride of which we were both happy. I begin in my pretty non-existent Vietnamese by attempting to say don’t charge me tourist prices.

I came back to his 50,000 vnd with 30,000vnd ($1.5), he came back at 40,000 vnd ($2) and so I came back with 30,000 and a half ($1.75)  Now the half could have caused trouble in the “universal” body language but this man of mirth clarified our shared understanding of his fee by holding up three fingers on one hand along with a half finger on the other hand. I wished I had the ability to ask him how he’d lost the other half.

I laughed, his mates laughed at my laughing, I gave him a thumbs-up for his comedy and we all laughed again.  I took the proffered helmet and walked towards his motorbike which was language enough to seal our deal.

Having fun while playing the bargaining game – a definite like!

I loved my 2 weeks here, it opened my eyes up to the how nice the Vietnamese can be and proved that there are lovely, kind gentle souls in the ugly big city; you just have to be lucky enough to find where they’re hanging out.