A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
Looking back, I have to wonder what the hell I was thinking moving out of my house for one day before I left on vacation.

At the time it seemed perfectly logical. My one month's rent was up on the 26th, and I was leaving the city the next day. Moving out would serve multiple purposes. I wouldn't have to bargain with my landlords for a daily rate, I would get moving a day earlier on the packing (see below), and I would be able to see if living in Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker area of town, would be tolerable for the month following my return. At that point I will only have a month left in Saigon and I've been thinking about finding a cheaper place in order to save money for travelling.

After living in Pham Ngu Lao for 24 hours, I am prepared to admit that no price is too high to keep me from spending another night in that budget hellhole. I'm sure it's partly due to my advanced age, but I definitely have a lower tolerance for living in relative squalor than I did 10 years ago. Another element may be that I'm alone -- it's easier to put up with certain things when you have someone to laugh about it with. In any case, while I enjoy the company of backpackers individually and in small groups, backpackers en masse are just scary. Not to mention the corresponding horror of the thousands of avaricious Vietnamese who service/prey upon these travelers in their unnatural ghetto.

Part of my problem was that I made a poor choice of hotel. I figured that since the primary objective of this idiotic exercise was to find a cheaper place to live, I had better justify the inconvenience by spending as little as possible. Some New Zealand friends assured me that they had lived for four months in a perfectly fine little hotel for $4 a night. They, however, are very frugal and have rather low standards for lodging. I require airconditioning or else I'm in danger of going on a killing spree.

So the cheapest place I could find that met the minimum requirements was $6 a night. Had I been willing to stay down an alley in a dirty fan-cooled room at the top of a ladder in someone's house I could have knocked five bucks off that, but just looking at that room terrified me. My six dollars bought me a room with my own bathroom with hot and cold water, air conditioning, and a TV that got two fuzzy Vietnamese channels.

But that wasn't really the problem. I don't need more than the basics, really, though I'm really going to want cable TV when I return. The problem was that after about 2 and a half minutes the room itself became incredibly oppressive. Sure, it was clean, but apparently Katy cannot live on cleanliness alone.

Let's start with the ceilings. As I walked in the door of this room, I actually went up two steps from the mini-foyer to get to the bedroom itself. If you are just checking out a room from the door, you might not get the full effect of what it will feel like once you're standing on the raised floor (no idea what they might have put underneath there) and your head is six inches from the ceiling. Apparently the Kim Hotel does not cater to the Big and Tall among us.

Walking through the room had its own perils. Every time I took a step on the cigarette-scarred linoleum all the furniture shook in a Fi-Fi-Fo-Fum sort of manner. Not the sturdiest floor in the world.

So laying down seemed like the best plan. Looking out the window was impossible. I had an excellent view of a line of laundry in the narrow space between my windows and the back of the huge Kim Hotel sigh. But when your lying down and there's nothing but laundry and Vietnamese-dubbed Chinese soaps to watch, you're forced to look around the room. The bed is covered with a red and aqua sheet featuring alternating teddy bears and the colorfully patchworky word "VIGITEXCO". No, I have no idea either. The blanket is a flowered 70's orange that would clash with any color scheme. There is no scheme going on here, however, so this is not a problem.

The mental institution green walls are lit up by fluorescent tube lighting, which unfortunately calls attention to their many mysterious holes. A single mosquito, destined to have a hearty meal of me, buzzes around while I ponder the possible uses for the large metal hook permanently installed in the plaster ceiling above the center of the bed.

Leaving the room was no better. I've been in Saigon for 3 1/2 months and have never been among so many foreigners at one time, yet it was the first time I felt seriously homesick and fed up with living in Vietnam. Everything in Pham Ngu Lao is brighter, louder, busier, and more about the dollar than the rest of the city. Not that separating foreigners from their money isn't the primary objective of much of Saigon, but the activity is far more cutthroat and relentless here where budget travelers can choose among hundreds of cheap hotels, restaurants, tours, motorbike drivers, and souveniers. Walking a two block stretch in this neighborhood you will be subjected to a barrage of "suggestions" from restaurant and tour touts, as well as an endless repetition of "Where you from? Where you go?" from motorbike and cyclo drivers.

So I've changed my mind, but hopefully not my address, as I am calling Linh the minute I return to see if my old room is still available. I just didn't know how good I had it!
© 2003 Katy Warren



posted by Katy at 7:06 AM