I’m heading off into a storm. There is a weather warning in place all along the eastern islands of the Philippines as a typhoon called Ramon heads that way. Well, Ramon is a tropical depression at the moment but he’s brewing up to full storm. Typhoons seem to be ten-a-penny and not big news around here but not so for me and I find it concerning that fisherfolk are being warned not to get out on the ocean.
The forecast says it’s already very, very wet in Manila but as I’m only there for one night, I’m hoping that won’t be too much of a problem. And my short hop tomorrow morning to Puerto Princesa in Palawan means I’m heading south as Ramon continues his journey north. Although the forecast in Palawan says it’s pretty wet there too. And set to stay that way for a while. Ugh.
Then there is the visa cock-up. Which I’m trying really hard to put a brave face on. There really is nothing I can do about it from here and I just have to roll with it. The worst thing that could happen is that I’m not granted entry, either by not being allowed to board the plane here in Vietnam or, once I arrive in Manila. It would mean losing the price of my hotel room tonight, my flight tomorrow, and a deposit on three nights accommodation in Puerto Princesa. But so what? I keep telling myself. I’ll never be able to have another massage as long as I live. And I’ve already checked with Han, the manager here at Ma Maison in Saigon, and he has a room for me tonight should I need it. I told him I’d happily sleep on the sofa.
Yesterday, I took the bus into District 1. Where the action is. The bus ride was fairly action-packed in itself and nobody told me it was a request stop. I was, for some reason, the source of much chatter and laughing between the driver and the conductor. And some of the other passengers got in on the act too. But it was all pretty good natured. At least I think it was. I whizzed through Ben Thanh market and realised that I’ve probably explored enough markets for the time being and instead pointed my nose in the direction of the Museum of War Remnants.
I knew it would be gruelling. But not quite how so. I’ve been remiss in my studies of Vietnamese history, especially of The American War, as it is called here. But after yesterday I’ve decided I should really know more. It all felt so familiar and at the same time so distant. I was born in the year that is considered its height. And although it was happening over 6,000 miles away, and I was just a baby, the images turned memories have seeped into my life. Certainly through movies but perhaps also from the news as I was growing up, or conversations between my parents and their friends. At the museum, there were newsreels of street protests all over the world, including London, which must have been shown many times over the years. But still, I’ve been surprised by how strong in my memory it is and I hadn’t fully realised that until I came here.
Han is calling me a taxi. Good-bye, Vietnam.
Comments