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An unpretentious facade makes it difficult to distinguish the hotel, which blends in to a fault with apartment buildings on Hai Ba Trung Street. One person was on duty at the reception, and it was a bit difficult to get luggage and questions of a general nature answered. We asked for a room with a balcony, though Henry Nguyen, who had corresponded with Chuck prior to our arrival, discouraged it. Two motorbikes stood right across from the breakfast area, and we later learned that this is very commonplace. The tiny elevator barely held the two of us with our luggage.

A clean, spacious room awaited, with double beds and a huge armoire with additional shelving on the sides for storage. The walls were totally barren and in need of fresh paint. Two low chairs flanked a long and open-shelf dresser that doubled as a TV stand. The furniture had definitely seen better days. A small refrigerator stood close to the balcony door. A pair of La Vie bottled waters, along with the usual soft drinks and beer, are replaced on a daily basis, depending on your consumption.

Don’t expect down bedding or extra pillows; however, I found extra quilts in the armoire, which, at times, doubled as a pillow. The bathroom lacked adequate shelf space, but supplied the basic soap and shampoo. The toilets encourage conservation by giving the option of extended or short flushes. Most showers are handheld, as was this one, and there is a convenient thermostat that will allow you to regulate your hot water settings (brush up on centigrade versus Fahrenheit). I found them to be a bit chintzy on the towels, as it is not unusual to shower more than once a day.

The balcony was an absolute joy to use, as it allowed us to grasp the routine of Saigon, a city fast on the rise. From there, Chuck learned the schedule of the baker across the street so that we would be first to get the freshest baguettes and other French baked goods. An old man across the street performed his stretching rituals, unfazed by his surroundings. A little after 6am, the street bustled with motorbikes and bicycles, laden with every conceivable type of goods.

The staff was really friendly and very helpful, but clearly not totally prepared for a Western audience. One of the things we enjoyed most was breakfast, which opened up entire new frontiers for us.

The chef was delighted that I was able to say hello in his native language, and the service was great! I had an absolutely fabulous seafood soup that included both familiar and unfamiliar species, but defied the imagination in taste. To that was added a fried version of shrimp toast with some other ingredients, served with lime. That was the direct ticket to heaven. You have a choice of local or imported beers (Asahi and Kirin were on hand) and a great variety of other alcoholic libations. There's a photo of them below should you want to try to recognize any.

As suspected, the expats come here for lunch, and there's your sure indication that this is not a place to ignore. The familiarity displayed by the staff to the customers suggests long-standing relationships.

The food is super fresh and served piping hot. Chopsticks are de rigueur, and if you need other utensils, just ask. Table settings are simple, with natural bamboo covers and china that enhances the food being consumed. The customary hot towel is offered before the meal. A note of caution on the towels: if they are enclosed in plastic, they have been pre-manufactured and can be caustic, so do not use them on your face, just your hands. Though there is a sushi bar, there are no seats around it due to lack of space. It is a wonderful restaurant.

The first page of the blue food menu acquaints you with the word "Qing". It is explained as a polite way of asking for something, or telling somebody to do something. The more to-the-point meanings: 3. nname of our bar, Saigon’s latest F&B hangout on Dong Du Street, and 4. the place where you can sample global food in style. Amen!

The inside had a cavernous look to it, and lots of noise, as expected, around the bar. The exterior had four seating groups, a bit crowded but more inviting for us. We sat closer to the interior and were occasionally tickled by plant leaves.

Expect nouvelle cuisine service, with prices between $2 and $6 for the tapas and $6 and $11 for the entrées. The most expensive item is the divinely described "Coriander Crusted Rack of Lamb, Tomato and Olive Mash".

