Old bicycles whizzed by, their riders' conical hats floating through the steamy heat. The equally pungent smells of sidewalk cooking and sewage prompted me to open the hotel's doors and go inside. Vietnam in the 1990s is a land of contrasts. Differences are more than geographic. The Reunification Express train runs almost the length of this narrow country, but most of the people I would meet in the next month would never leave their home province.
Taxes are minimal, if paid at all.
Socialized medicine doesn't exist - it's pay as you go, and many don't. And karaoke is a national pastime. Inside Ho Chi Minh's icy air-conditioned mausoleum I caught a glimpse of the revered leader's embalmed body as guards kept us moving and enforced silence. With stern looks and guns at the ready, they were successful. The nightly water-puppet theatre is a cacophony of fireworks and traditional music as marionettes skilfully glide above and in the water recounting folk tales.