Vietnam. Platoon. Saigon. These are the first thoughts that spring into my mind. What else could it be? In the past decades we have been bombarded by the media about the Vietnam war. There is no escaping it. However, how horrible it may seem, the people here have been much better off than in Cambodia. There the war is still deeply encased in the national psyche, the old Khmer Rouge is still in power, people still killed, maimed daily by unexploded landmines. Vietnam seems to have moved on. Communism victorious. Forget the past and make a living. Maybe for the better.

I board the bus at nine in the morning in Phnom Penh, starting the six hour journey into Vietnam. Remko and Michel have a day head start as my Chinese visa did not arrive in time the previous day. For once, the ride is entirely uneventful. I'm glad about that. Even the border crossing happens without a hitch, no stamping fees or other crap. Although it is the weirdest procedure ever. Boarding the bus, the border guards take in everybody's passport. This is given to the Cambodian border officials. Only the foreigners have to show up at the booth to show our faces. Our names are called one by one as we board the bus. We drive through no-man's land. On the Vietnamese side we all have to exit the bus again, taking all our bags with us. We are ushered into the reception hall and wait. Like a production line the officials stamp the passports, check the validity of the visa without even looking at the person whom it belongs to. Each checked passport is put on the side and when about a dozen orso are done the bus driver grabs them and calls all the names. You just walk up, grab your papers and voila, that's it.

There are two more officials before you exit the building. They don't really pay attention, but if you're unlucky, you have to put your bag through the x-ray machine - I doubt the man even looks at it - and/or match your face to the photo. They don't really care though, and more than half of us enter Vietnam without a proper check. Some decontamination unit sits outside, hosing wheels of entering vehicles. That is whenever their conversation hits a dead spot and they actually notice the motorbike / car speeding past them at the border. Never have I seen such lax control; especially for a communist country.

And they are communist. The national flag is hugely red and everywhere. More often than not coupled with the hammer and sickle. Good old communist propaganda posters are plastered around every town. Promoting the power of labour, factories, male and female equality. The benign, fatherly silhouette of the great national hero, Ho Chi Minh, staring back at you. It's hilarious. Oh, and as any good communist country should do, Facebook is blocked. *sigh* Hurray!

About an hour into Vietnam the bus enters Saigon. Or at least it seems so judging from all the advertisements that have HCMC - Ho Chi Minh City - written on it. We continue for two more hours. This city is f***ing huge. Eleven! million people. More than in the whole of Hungary, all cramped together. It shows. The traffic is crazy. And I am not easily impressed anymore. Not after Hong Kong, Bangkok. But this, this is insane. Like a madhouse. A never ending orchestra of noise, of honking. At red lights tightly packed motorbikes queue up, waiting for the go. Hundreds of them. So cramped that you can't even see the tarmac anymore. There is something about this city. The moment you enter you can feel an invisible energy, a power that pushes you forward. Pushes the entire country forward. Relentlessly. For some unknown reason I love this city instantly. Like I hated Bangkok at an instant, so have I taken a liking to this. Don't ask why.

Before I split ways with Remko and Michel we picked a hotel to meet up at. Very close to the bus drop-off point. Precisely according to expectations I get swarmed by the cab people the moment we arrive in Saigon. They're so funny. Keep telling me that "hotel very far" and "take long time, I take you". I thank them, they shake their heads as I start walking... three minutes later I arrive. Precisely as I expected the two are sleeping in the hotel at four in the afternoon. What the hell, what's wrong with you? I practically have to kick them out of bed which takes about an hour and start a walking tour. Mr. Germ and Mr. Expensive drag me to a fancy Indian restaurant. You order the food which is already at 100.000 dong well over my average food expense. But there isn't even a side dish to go with so I order a naam. After what seems like hours of waiting I get ONE crappy piece of pancake that isn't bigger than that of a tea cup. And that for 20.000 dong. The waiter helpfully asks if I'd like another. Well, f*** you, I'm not giving you any more money for your s***ty food! Damn.

The night brings us Apocalypse Now. One of the fanciest night clubs in Saigon. A really nice place. We were really lucky to get there early before an entrance fee was levied. I don't even want to know how much it is if the menu has 900 euro whiskeys on it. A can of beer 60.000 dong. Yes, Asia can be expensive. I bought a cocktail for 50.000 dong. Should've known though. I get a tiny bit of B52 in a tiny shooter glass. Damn! I managed to smear out this one drink for over two hours. The longest ever I spent sipping. The club was really nice. The top bar had live South American music. We chilled there a while, enjoying the familiar music until Michel got tired and we headed back to the hotel. Getting harassed by the cabmen, drug dealers, hookers isn't even worth mentioning anymore.