We ordered the salmon and avocado rolls, which were wrapped in soft rice paper, and the spiced crab cakes with chilli mango salsa. Other temptations were pork and pineapple sates with spicy peanut sauce, warm beef salad in Thai chilli sauce, and shrimp and bamboo shoot salad. Though we did not have any main dishes, I don’t believe that people come here for dinner as much as they do for drinks and appetizers. Or perhaps the very decadent desserts. There was a coconut crème caramel lurking on the second page, together with a pineapple tart served with caramel ice cream. No restaurant in Vietnam would be complete without crème brulée, and the most corrupt of them all was the "molten Valrhona chocolate cake served with vanilla ice cream", for which they request ten extra minutes for preparation.

They were featuring a Portuguese variety as wine of the month and also serving some interesting things by the glass – of course, I don’t drink, but I was nevertheless fascinated by the descriptions: from South Africa , serving Obikwa Chardonnay and Chenin Blanc; from New Zealand , Coopers Creek Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc; from Australia Lindemans Bin 95 Sauvignon Blanc. The only name I recognized was that of Ernest & Julio Gallo, whose Napa Valley white zinfandel made the list. Guess what a bottle of Dom Perignon goes for? VDN3,000,000. Well, that’s less than $200, which is a bargain, isn’t it? Our server was a lovely young woman named Hang who spent quite a bit of time talking with us about her life and her job. This happens frequently in Vietnam, as folks are eager to either practice their English or tell you their story.

It was a comfortable walk from the hotel to the Paris Deli; however, be warned that Dong Khoi Street is replete with ritzy boutiques and shops; at the end of the street that faces the side of the Caravelle Hotel, new construction of a shopping mall has already started. I will take you on a tour of Dong Khoi Street and acquaint you with its shops and the dresses in the windows that are still calling my name.

Since we were awake at about 4:30am, we already had our first breakfast and were quite ready for the next.

The restaurant has a corner location, and on its side must have been parked a hundred motorbikes. In fact, Henry and the family had arrived on their very own motorbike and parked it right outside, like everyone else. This is not their first trip to Vietnam, as Henry is a Viet Kieu, meaning a "foreign" Vietnamese, whose parents still live here.

As we come through the door, I begin to ask one of the staff if a family with two little girls has arrived, at which moment a man going up the stairs stops, turns around, and says, "You must be Aimee." We found our guy! We ordered croissants, naturally, with tea for me and juice for Chuck.

The Paris Deli is all retro in décor, and the aroma of patisserie never leaves your nostrils. They also serve quite an array of sandwiches and even pizza. It’s a two-level restaurant, and they will bring your food upstairs for you after you’ve made your selections.

As we sat down and got acquainted, we learned a little bit about the various shopping venues; Henry’s wife told me that I could find anything I wanted at the Ben Thanh Market, and she was almost right. We discovered that Dong Khoi Street was originally Tu Do, which means "freedom", prior to the North winning the war. Henry indicated to us that many other street names were changed and were dedicated to South Vietnamese heroes. One gets a sense that the South has not really embraced the North fully, despite their defeat. We also talked about the Trung Sisters, for whom Hai Ba Trung street is named, and you’ll find widespread use of the name throughout Vietnam.

Indochine serves free breakfast to its customers from 6am to 10am. The area has fewer than 10 tables, all square, and most to fit two people. Because of the extreme heat, there is a stand-alone air-conditioning unit that needs to be turned on, as there is no central A/C.

The most wonderful touch in the room is a wooden bowl filled with floating jasmine buds, which got a visit from me daily. Table settings are simple, but you do have to ask for sugar and cream/milk. The menu is a single sheet with food on one side and beverages on the others. We did not have eggs, as we were warned by our U.S. doctors to stay away from fowl. I saw them served most often sunny side up, with a buttered French baguette. Also suggested is pho and a ham-and-cheese sandwich on white bread with tomato, a Croque-Monsieur, which we had almost every day. It is not made exactly as the authentic French version, but they do trim the edges of the white bread and insert the ham, cheese, and butter only on the inside (a Croque-Monsieur should also be buttered on the outside and then grilled or toasted in the oven), but they must put it through a squashing process before serving. Nevertheless, it was quite delicious.

