I was half way through breakfast when I remembered it was Christmas morning. We were sitting in the rooftop terrace restaurant of the Hotel Majestic in Saigon and there was a cool breeze wafting through the humidity of the early morning heat. I had eaten an omelette prepared for me while I waited, by the short order cook; downed a small pancake covered with banana and honey; and was navigating a plate of largely weird and unknown tropical fruit when the thought occurred to me. It was beginning to feel not at all like Christmas.
We spent the early part of the morning at the War Remnants Museum and returned by taxi, via a circuitous route, to the centre of town. After arguing with the taxi driver about the tariff he demanded. (I always amaze myself that I can fight with taxi drivers in foreign countries, in languages I don’t speak. Why taxi drivers think I am stupid, just because I don’t speak their language is beyond me, I also have a phenomenal sense of direction, bit of a party trick and a fairly uncommon trait in a women, so I know when I am being “taken for a ride”.) I employed a technique that I developed in Tunisia with the taxi drivers there. Throw the correct money on the front seat and get out quick. It was then I discovered that an entire aerosol can of sunblock had mysteriously emptied itself throughout my backpack. Luckily it was an alcohol based one, so it was more wet than sticky. By the time we had composed ourselves from the taxi ordeal and mopped up the contents of the bag we realised we had landed ourselves in the midst of Christmas fairyland. Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh!
I don’t know why I didn’t expect the department stores of Vietnam to have Christmas displays in their windows. It happens in London, Sydney, New York, so why not Ho Chi Minh City?
And I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to photograph children without being treated like a pedophile. The Vietnamese people have a strong sense of family and are proud of their children. Whenever I asked, proud parents or grandparents would hold up their babies for me to photograph. Unlike the stupid political correctness that is infecting Australian society where photographing someone else’s child is treated with suspicion and contempt, in Vietnam it is treated as an honour. For a people who have every right to mistrust foreigners, we experienced no hostility, just friendly happy people.
If we as a society, cannot celebrate the innocence and beauty of children, then we have lost our souls. The Vietnamese people, despite the ravages of war and invasion, haven’t lost theirs.