We arrived at the Mandarin, a sophisti-
cated restaurant filled with Chinese screen
paintings, timber beams and impeccable
service. The menu was classical Vietnam-
ese but had a touch of French influence.
The four of us ordered one of everything,
including pho, an amazing noodle soup;
Mandarin-style roasted duck; Ho Doan
sautéed fish; and sautéed rice pancakes
with shrimp mousse.
After an overnight in port, we tackled
the city once more by foot. We were
advised to post letters to home from Saigon
Central Post Office. The building was
constructed when Vietnam was part of
French Indochina in the late 19th century,
so the architecture is a mix of Gothic, Re-
naissance and French design. The barrel-
vaulted ceiling and ornate wood cornices
gave the interior a classic anything-but-
government feel.
Shortly after going inside, we were
flanked by two Vietnamese children, both
dressed in blue uniforms. The 6-year-old
boy, Ashton, showered me with questions:
What is your name? Where are you from?
How old are you? Do you like chicken?
His older sister, Ashley, was equally in-
quisitive. When I showed them my pre-
printed postcard address labels, they were
fascinated, eager to help peel and stick
each one to the cards we’d written. Soon,
I spotted their mother, carefully watching
both children. I came to realize it was
Sunday, and she was teaching social and
communication skills by immersing them
in the deep end of the tourist pool.
With vivid memories of the North Viet-
namese Army tanks crashing through the
gate of Independence Palace, which signi-
fied the end of the Vietnam War in 1975,
we made our way to the iconic landmark.
The tanks are still on the lawn, as if sus-
pended in time, but are now surrounded
by lush gardens and walkways.
When in Vietnam, you must go to the
market just to say you did. The Ben Thanh
Market in Saigon sells everything from
fabric to fish heads to luggage and elec-
tronics. The endless rows of vendor stalls
hold pungent smells and stifling heat, and
there is plenty of yelling from the Viet-
namese women who predominately run
the show. Stop at one shoe vendor, and if
they don’t have your size, they walk next
door to the competition, which is most
likely family.
We left Saigon and spent a rough day
at sea to arrive in Da Nang on Valentine’s
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