There is also a bean dish that didn’t get much attention from either one of us, nor did I see anyone else order it. We were the only Americans in the hotel, until we met a doctor from San Diego who had heard about my food poisoning: a great way to make new friends.

Serious tea drinkers, forget it, unless you are game for chamomile every morning or black Lipton tea. I normally do not have coffee unless I am somewhere south of the border, as in Latin America. Chuck was much braver and ordered the Vietnamese coffee, and it arrived with an interesting gizmo that looked like an ancient filter method, and we could not figure out how to operate the damn thing. It’s a three-part filter, the upper portion of which has the grinds. They pour some hot water to get the process going and serve the rest of the hot water on the side, along with the creamer. After burning ourselves, we asked our server to show us how to use it. Then I heard someone order the "white coffee." This expression is mostly used in the South, as it is simply the most heavenly, smooth concoction I’ve ever tasted, an 8-ounce glass with condensed milk at the bottom filled with ice and coffee and stirred.

A mural of a dove welcomes the visitor to the War Remnants Museum.There will be no rhetoric from me as to "not for the faint of heart"; however, I wish we were as frank about the legacies of war as I found this to be. Most telling is the plaque on the wall entitled "Historical Truths". It begs for recognition. The Museum has assembled a permanent collection of U.S. war materiel in a plein air fashion; among the stars are 3000 lb. bombs, an A37B Attack aircraft, land shaking bombs, guns, artillery, and a framed stone representing the image of Buddha, which was given to Viet Nam by Hiroshima in the name of peace. It stands guard as a silent protestor on the outside war arsenal display.

Fascinating is the collection of photos taken by international photographers as a reminder of the pivotal role they played in archiving the war at a time when real-time news was not at our disposal. Particular homage is paid Bun’yo Ishikawa of the Japan Press. His Nikon camera, camouflage outfit and an anti-war poster are under glass. Some of the photos are familiar, having appeared in our own national publications, or having won prestigious awards. They are nonetheless horrific. I learned that world opposition to this war was far greater than imagined: posters in French (they warned us to stay away), German, Danish, Japanese, and many in English from the US asking for an end to the hostilities. Yes, denouncements of Agent Orange, with documentation of its still occurring human abnormalities 4 decades later. And proudly presented is the apology of one American Sgt. William Brown, with all of his war medals assumingly returned to the Vietnamese with his regret.

Several buildings comprise the exhibit, but they are numbered, and you can follow the sequence, if order is something you need. You will find facsimiles of the tiger cages (building # 3), which were built by the French in 1939 and later used by the US to house "non-combatants". If you are not familiar with these structures, please visit this link . And as expected, the entire exhibit is told from the perspective of the Vietnamese; I would not imagine any country in the world that was being invaded to do it differently. Some things strike more than others: the quasi-methodical manner by which the American War arsenal is described – factual, historically accurate, to the point. One simply cannot ignore some of the "writings on the wall" literally. At the end of one exhibit, I photographed the following:

"We would like to thank the communist parties and working class of the countries of the World, national liberation movements, nationalistic countries, peace-loving countries, international democratic organizations, and progressive human beings for their wholehearted support, and strong encouragement to our people’s patriotic resistance against the US for national salvation".

Ngo Toai refused to give his tables and chairs and any of his war memorabilia to the War Museum. The restaurant floors are begging for a good scrubbing, but it is with reverence that one enters the premises; I was a bit hesitant at first, but within a few minutes, a tall man came to greet and seat us, and brought out some albums and newspaper clippings for us to review. There are pictures of Ngo Toai with American soldiers eating in his soup kitchen; we also find out through the articles that the shop served as a front for the undercover command post from which the plan for the Tet offensive was devised. After the war, foreign tourists would pay up to $13/night to put their heads on a pillow in the very area that served as a gathering place for the Viet Cong.

