Despite what you might think, Uncle Ho (Ho Chi Minh to us westerners) isn't buried in his namesake city, the former Saigon. Actually, he isn't buried at all. He's embalmed and on display in a mausoleum in Hanoi--and if you want a true Vietnamese cultural experience, join the hordes of Vietnamese, and wait in "line" to pay your respects to the man.
Why did I put "line" in quotes? There's no such thing as a "line" in Vietnam. At least to check your bag. You'd think people might be a little more respectful, considering this is probably one of the holiest "nationalist" sites in Vietnam, but nope. Elbows fly, people jostle for position--and I think some of them were doing it deliberately, just because they could get away with it. The concept of "personal space" is about as foreign in Vietnam as my fair skin and yellow hair.
It probably took about 30-45 minutes for the line to finally enter the mausoleum itself--and native vietnamese outnumber westerners by a margin of about 40:1, if not more. Communist pomp and pageantry is on full display here--with white gloved, white uniformed, white hatted guards, whose formal dress is accented by the polished brass buttons and buckles, and various medals--all marching in parade form.
They change guards or add a new wreath every 15-20 minutes or so, which pauses the entire line for a couple of minutes. Of course, you have to check your camera (which magically winds up at another place by the time you finish), and are serenaded by the sounds of Vietnamese singing patriotic hymns on some of the lcd boards along the line.
The mausoleum itself screams eastern bloc communism, but is not nearly as brutal looking as other such structures. The best way for me to describe it would be a communist interpretation of a traditional greek temple--dark gray marble, with square columns, forming a solid mass that towers over the flat landscape.
Once inside the mausoleum, which is thankfully air conditioned, the lines end and its pretty much a free for all. The inside is dimly lit, but also very clean--kind of felt like I was back in the Beinecke rare book library, actually--you struggle to keep your footing as the crowds swarm around you before you enter the chamber. Uncle Ho sits in a glass case lit by reddish light, and is separated from you by a waist high wall forming a barrier, and one vietnamese guard stands by each corner of the glass case. Other guards line the walkway, urging people around, tugging on your hand and wrist urging you to move along. They are harsher to the vietnamese, though--I saw one guard physically yank one guy's hand out of his pocket, as if to urge him to be respectful. I won't fully describe Uncle Ho, for fear of possible censorship and or expulsion (I don't know how strict the party is in Vietnam, nor do I care to find out), but I'll write two words: Madame Tussaud's.
It is a good thing, though, that Uncle Ho is embalmed--for the avowed communist would probably be rolling over in his grave if he saw the scene around his mausoleum. The best example of the fact that though the U.S. may have lost the physical war, we have won the ideological war, can be seen just yards from where he now lies for eternity--small kiosks, and some not so small kiosks, sponsored by some not so small corporations (Fujifilm anybody?) line the pathways in the area surrounding his mausoleum. A Vietnamese-version of Starbucks sits alongside the line. Vendors sell various knicknacks and chotchkes. Vietnamese schoolchildren walk into his tomb wearing hats provided to them by Yamaha and designer (or at least, designer knock off) blue jeans. Vietnam is indeed CINO.
Walked the brief distance along Dien Bien Phu avenue (the Vietnamese glorify this battle all over the city--it would be like Washington D.C. having one of its main thoroughfares named Yorktown) to the Army Museum, bracing myself for the propaganda that I will almost assuredly see and encounter. I didn't know it was possible, but my blood managed to boil more at the Army Museum than at the Revolution museum. You walk through the usual displays about the french and the like, and then you hit the American area--among other items, on display is the exact tank used to break the gate at the Saigon Presidential Palace.
The stuff that really got to me were the various relics of American soldiers and downed airmen present throughout the section--they have old flight helmets, old army/air force clothing, personal possessions, and even the manufacturing serial plates from downed aircraft. It was only natural to wonder about the fate of those whose items were on display. Were they killed instantly? Were they captured and imprisoned? Did they ever return back to the U.S.? What about their families and the lives that they left back home? How many of them left wives and children who were told the news that their husband/father was not coming back alive? How many know that their husband/brother/son/father's gear is now on display in a museum as a war trophy?
Captions of villagers and vietnamese soldiers who killed many Americans as heroes also incensed me. Most of the Americans in Vietnam weren't there voluntarily--they were conscripts, fighting in a war that from a foreign policy standpoint, didn't make a whole lot of sense--fighting in a place that most of them had probably never heard about until the 60s.
Look, I understand that is only natural for any ruling party to build a national heroic narrative--every country does it--but it is weird, as an American, to be on the otherside of that narrative--as the enemy, as the "foreign devil," as the "imperialist"--but I just thought the displays in Hanoi were just over the top in their absurdity--they didn't make even the slightest attempt of telling the entire story--it is merely about glorifying the communist party.
Next to the museum, in some outside yards, are various military aircraft on display--some captured war booty in perfect condition, some legendary Vietnamese fighter planes/tanks responsible for all sorts of "heroic deeds."
The museum itself is across the street from a larger than life sized black marble statue of Vladimir Lenin, in Lenin Park.
You can't help noticing the irony--communism, a governing philosophy built around the idea of eliminating the elite and providing for everyone, breeding a culture that glorifies several figures, and devoting gosh knows how much money to insuring that the memories and the memorials of these leaders are in immaculate condition, while some of their countrymen continue to live in poverty around them. You can only wonder what Chairman Mao and Uncle Ho would think about the mausoleums? Would they be corrupted and enjoy themselves, or would they be ideologically pure and denounce such displays as overly extravagant--a sign that the party has been corrupted by the bourgeoisie?
Spent the rest of the day wandering around the old quarter, revealing that Hanoi can be extremely disorienting--but it was great to explore, and see the narrow alleyways. Tried some Bia Hoi--or fresh beer--a local specialty--that pretty much tastes like non-alcoholic beer, and its also dirt cheap--25 cents a glass. Walked down the park in the center of Hanoi--Hoa Kiem lake, which is simply beautiful, and the symbolic center of Hanoi--barring the sight of vietnamese and some chinese pagodas, you could have easily been in the center of some european city--that's what it felt like.
As I mentioned previously, I did not go to Halong Bay--instead today I went to Ninh Binh to go see Tam Coc--an experience that I will describe a little later.
The night trains to Hue were all booked, so instead, I am flying to Hue at 630am tmw morning on Vietnam Airlines.
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