Craters, knocked out tanks and tunnels still litter southern
Vietnam's countryside. The young American woman weighs the
machine-gun lightly in her arms. "Try it," she enthuses in a
southern drawl. "It makes you feel so powerful." We politely demur.
Somehow it doesn't seem right. After all, we are just a short
distance from Cu Chi, where an estimated 18,000 Vietcong spent most
of the 1960s living in 250 kilometres of tunnels, rising only to
strike against United States soldiers and their allies.
After a string of unsuccessful ground raids, the Americans dealt
with the impasse by shelling the Cu Chi region, about 50 kilometres
north-west of the southern capital Saigon, back to the Funan age.
About 12,000 died.
Less than 40 years on, the tunnels are a low-budget war theme park.
Enthusiastic tourists like our American friend can pose for photos
on top of the shell of a US tank, still standing where it was
knocked out in 1970, and feel the red earth walls closing in as
they crawl in near darkness through 100 metres of tunnel.
For an even more visceral history buzz, they can pay $US1 a bullet
($A1.20) to blaze away with an AK-47 on a shooting range next to an
outdoor souvenir stand. Earmuffs included.
This is southern Vietnam, a tick over 30 years after the fall of
the democratic south - now with a communist veneer that doesn't
bother trying to conceal the flourishing zest for capitalism.
It's an eyebrow-raising experience to see young men wearing
Vietcong gear selling this rough but vivid war history to packs of
touring Westerners, particularly Americans.
The site, defoliated in battle, is barely developed beyond being
reforested with eucalypts.
There are huge craters in the earth where the tunnel-busting shells
hit and basic demonstrations of Vietcong traps - false ground
covering spikes crafted from bomb fragments was a favourite.
A couple of original tunnel openings remain but the claustrophobic
need not apply.
In a couple of instances, tunnels have been widened by 20
centimetres to accommodate those grown on modern Western diets.
Even then the dirt rubs against your back and shoulders as you
crawl along on all fours.
At the shooting range, The staff smile sweetly, or at worst look
uninterested, as Westerners treat the weapons that caused so m uch
havoc here like toys.
Hardier Western tourists have been coming for years but it is only
recently that Vietnam has fully opened for business.
Australians are taking more advantage than most, being turned on to
Vietnam at a faster rate than any other country. More than 11,000
Australians visited last year - a jump of 21 per cent on 2005.
Vietnam is cheap, especially while the Australian dollar is so
strong. It's nearby, increasingly tourist friendly and yet to be
overrun by the hordes heading to Phuket and Bali.
This may be about to change: anecdotal reports suggest some
Australian tourists aiming at the top end of the market struggled
to find a hotel to take them this autumn.
The Sofitel was the first major international hotel chain to open
in Saigon (though the city was re-christened Ho Chi Minh City after
the war, the locals still use the pre-unification name) in 1998.
Nine years on, the city-centre skyline is being slowly transformed
by lavish high-rises. The city is a wash of billboards for watches,
plasma televisions and Western fashion.
The streets are yet to develop at the same pace, which means one of
the chief thrills of the city is as it has been for decades: a ride
on the back of a motorbike.
Two-wheelers are cheap and everywhere, driven up to 10 abreast
across city streets. Some carry families of up to six.
Others are unregistered taxis, waiting outside hotels to ferry
tourists pretty much anywhere for less than a $US1. Riding pillion
and helmetless, there is no better way to see the French
architecture and alley markets of the city centre.
Not everywhere in Vietnam is so well prepared for the rising tide
of commercial tourism. Phu Quoc, a tear-shaped island one hour west
of Saigon and 15 kilometres south of Cambodia, was untouched by
development until the early 1990s.
Though the US used it is a prison during the war, Westerners are
still seen as something of a novelty by the island's 50,000
farmers, fishermen and marketeers, most of whom are uneducated and
poor.
The island itself is a rare beauty but skyrocketing land prices are
enough to tell you this is about to change. The postcard-perfect
beaches will remain, but those wanting something a bit more private
and unique may want to get in quickly.
Source: The Age
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