Following our early night we’re up bright and early and pack our things into the day room, for tonight we board the train to Hue. After breakfast we set off for Ho Chi Minh’s mausolleum.
On the bus on the way there I begin to wonder what lay in wait. I’ve never seen the dead body of a real person before, and I don’t quite know what to expect. As we approach the area in which the mausolleum lives there is an air of seriousness about the place, guards everywhere, people in orderly queues being shhhshed. As we get closer we are ordered into two queues and asked to be silent. As we get towards the entrance of the building the guards now have bayonets. Clearly security is taken very seriously here. I later discover that the guards here, much like the ones who adorn Buckingham Palace, are the elite. Odd how the best of the best are chosen to do jobs where essentially they will never have to do anything, whereas the rest are sent off to fight. As we weave around some corners and up some stairs I am told off for having my hands behind my back.
All of a sudden we’re in. Ho Chi Minh’s body, despite his wishes to be cremated, is shown in a sealed glass display case in the centre of the room as people, in their pairs, walk around him to take a look. No photos are permitted understandably. His skin is pale, but lit with an orange coloured light giving him a warm look. It is amazing how well preserved he is, still in a condition which cannot be far away from how he looked at the time of his death. Like a waxwork amost.
Apparently there are only three bodies preserved in this way in the world, and all of them are communist leaders – Ho Chi Minh, Lenin and Mau Tse Tung. The body is kept cool during the day and into freeze overnight, and for one month a year restorative works are made to ensure that he continues to look in peak condition.
The emotions which it evoked are hard to describe. Being so orderly marched in silence in and out of the mausolleum added to the experience, the cool air in the room where the body rests, the body itself. There is certaiy an eeriness about it all, but not an unpleasant one. A man who did so much good for his people and was so humble and kind, it is certainly a privilege to be able to see him, but I feel bad that his wishes were not honoured. For the Vietnamese people, they decided that it would be better to give the people the opportunity to pay their respects to Uncle Ho and to be able to see him for themselves. He’s certainly a popular attraction – there were hundreds and hundreds of people in line to see him during the time we were there, there must be thousands a day who visit.
After seeing the man himself we are given a tour of the presidntial palaces where he lived. He was offered to live in a huge palace which the French built, but this was a little too grand. He lived and worked for a short time is a smaller house which you can see into the windows of, his tables, chairs, books, crockery, radio, all of it still in place. Just across the lake is his house on stilts which the government built for him as the palace was too grand. He lived a very simple life with basic amenities, and again his house on stilts still has everything in place just as it would have been: telephones, his hat, his bed, tables, chairs etc. Again it is very much a privilege to be able to see.
As we are leaving the complex something of a lighter note happens, my celebrity grows yet further as people are taking pictures, more pointing, staring, giggling etc. Steven, also a tall lad, is asked to pose for a photo as am I, which we oblige with suitable amounts of embarrassment. Climbing down from our new status we go for lunch at KOTO.
KOTO finds disadvantaged young people and trains them, helping them to find careers in the hospitality trade, much like Makphet in Laos helps people there. The lunch is great and we fill up nicely ahead of our train journey in the evening. During the lunch Darren is presented with a birthday cake made by the folks of KOTO, which all agree is bloody delicious, and better than the seasonal fruit salad that the set menu offered. Darren is suitably impressed and embarrassed which is the perfect reaction. He also had no idea anything at all had been planned.
Following our slap up lunch we stop by the Fine Arts Museum which is close by. Here there are lots of ceramics, paintings, carvings, sculptures and more which are displayed. Some items are 1000s of years old and others date from the 20th century. Some of the work is incredibly intricate, my favourite stuff being the carvings and woven artworks.
We move on from the museum to the old prison in what is turning out to be an afternoon of culture. Most of the prison has been demolished to make way for other new buildings, but a small part remains which has been turned into an exhibit for the public. Originally built by the French to house polictical prisoners during the French occupation of Vietnam in the early 20th century, the Vietnamese themsves later used it to house American prisoners of war during the American war. The most recognisable (currently at least) name seen is that of recent republican candidate John McCain who was a pilot captured during the war. His clothes that he was captured in are displayed and there is an image of him having wounds treated by Vietnamese medics. It is clear from everythng we saw that the Vietnamese treated their American prisoners far better than they themselves were treated in their own country by the French. The Americans are shown playing basketball, pool, music, writing home, cooking Christmas dinner. The Vietnamese however are depicted in chains tied to hard areas, starved of food and clean living conditions. There is a guillotine still in good working order which was used to behead those that broke the rules during the french occupation. It is an incredibly touching experience and there remains much for me to learn about the history of Vietnam, but visiting that prison certainly gave me an awful lot more than I ever knew before.
We leave the prison a little tired, perhaps from the walking or perhaps from the holiday itself, but we go for a coffee in a place which if it said Costa outside wouldn’t have looked out of place. It’s nice to be able to sit in a comfy chair for half an hour and relax, even if all you are relaxing from is seeing stuff. I think mentally this trip has a lot to take in, so the mind can tire easily.
Having hitched a cab back to the hotel we collect our luggage and sandwiches (ordered just before lunch and delivered to the hotel), avoid the lady selling hats for one last time (though Steven has already fallen foul of her persistence) and board the bus for the train station for our overnight trip to Hue.
This train is much smarter just from the outside than the last. Thankfully we are also in the best rooms in the train which ought to equal comfort. Once we’ve rammed our bags under the bunks it’s not long before the train gets going.
Rafa tells us that the bar carriage is right down the other end of the train – we are in carriage 12. We’ve also bought a shit load of booze with us to drink away the journey as it’s Darren’s birthday, so we’re not sure how we can play it in the bar. We bowl down to the front carriage to see what it’s all about, wading through the various different classes of cabins, past the area of the train where folks will be sleeping in no more than reclining chairs, some even on the floor as there don’t appear to be enough seats. Finally we reach the bar carriage, which is not as wild west as the Bangkok train, but still a bit rough. The beers are also only coke can sized and the selection not fantastic, but I grab a local beer anyway.
Before long Darren and Rafa are engaged in a heavy but not too serious discussion about governments and war, and the ladies and Barry and chatting over the other side. Pretty soon the ladies decide it’s a little too loud for them and retire back to the cabins, and Barry is left a little isolated over the other side of the train. The carriage is so loud that I have trouble hearing the conversation next to me (though of course that’s not that unusual) so it’s impossible for Barry to join in and I feel a little bad for him. It’s then not too long before he retires too. Note to self, next time try harder to engage.
A strange concept, the bar on the train has a last orders and closing time, I can’t quite fathom why they are not happy to stay open all night if folks wants them to. Anyhow, we’re ejected and we go back to our cabin where we find Gaynor, Mrs Tom and Summer all deep I conversation. Gaynor pops off to bed (and I think Barry has already gone to bed too) so the rest of us pile in and get the after hours drinking going, and we teach Rafaele how to play chase the lady. Beieng the way he is he immediately tries to go for the perfect hand but we quickly snuff out his plans.
After a few rounds of cards we all begin to tire, and with Summer actually managing to pull the perfect hand none of us have any chance of catching up, so we sack it off and go to bed.
Message ends.