A Reuters article provocatively begins this way: " In the early years of the Viet Nam war, Ngo Toai lived a double life: seller of noodles to U.S. personnel and surreptitious revolutionary". And of course, you read on. There are certificates on the wall bearing the red communist star; medals are photographed but now shown. Apparently, a few days following the offensive, a South Vietnamese tried to kill Ngo Toai, but somehow he escaped death only to find life imprisonment and torture instead.

When the war ended, Ngo Toai returned to his beloved noodle shop and continued to serve his magical brew. It seems the menu has not changed much since that day. Heartwarming are the photos of U.S. veterans who returned to this shop, and have their arms around the old man.

There was as much implicated history here as any other memorial we had seen; the bonus came in the form of pho.

You never have to look for a cyclo, as they are there and always looking for you. They are much more aggressive than the tuk-tuk drivers of Bangkok, in that they will follow you, hound you, grab your arm, and if you don’t want them now, how about later? Don’t ever think that the word later gets you off the hook, because they will pin you down to a time. And as luck would have it, they also know from which hotel you hail. Or at least, they knew where we were staying, and I have to blame Chuck entirely for that. During the time I was recuperating from my food poisoning, Chuck was all over District 1, photographing every last molecule of the place. Not only did he become best buddies with the baker, but also the drivers got to know him, the restaurant owners, and the cabbies. It also doesn’t help that his camera has a lens that looks like a weapon.

These men were waiting outside the market for us. You will agree to a price, the length of the ride and ascertain they know where they are going. And of course, it means nothing. OK, OK, OK . These are the most famous Vietnamese words in the vocabulary.

Well, another thing about the cyclo is that you ride alone, so you cannot commiserate as things are happening. But what you can do is take candid shots of your companion in their hour of dark panic. See photo below. Chuck’s driver knew a little English and was pointing things out to him; my guy was laughing non-stop, particularly at my horror, as he was trying to cross a two-way boulevard, head on to the oncoming traffic.

Tom & Jerry (as we dubbed them)decided it was time to drop us off in the middle of nowhere. They kept pointing to the "no cyclos allowed" sign on the street, and we positively refused to get off; finally, we were able to locate a card from the hotel to show them where they had to leave us. Naturally, the price on arrival was not the price agreed upon. But do remember, that whatever amount we are talking about is usually tantamount to pennies. So have fun.

We also shopped for chopsticks (try to say that fast - it’s a tongue twister!), and what a gamut they had; some were inlaid with mother of pearl and others were intricately carved from various woods. The price ranges varied, but it was still hard to conceive 10 wooden chopsticks for VDN 15,000 (less than US$1). I needed a tank top because, once again, the heat was winning and I’d never make it back to the hotel. I was practically carried into one of the stalls because I dared to look at the display. My greatest fun happened in two places: at the rear of the market are the open stalls, and this is where the pleasure begins. The fresh scent of green floated in the air, and I couldn’t see fast enough what exotic fruits awaited. My eye landed on what they call "custard apple," though I never thought of it as such, and I completely freaked out. The last time I had eaten anything remotely like it was during my childhood in Egypt. I purchased three of them, together with humongous grapes. Then the fish happened, and other things that swim along with them. There was not a single tourist in this area - what a pity. Vegetables and leaves are piled sky-high, and I was so tempted, but it was early on in the trip and I was following the "no salad" recommendations, which went out the window later.

Back inside and in the center aisle, which is the widest in the market, you can have fun with lotions, perfumes, colognes, deodorants, and the like. I sat with one woman who offered me a plastic seat. I had a sniff of Kenzo’s Eau de Toilette and it passed. Some of them are not as good imitations as others, but on the whole, it’s a bargain. This is the aisle of crystal and ngoc mam. Watch people have lunch,pho pho and other stuff, too. It was a veritable orgy of aromas. Don’t miss this.

