Desperation is Political
by Doug Dosdall in Vietnam , Travel Books
You can find my full review of Daniel Gawthrop's Rice Queen Diaries here. One of the things I loved about this book was how powerfully it evoked the locations Gawthrop travels too and so I wanted to include something from Daniel's travels to Vietnam as well.
What was I doing here? When I landed at Tan Son Nhat airport that afternoon, I had no credit card or traveller's cheques, and only five American dollars in my pocket: half of which I owed the cab driver bringing me into town and half the going rate for a single night in a two-star hotel. It was my good fortune that the only bank machine in Saigon actually worked.
My hotelÖwas one of those French colonial walkups with the inner courtyard and winding, wrought-iron staircase that leads to the roof. The hallway-facing window of my fourth-floor room was secured on the outside by an iron grid, my privacy guaranteed from the inside by a gaudy pair of satin drapes. After taking my first shower in Vietnam that afternoon, Thailand already seemed a distant memoryóeven though just a few hours had passed since my last shower on Khao San Road.
The streets surrounding my hotel were dusty and dry, the air thick with kerosene fumes and motorcycle exhaust. Among the clusters of family shophouses and sidewalk bistros, every other doorway seemed to contain a shirtless young male leaning in its frame, vacantly stroking his belly. Earlier in the evening, a smile from one of those strangers had drawn me to his family's restaurant, where I paid US $1.50 for a heaping plate of fried race with chicken leg, and a large bottle of Tiger beer. After the meal, I wandered through District One, trying to ignore the humidity that had slowly enveloped me and seemed more oppressive than Bangkok's. My shirt was stuck to my skin, but I didn't stop walking until I found this café. Now, as I waited for my second beer, these pickled youths wanted to know why I'd chosen their country to visit.
***
Saigon was now Vietnam's center of trade and businessóthe city which, under Ho Chi Minh's name, would jumpstart the economy. But it was also a city frozen in time: the 'Paris of the Orient' that had never quite cut its ties with the old Gallic occupiers. After a few hours here, one could see why the French might pine for the good old daysÖ With its freshly-painted City Hall and Eiffel's famous Post Office, to the corner patisseries where one could still sit under an awning and read Le Monde while sipping a French espresso or chomping on baguettes stuffed with camembert, Ho Chin Minh City 2000 could have been Saigon circa 1952, the colonial backdrop for Graham Greene's The Quiet American.
***
Gawthrop visits a photography exhibition and the photographer 'bristled at my suggestion that offering dissenting political views through art might still be a no-no in today's Saigon.'
'That's not true,' he frowned, before an assistant called him away. 'Look around you. Everyone you see on the street is politicsóthe way people live. You can't get away from it, you can't hide it.'
Most of my time in the city had been spent in District One, but even here I could see the stark contrast between the poverties of Bangkok and Saigon. In the former, panhandlers sat quietly on the ground and wai'd passers-by for putting a five-baht coin in their cup. Vendors called out sometimes but always remained at their stalls; taxi drivers tooted their horns once before moving on. But here in District One, beggars and vendors alike swarmed every westerner they saw. Cyclo and motorbike drivers often following tourists for more than a block before giving up. Every day I was approached by orphaned children, one-eyed amputees, destitute seniors, and street hawkers selling Zippo lighters, newspapers, and portfolios of watercolour folk artósometimes whole groups of them, while I would be eating in a restaurant. Desperation is political.
Rice Queen Diaries, a memoir is published by Arsenal Pulp
Press. It is available through your local independent bookseller or online from
Amazon.com