Friday the Indian cuisine avenged itself. Both Remko and Michel got the runs. Suits them right for picking this restaurant. So while both of them were moaning and in bed I manage to kick out Michel and explore the city with him. The traffic. I love the traffic. My buddies are terrified of the motorbikes, tell me horrible stories of crossing the streets. Lonely planet has tales from hell to not cross streets if you value your life. If you really must, pay close attention to the locals and do not rush. But I love it! I have Michel take me to the busiest road. I cross it once. I cross it again. And again just for the fun of it, taking a Japanese girl by the hand who is petrified to go. It's so much fun. You just start to move, look the drivers in the eye, make sure they notice you are there and mentally negotiate if they'll pass you in front or in the back. If the traffic is too thick to move, do not stop! Just start moving against the traffic and continue crossing again when it lets down. It's a giant swarm, like an ant swarm where each and every individual moves chaotically, but move back a bit and there is this living organism that surges forward in unison. Beautiful! I am absolutely sure that even despite the lack of discipline, the crazy drivers, the ignoring of any and all traffic rules it is actually safer to drive in Asia than back home. People actually pay attention to the traffic, look out for the others and not blindly go when the light turns green. I could just sit on a terrace, sipping tea and watching this orchestra all day. Michel of course was scared s*** and continued on the same side of the road waiting for me; refusing to cross.

We pick up a ticket to the cinema in the evening. Inception is on at 21:25. Dirt cheap, only 2.50 Euros. A little walk around town brings us to the old market. After being in so many markets in South Asia I'd rather avoid them. Too crowded, too noisy and they sell the same crap all over. Same goes for Chinatown. But we have our orders as Remko asked us to buy him some underwear. As soon as I step into the hall, my eyes gaze upon that of the first vendor and there is no escaping. They practically pull down my pants to measure my size and the sales girl bars the only exit. In an attempt to save myself I call Michel and in a chorus five or six of the girls start chanting his name; a devious group of sirens intent on certain doom. He is snapped as well and we are lucky to escape with only buying two pieces of garment at slightly inflated prices. It was fun though. On our way back we discover the most amazing ice cream place. This'll be our place to have dessert for the next few days.

Inception was an interesting movie about invading someone else's dreams and thus controlling their future actions. But what was really fascinating was the fact that about five minutes before the end most of the audience left. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because after midnight parking is more expensive? Because there is a curfew? Or maybe they don't like a (possibly) bad ending? Who knows. And about 10 seconds before the end, as Di Caprio spins his little totem and we watch intently whether it is going to topple over or not, everybody else gets up and leaves. It is just us three who remain and see the picture cut to black just as the totem starts to waiver. We sit through the beginning of the end credits, but the moment we get up to leave the lights are turned on in the hall and the film is stopped. This has been most bizarre.

On the way back to our hotel we stop to buy some water and I wait outside the store, watching the nightlife. Every minute or so one or more men come by on bicycles, little suitcases wrapped at the back and in their right hand a short stick which they shake to make a sound. Ever curious I call to one, saying hi and he stops, expecting obviously a sale of whatever it is he is in. I must've been unlucky to get the one non-English speaking guy in whole of Saigon, but all I get out of him is "massaaaaa" and as I shake my head saying no to something I don't even know what he heads off, back into the night. They could be mobile pimps, offering happy massages, but then why the suitcase in the back? Really, really strange.

The following day - Saturday - we book a daytrip to the Cu Chi tunnels. These were used by the Vietcong to hide below the ground and ambush the Americans. Our tour guide is very nice and loves explaining history - with a healthy dose of communist propaganda about their heroic fight for independence. Every time he says "Vietcong" you can not only feel the determination in his voice, the proud feeling of being Vietnamese, but his eyes all lit up with fire. Ready to fight. "The Americans" especially evoke a fierce expression on his face. Hehe. And of course the standard jokes. I can't believe he can still laugh about them, must've told these a million times. My favourite: "Ho Chi Minh City has 11 million citizens. 4 million motorbikes. If you have a Honda you have beautiful girlfriend. If you have Chinese bike, you have second-hand girlfriend. No bike, no friend". Loved it! And indeed, the bikes are a symbol of wealth. Who would want to go out with a boy who has a $80 motorbike. I wouldn't :)

We finally arrive at the tunnels. Buy the tickets. Actually four separate tickets, each on a separate piece of paper, each for 20.000 dong, and the only explanation is in Vietnamese. THE way to get the most out of tourists. We walk around the area, our guide enthusiastically explaining about the tunnels, about the traps, about all the ways they've killed Americans - his eyes pop each time - the life underground, etc. Naturally we spend most of the time at the shooting range where you can fire AK-47's, M-16's and whatsoever... children. I wonder how all the enthusiastic gun nuts will react once they are hit by one.

