Sights of Vietnam, thoughts of home

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    TRAVEL, so ‘tis clichéd, broadens the mind. That comes, of course, with the presupposition that there is a mind to broaden in the first place.

    Vietnam – okay, Ho Chi Minh City to be pinpointedly specific – produced an altogether different effect: It imploded the mind – to thoughts back home.

    The skyscraping teak trees on sidewalks along just about every street and avenue in the city, as well as the urban forest that is the Taodan Garden fronting the Chancery Saigon Hotel makes one cry, remembering the massacre of acacias and camachiles along MacArthur Highway.

    The Mekong River – its center channel already 25 meters at its shallowest – is source of quarry materials barged and sold to Singapore. Think the million-peso per day income from quarrying the heavily silted Dalan Bapor River and the Pampanga River Delta.

    Half-day cruise on the Mekong Delta with stops at quaint villages for horse-cart rides; tasting, and naturally, buying local products; and sumptuous lunch of pho  and fish transposed to a Pampanga Bay cruise with stops to savor Sasmuan’s delicacies, Guagua’s chicharon, and Macabebe’s tidtad bibi. Or a Pampanga River boat excursion with stops for Arayat’s halo-halo and Candaba’s buro.

    Big guns, heavy tanks, aircraft captured from the US forces now on display at the War Remnants Museum. Think how much scrap materials there contracted to junk dealers for the livelihood of Aeta tribesmen. Rage, rage, rage, Mayor Pelayo.

    In front of Notre Dame, a bevy of high-school girls in immaculate ao dai, in the full embrace of newsman Deng Pangilinan. Board Member JQ Quiambao, is that you? 

    Now for the truly Vietnamese: four million motorbikes in a city of eight million people. Crossing the streets of Ho Chi Minh City is a race for life – one’s own.   
     

    Finally, paying homage to Uncle Ho: the unrepentant communist is home.

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