Once off the plane, we were promptly engulfed in crazy humidity. It never really let up, making for a non-stop sweatfest. I probably lost a few pounds in perspiration alone. Once out of the airport, we are promptly swarmed by the budding capitalists of Vietnam. Our first new friend is a taxi driver offering to take us to town for the low low price of $10 (though the Dong - pause for giggling - is Vietnam's official currency, the good ol' U.S. Dollar is also happily accepted and often preferred). We tell him the hotel we want to go to. He promptly informs us that there's lots of construction in that area and it's very difficult to get to, maybe we'd like to check out a great hotel he knows of?

I hate to say it, but this was a fitting welcome to the country.

Everyone is selling something, especially to highly visible white tourists like us. And if they don't sell the item/service you're looking for at the moment, you can bet they know someone who does (and you can bet they get a kickback for referring you). Case in point, our taxi driver and his super-duper hotel. This alone wasn't so bad, but he was also 1) attempting to charge us more than twice the actual fare to our hotel, and 2) blatantly lying about the construction near our hotel. Fortunately, we already knew about this scam (the Lonely Planet really pulls its weight in situations like this) and fled.

We hadn't made a reservation, and of course our hotel of choice was full. This little girl, maybe six years old, leads us deeper into a rather confusing alleyway. I'm fairly paranoid after the taxi guy experience, but follow her anyway, half-wondering why. Fortunately, it turns out well. There's another hotel nearby, where a young woman with passing English takes us up several flights of steps, and everything changes. What appeared to be a very ugly neighborhood at ground level turns out to be pretty colorful and neato.

Beautiful potted-plant-strewn patios were everywhere.

I was also very excited about the banana. She showed us our more-than adequate room - featuring AC, satellite TV, and a refrigerator - mentioned that breakfast was included (dinners on Sunday, too, and it just happened to be a Sunday), and the price? $12. $6 a piece! Suddenly, blowing $1300 on an extra ticket didn't seem quite as painful.

We set out to explore the city. The number of motorbikes is utterly overwhelming, they must outnumber cars a hundred to one. Because of their small size relative to cars and the apparent absence of traffic laws of any kind, it was a sort of fluid mayhem.

Larger intersections had proper stoplights, but traffic flow at uncontrolled intersections was dictated entirely by drivers. Basically, once the idling drivers decided they'd waited long enough, they slowly injected themselves into the cross-traffic, the cross-traffic stopped, and voila, de facto stoplight! Pretty amazing, actually. Who needs stinkin' tek-naw-lo-gee? Crossing the street on foot involved a similar tactic; just get in there, go slowly, and people will drive around you, as though you're a rock in a stream. It was absolutely terrifying at first, but after a few successful attempts it became strangely fun to stand in the middle of eight virtual lanes of traffic whizzing by.

Obligatory propaganda poster.

At some point we went to see some sights. The Reunification Palace is where, in 1975, South Vietnam officially surrendered to the North, and has apparently changed little since then. It serves largely as a reminder of ghastly 60's architecture.

After some intense mental warfare with a motorbike driver who told us the palace was closed, then told us to go to the wrong gate, then followed us all the way around to the real gate, we got inside. Swank!

The Vietnamese are crazy about billiards (the palace's denizens were apparently no exception). Nearly every bar we went to had a full-sized table or two. I was amazed by the ability of many shorter female players to make difficult shots with only one hand on the cue. They'd line up the shot with the tip of the cue on the table. Then, in a very mechanical motion, they'd pick it up, stab forward, and usually make the shot. The bridge is for sissies!

There is no luxury in the world quite like an elephant foot trash can.

History!

There's no basement in the Alamo, but there is in the Reunification Palace! It was a bomb shelter, war room, and nerve center, as evidenced by the many many desks with colored phones on them. Very Dr. Strangelove.

Best of all was the super kickass getaway car!

We also went to see the War Remnants Museum, of which there was no need to take pictures: jars containing formaldehyde and babies disfigured by exposure to Agent Orange are not something I particularly want to remember, but know damn well I won't forget. Not a happy place. If you can step back from the museum's fairly strong anti-American vibe (the Vietcong pulled horrible shit too, people), the photographs and displays on hand make for a very convincing condemnation of war in general.

After this sobering experience, we reminded ourselves that this was a vacation, not a Tour of Guilt for a war we had nothing to do with. So we went up the coast - to the beach!