The tunnels themselves are small, dark rabbit holes. Americans wouldn't even fit in there. We barely do, and these are even larger ones. It is really hard to believe people could live down here for years. Sheltering from the constant bombing. Hell, even babies were born underground. Don't blame the US army though for hating this place. The exit of these tunnels are barely 30x50cm big, could be anywhere. Traps, ingenious traps of different types and sizes are hidden from view everywhere and their own shells, bombs were collected and turned into landmines to be used against them. Must be true horror to constantly get shot at from nowhere. And everything the US did to discover, disarm, disable these tunnels failed. Burning away the foliage, shelling the tunnels doesn't help as the important parts are 10m under ground. You can't send people underground even if you find the entrance as they will surely die, if not from guns then from the myriad trapdoors inside the tunnels themselves! You can't send dogs in to sniff out the tunnels as they have been horribly maimed by traps and confused by pepper, American soap. Truly ingenious. You have to give the Vietnamese people the respect they deserve for their determination to win.

Oh, the tickets. So we get one for the grounds, one to enter the tunnels. Then another one to see a propaganda movie about Charlie where they go on and on about some hero who shot dozens of the enemy. And the last one for the VC party. A single cup of tea and sugary potatoes. Yippee! Nobody checks your tickets though, and everybody buys all four of them. So why even bother? Meh.

Somewhere along the way the Cu Chi tunnel sticker fell off my shirt so I thought I'd ask the ticket officers to give me a new one. Sooo disillusioned. All the Vietnamese until now have been very friendly, even in denial. But these people - and generally the army guys - are horrible. He says "No. One ticket one sticker". I could jump up and down, ask really nicely, joke, do whatever I want, but the most blunt and resolute "No" is all I hear. And when his superior got bored of listening to his subordinate talking to me I was most rudely turned away. f***ing communists!

Oh, whom did I meet on the tour? Such a small world - again. After running into Jenise in Sii Phan Don and Lee in Siem Reap, I meet Janie. Who is on the same tour at the same time as we are. So incredible. We decide to meet up later that day - it is only around ten in the morning - and visit the Imperial Palace. Or Independence Palace. Or Reunification Palace. What the f*** its name is, as it has had quite a few over the years.

Remko - still sickish - and Michel - generally tired? - go back to the hotel to sleep, so it's just me and Janie to tour the palace. Halfway there obviously it starts to rain. She doesn't have an umbrella and I've given Ms. Kitty to Remko for safekeeping. And of course it's getting quite late so we cannot wait for the rain to stop. We grab a taxi, but the driver doesn't really know where this place is, and just drops us off in the general area. From there on we are on foot. And it's pouring. A good old-fashioned tropical downpour which gets you unbelievably wet. Within a minute that is. Walking. After buying tickets, soaking-wet we enter the palace. I'm still surprised we are allowed in, as we drip for hours, leaving a wet trail everywhere we go. Nice tour, horribly ugly 70s rooms, communist propaganda, good fun. At least the rain stops halfway.

And starts again when we are done. At full power. Tired, hungry, there is no point in waiting for it to stop so after ten minutes of deliberating the free shower we go once again. Soaking wet. Again. So wet that when I stand below a gutter with water just pouring down from it I don't even notice. Loved it though. Once you are past a certain point of being wet it really doesn't bother anymore. It's just fun. Especially the reaction from locals as they see two drenched people strolling casually, jumping into pools, doing stupid stuff.

Finally home we all take a shower and the four of us go out for dinner. And ice cream! Best part of the day and I can't believe it's something as stupid as food :) Janie's flight leaves at six in the morning the next day and our bus at seven to Mũi Né so we decide to pull an all-nighter. Going from bar to bar, exploiting happy hours, it's pretty cool. Although I still don't get why we had to go up the stairs into a completely empty club to enjoy the 2-for-1 cocktail special then go down with the drinks to the same place where happy hour was not valid. Vietnamese... We get kicked out of the last pub at closing time around two and just walk around aimlessly. After Janie leaves there is really no reason to be awake anymore. A two-hour powernap. Yaay. Jolt from the bed when the alarm goes off, zombie out into the street and continue sleeping in the bus.

On our way to the beach... the one we have missed for so long.