Arriving in Saigon on Christmas Eve, we don’t know what to expect. The three most prominent religions in Vietnam are Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism, known collectively as Tam Giao, Three Teachings or Triple religion. (kinda like hedging your bets if you ask me). Added to this are spirit worship, ancestor veneration and worship of national heros. Vietnam also has a large population of Christians a legacy from the 16th century missionaries who brought Catholicism to South East Asia. Still, we don’t really think they are going to be celebrating Christmas.
We are collected from the airport by limousine and are swept into the city in a tidal wave of motorbikes and traffic. The bikes kept surging around us, an endless parade of colour and noise, all jostling for position. I keep wondering where they were all coming from and going to.
Christmas IS big in Saigon. Coloured street lights everywhere. Christmas trees in all the stores and every second motorbike is carrying a family of three or four people. They are on their way to the city centre to see the Christmas lights and Department store Christmas displays.
Vietnam has only recently (2007) introduced the mandatory wearing of helmets on motorcycles. And I believe helmets are provided free to school children as an incentive. Almost all the adults we see are wearing helmets, but only a few of the children. Most of the children and babies are dressed in Santa Hats or Christmas outfits. Babies held in their mothers’ arms and small children standing between their fathers and the handlebars of the bikes, all with a carefree nonchalance that defies the chaos, cacophony and potential danger all around them. We roll down the window to take photos from the car. The cold air rushes out as the steamy heat, bike fumes and street noise rushes in. The constant honking of horns will be a sound that we will get used to, but tonight, after a long day of travelling, it accosts our eardrums. We wind the window back up, and sink into the darkness, while the bikes continue to swirl around us.
Close to our hotel we are gridlocked in traffic. Our driver inches across the intersection, amid a constant chorus of honking horns. I look out the side window of the car at a wall of traffic facing me and only inches from the glass. Inch by inch we move forward as does the traffic around us. There seems to be no road rage. The honking is a warning to other vehicles and is not used in anger. The drivers are patient and persistent. Our driver parks against the traffic on the footpath outside the front door, the only available space. The Hotel Majestic is an oasis of light and calm after the mania in the streets. Built in 1925 it is all old world colonial French charm, heavy wood paneling and attentive staff. The foyer is filled with Christmas lights reflecting off the marble floor. A young Vietnamese bride is perched ungainly on a push bike in her Wedding Dress in front of a large Christmas Tree, while her photographer snaps wedding photos. The groom stands nearby looking uncomfortable and bored. We pass the dining room where wedding guests dine to the strains of Latin Music, into the lift and fall into the quiet sanctuary of the hotel room, the air conditioning is deliciously icy and double glazed windows keep the sounds of Saigon far from our ears. We will sleep well, in a city that seems to have no intention of sleeping.