So! Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh City. Saigon. Where to begin? I’ve been asking myself why I came here, as I wipe the sweat from my brow and write into another muggy night, serenaded by the low thrum of an oscillating fan. Now I’m here, it almost seems like an impulse, albeit one I’ve been planning for over three months, and an idea that’s been over three years in the making.
Communism and mopeds. The two linchpins of Vietnamese society.
Three years ago, I went to
China on a three week university exchange in the north eastern city of Dalian,
rounded off by a week travelling in Beijing and Hong Kong. I had a fantastic
time. A few years later, when I found myself teaching English as a foreign
language all over Austria and Germany, a new plan formed. I wanted to strike
out and stay somewhere, in one place, for a while. Maybe as long as a year.
First, I wanted a change from
Europe. South America was an unknown quantity. Hong Kong, with its British colonial heritage, would have been an easy choice, but a combination of its
London-esque cost of living and the difficulty in applying for a job without
actually being there turned my attentions elsewhere.
Spoiler: I went to Vietnam.
I had been told by more than
one friend that I would love Vietnam, and in March, the advice two colleagues
who had worked in Vietnam also sealed the deal. A few months later, I would be applying for jobs, getting poked full of holes for various vaccinations and haemorrhaging my limited savings of flights and the necessary bureaucracy.
Best of all, I had two contacts in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly and still frequently referred to as Saigon), the country's largest metropolis where work would surely be easiest to come by; Tom from school, and Tien, the Vietnamese guy who I had met in Ljubljana and then later in Vienna when I was travelling the great cities of Central Europe. Both would prove to be invaluable companions to induct me into the hectic Saigon lifestyle.
Best of all, I had two contacts in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly and still frequently referred to as Saigon), the country's largest metropolis where work would surely be easiest to come by; Tom from school, and Tien, the Vietnamese guy who I had met in Ljubljana and then later in Vienna when I was travelling the great cities of Central Europe. Both would prove to be invaluable companions to induct me into the hectic Saigon lifestyle.
Fast forward to the end of
September and it suddenly felt incredibly strange and daunting to be finally
leaving. Despite all my planning and preparation, it was hard to believe I
would be leaving the old homestead for so long. I’ve been away before, and I’ll
be back again one day, but I’ve never been away for so long at one time. And I never managed to watch the end of The Hunt for Red October.
The apprehensive traveller departs.
It was a rush out of the door
as always, so I felt whisked away without a chance for it to properly sink in.
The drive to the airport was relatively uneventful, but it’s a long way from
Birchington to Heathrow, and a long wait when you arrive three hours early for
a long haul flight. But the time passed quickly with a last lunch and coffee
outside in the sun with mum and dad, and I was only at the gate for 20 minutes
before we started boarding.
The flight itself passed a lot
more quickly than I expected. It was just under twelve hours long, and after two
hearty meals (by airline standards), one film (the entertainingly bonkers Jupiter Ascending) and at least three
hours’ sleep we were coming into land before I knew it.
I didn't take any photos at this point, so here's a stock image of a Vietnam Airlines plane. London-Ho Chi Minh City Non-Stop!
