Entry Wounds. Episode 03: What's mine is mine.

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18/12/200 6:00pm Ho Chi Minh City
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Since being here I have had the urge to dropkick my Lonely Planet guide into the Saigon River several times. It has told me that at the airport passengers are driven to the terminal from the plane by bus. Rubbish! They have those enclosed walkway things like every other airport. It has told me to be ultra careful with
food, and never have drinks with ice in it. Bullshit! If you like the look of it, eat it. Simple. Half the street side cooking is probably a damn sight cleaner than Smorgy’s. It also gave me the impression that pickpockets and muggings at knife point are quote “ a common and serious problem, do not wear jewelry or watches they will be stolen.” Bullshit x2! I’ve walked the streets at night and in the day (with my watch) and never felt threatened. There are always curious and hungry eyes everywhere you go but nothing like they describe. Half of them just gaze up in wonder at a human who is larger than 5’5” and 60kg.
In either case I decided to make use of its sight seeing guide. I found the Botanical gardens only 500m from my house, and the War Crimes Museum, and a big Hindu temple. The Botanical gardens are a good respite from the constant barrage of engines and horns of the city. Big lush trees with squirrels in them. I’d
never seen squirrels in the flesh until today, however my dreams of feeding them were dashed when I found out they carry rabies. I then walked to the War Crimes Museum. A nice old local fella with tattooed arms told me it was closed (siesta of course) and to come back at 1:30pm. I did. It is what every War Museum should
be. Honest, no holds barred, as it was. They had awesome photos of fighting in action, and then it progressed to interrogation photo’s. One where a Vietnamese farmer is no his knees as a US soldier stands behind him, twisting his arm behind his back, past the point of dislocation, his forearm behind his back in
line with his spine, and his fist about 6 inches above his head. Try doing it and you’ll get an idea of what sort of pain he was in. Children wailing in terror as US troops bayonet their parents only a metre in front of them in an attempt to extract information from the youngsters. Then it progressed to the effects of Napalm and Phosphor Bombs. From a screaming three
month old baby whose body and neck dangle with fried tattered skin, to a teenage boy who only moment after a phosphor bomb attack stares into the camera with his bottom jaw and teeth scorched to the bright, white, bone. There is of course
that famous photo of that girl running naked down the road with great portions of face, torso, and thigh burnt by Napalm. Then there are the faces of 23 school children. Still at their desks, with the skin on their faces stretched back tight over their heads. Revealing their teeth, jaw bones and eye sockets. All
thanks to Phosphor Bombs. Then there are the Agent Orange babies. Grotesquely deformed, arms and legs, just nubs or strange tentacle like appendages. A young child whose side profile
is like the letter S, with no arms and claw like feet that protrude straight from the hip.

And finally it has the effects that are still being felt today. Landmines. Full colour photo’s of vitims. Some fresh after the event, others years later showing stumps and scars. Some mines simply explode underfoot, dismembering legs and burning the upper body. Others are spring loaded and jump up to chest height
before detonating. Many of these have nails and shrapnel in them, tearing shreds off the victim. Some are above ground and coloured yellow, and designed to mimic a butterfly. A favourite amongst children. They don’t know how many are left in the Vietnamese country side, but farmers and children are leading the tallying
with a few hundred more every year.

Ultra evil acts were perpetrated by both sides, so it’s not about who did what. It’s the fact that they were done at all. However despite 141 countries signing the ‘Banning of landmines treaty’ the only two western nations who have not signed on, are Finland (to busy fornicating in saunas I figure) and of course
the good old war-machine that is the United States of America.

Now admittedly we all indirectly contribute to war, ‘cause we buy the products that fuels the demand for products which supposedly ‘requires’ the ‘powers that be’ to obtain the resources necessary to produce these items, often against the
will of their owner. ‘Did someone say, cheaper petrol?’ However there’s a marked difference between that and directly contributing to war, and so to those people I say this. FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN FUCKS! You’ll get yours you soulless pieces of
shit. In your next life you’re coming back as a Veal calf.

Anyway I left feeling fragile, bewildered and generally dismayed by humans. I needed somewhere to collect my thoughts. The Hindu temple sounded good, it was a fair walk but was probably worth it I thought. Cyclo drivers (like xê om’s but push bikes, slow expensive and often criminal) were pestering me for business. I
was too fragile for this game. The old tattooed guy called out to me. I initially dismissed him, then I recognized the face then said ‘today I have bad luck with the bike, you come?”.
“No, No, I don’t have any money, I walk”.
“Sure, Sure hop on.” I did. “Where you go?”
“Mariamman |-|indu Temple”
“Sure, Sure.”
We headed west, and then, just when I thought we had to turn left, he turned right. Damn, he’s taking me on the scenic route, I thought. “”I don’t have much money” I told him, trying to drop a hint. Then pulled up outside a pagoda.
During the ride I had taken a closer look at his tattoos, they were a string of crudely etched numbers. A tel tale sign he’d been a prisoner of war, after the war to the Communists. He’d spent 8 years in a ‘Re-education camp’. Back breaking labour, torture and ridicule. My heart sank, firstly because our forces
left him high and dry when we retreated, leaving him and his mates out numbered, out gunned and with no place to go And secondly because I only had a few dong to offer. I sheepishly handed it to him, he waved it away, shook my hand, smiled
and said “Peace be with you.” And drove off.
I felt obliged to at least inspect this Pagoda he had delivered me to. Inside the unassuming structure, it was quiet, cool, with incense burning, and at the end a massive gold Buc|c|ha. The ultimate realist. And best of all, it was completely empty of people. I stayed for an hour or more soaking everything in
and processing thoughts. I could have been at a |-|indu temple chokas with tourists honoring Shiva, G0d of war and destruction, but instead the Veteran had given me this, and for free, and with a bonus lesson in forgiveness. Spooky…but definitely cool. All I’m waiting for now is a free set of steak knives.

With my faith in humanity revitalized I made my way back to the Botanical Gardens to find some grass to wipe off the dog shit I just stepped in (please be dog, not human). While attending to my other soul a passerby noticed my actions.
He spoke good English and we chatted about general details. How long have you been in Vietnam? What do you do?, Where’s ya family live? Etc. At this point I’m like; FUCK THE LONELY PLANET YOU PARANOIA INDUCING BASATARDS! PEOPLE ARE GENERALLY GOOD YOU JUST HAVE TO GIVE THEM A CHANCE. During our conversation a curious little guy with a big grin comes and squats nearby and just observes our conversation. We talk more and he mentions that he saw me 4 hours ago walking several blocks away. I explain my afternoon, and he nodded. I was getting bored of his endless mundane questions and the little guy was beginning to creep me
out. But both seemed harmless so I continued answering. He mentioned he worked at a Sushi bar in the city but I couldn’t understand his pronunciation. I retrieved a pen and a piece of paper from my pocket and gave it to him to clarify. At that point the little guy came and sat right next to me and looked on intrigued. Then a young girl stopped in front of me and looked on also. Weird vibes grew. Then I felt a slight tugging at my pocket, and I gave the little guy an evil eye, he grinned on un-phased. I knew what was going on, and at that point I stood up took the pen and paper and walked. What a ruse. All three, working
like clockwork; the charmer (the decoy), the thief, and the cover. All made to appear random and unconnected and stalking me for at least 4 hrs! these guys are pro’s. Nothing was nicked, my pockets were buttoned, thankfully.
Lonely Planet, forgive my ignorance.