Creepy, Embalmed Ho Chi Minh
Hello friends, I said I'd be out of contact for several days, so consider this an extra-special-bonus blog! I don't leave for Sa Pa on the train till tonight.
Today we visited Ho Chi Minh's masoleum. We got there about a half hour before it closed and were nearly denied entry. There's a big square/plaza thing around the masoleum, but no fence or sign that says you can't walk on it. We found out the hard way--trying to understand from the guards why we had to walk 3 blocks to a controlled entrance when the masoleum was 100 feet in front of us. I still don't get it, but we complied. They weren't joking around.
We tried to approach the masoleum, after going through security and again got yelled at. We had to stand on a dotted line on the street, two by two and wait until we were instructed to start walking towards the building. We saw Uncle Ho's embalmed remains. It was kinda creepy. He gets sent to Russia for 2 months a year for them to do upkeep on his body. The visit didn't last long and we were hurried out of the compound.
We went to the Ethnology museum also. The museum detailed all the different ethnic groups in Vietnam. It was pretty interesting. They also had an outdoor area where they reconstructed examples of houses of different ethnic groups.
Then we visited the Hanoi Hilton. Most of the museum's focus was on the French use of the prison for Vietnamese revolutionaries prior to 1954. The area of the museum that talked about holding American POWs showed what a happy time they had in the prison and how well they were treated. I also saw the flight suit John McCain was wearing when he was shot down above Hanoi. And then it's now.
Tonight, the night train to Sapa.
I'm hoping I can get my Cambodian visa in a day and that I won't get stuck in Saigon waiting for it. We'll see.
TTFN,
Lauren
1 Comments:
Hello Dear Niece,
It's Charlie. I've been windows peeping on your adventure not stepping into the light mostly because I've been running too fast to type.
It's Christmas Eve day here, and reading about Ho Chi Mihn's neo-mumification (here and now) feels like a tear in the fabric of the tinsil time/space continuom. It's too late of course to save that illusion, so here goes...
Wow. What do you think that the guards were trying to protect? Maybe they really believe it's a violation of his sacred aura? Maybe It's actually where thev've hidden missile silos, escaping weapons inspection long term behind some obscure UN sacred sites exemption clause.
I was able to easily picture the stone channels you boated through last week. Honestly, it was the most compelling image for me so far; I'm so glad that beauty is still there, and I'd like to see it. I love canoeing/kayaking.
We talked about some of your rooming companions at a farewell dinner for Chic and Lois on Thursday evening in the basement of Macy's Southdale. When I said it sounded like Vietnamese roulette, Chic quickly said, "Don't forget she's a good judge of character." From the arch of his too fuzzy brows, I could see he was saying it more for his own benefit than mine. We all love you so much.
I also wish to be in the floating markets and villages. I caught a feeling, from your affection those days, that conveyed more than any sense I'd gotten so far about the bottomless strength and gentlness of your host nation. It awakens a part of me that wants to lives so rooted in earth and water. For me it is the principle grief of the world I live in, this mechanical distance from the earth.
My jaw dropped when I pictured you making a scene to get your bread money back. Shelly's like that too. When there's wrestling to do over money I take off her leash. If I were there be more likely to project my wealthy man's shame by seeing her as deserving anything I could hand out. It's a giggly goodie to imagine you fiercely snarling about integrity amongst strangers.
I've been wondering what it's like for your dad to follow your journey from over here. I'm just guessing that he hasn't been back there since his tour of duty was completed right? I wonder if you are finishing chapters for him while you open new ones for yourself?
I celebrate Christmas eve with my family beginning in a couple hours. This day has always been laden with old stories for me. Before the family split up, the household warfare was constant. My mom had lost herself completely in the marriage, but she loved christmas and seemed to come alive for that week. It was not so much about the birth of her god, though that was a comfort for her, but moreso about the lights, the giving, and her love of baking cookies. Without any formal announcement a truce was silently agreed upon each year, and it felt safe.
After the breakup, the first christmas felt like an open wound because in one year Ruthan had died, Jim was in the service, Peggy moved to France, and my dad was in a filthy little apartment on Randolf avenue.
That christmas, at 13, in our subdued house, I read the Hobbit for the first time, and escaped completely into the journey of a hobbit through middle earth. The private place it created was large enough to come and go from. I have read the trilogy every year since then, and still delight in stuffing my face with cookies while becoming someone else for a while.
Bless your journey dear, and thank you for taking us with you to exotic places.
Love,
Uncle Charlie
1:29 PM
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