The concept came from a Vietnamese man in love with the taste of French baked goods. He sought to reproduce the high-quality breads and other products found in the upper echelon of the boulangerie Parisienne, a taste he had acquired in Vietnam. In 1969, he left to pursue higher education in France. In 1989, he collaborated with one of the best chefs in France to train his own team so as to be able to open his first Pat’à Chou in February of 1998 in Saigon. He is very proud of his achievement, which combines French culinary tradition, a native competence in one of the most passionate sectors of French baking, with the softness and service for which Asia is known. In the interim, it has become a franchise and still seeks interested partners.

I find the word Pat’à Chou so very interesting in that it can convey more than one meaning; the literal one, and most obvious, is pâte à choux, referring to the very delicate dough used to make cream puffs. The second, and perhaps not as well-known, is Patachou, a French songstress of the ‘50s/’60s who was quite popular in her days. Either way, one cannot escape the intention: this is as French as it gets. Only after we had left Vietnam did I find out that this patisserie is on the must-see list of the elite guidebooks.

So you want to know about the good stuff, right? Let’s start with the baguettes, since this is the most fundamental and essential part of a French bakery, and if well made, will be the absolutely most perfect accompaniment to an equally ideal cheese. They come in various sizes, never too wide, always crisp, and when hot, literally melt in your mouth. So tasty, in fact, you can eat them as they are. There is also the pain sucré, which is a variation on the baguette, with a sweet taste and sprinkled sugar on top. Moving on to the croissants, the plain ones get my vote. I could have had a few actually, were it not for the fact that they immediately settle in my hips. The pain au chocolat (chocolate bread) is much like our chocolate-stuffed croissant and a bit too sweet for me, but I don’t think there is any item in this establishment that will disappoint. You’ll also find traditional boules and miches, madeleines, and gateaux to make your day.

A word to the wise: get your preliminary preventatives before you travel anywhere. For Vietnam, the specialists at Long Island Jewish Hospital recommended Hepatitis B and Typhoid, which I obtained. At this point in time, the jury seems to be out on the "Cipro" situation; Cipro is a wide-range antibiotic which seems to be on every doctor’s "off the mainland" list in the U.S. They also very expertly put together a first-aid kit recommendation, which we faithfully followed.

About Food Poisoning: If it hits you, you will not know from where it came. What I can tell you is that the symptoms worsen as time passes, and do not be as foolish, as I was, as I resisted the idea of either a "doctor" or a "hospital", having been slightly influenced by the negative literature I had read about Vietnam and having seen the local hospital the day before, which was, quite frankly, frightening. Symptoms include sudden and persistent abdominal pain, not unlike hunger; diarrhea and vomiting will alternate, or in a seemingly malicious joke, will want to happen simultaneously. Do not attempt to take anything to stop either: the idea is to get rid of the critter you have ingested.

Getting help: In Saigon, Columbia Asia International Healthcare is equipped to handle whatever ails you, as they specifically address emergency medicine. Who knew? I’ll tell you who knew, and that was the wonderful young woman who served us, the evening we ate at Café Qinq . Her name was Hang, and she had come to the hotel to give me a much-needed foot massage and do a manicure for Chuck. The only way I was going to have a massage that day was in a non-cognitive state, and Hang became worried and told me about the "foreign hospital". She called information, got the number, and then called the hospital for me. She explained the situation to them in Vietnamese, and then they spoke to me in English. Try as I might have to go there, it was not possible. So if Mohammed cannot get to the mountain, the mountain...

Useful Information

Here are the addresses of their two central locations:

Saigon International Clinic
08 Alexandre de Rhodes, District 1
Tel (84-8)823-888, and

Gia Dinh International Hospital
01 No Trang Long Binh Thanh District
Tel (84-8)803-0678
Web: http://www.columbiaasia.com - wouldn’t hurt to get familiar with them; both locations are open 24 hours.

While we are at it, let me give you the address of an excellent pharmacy, though looks were deceiving. They had the much-sought-after Ciprofloxacin, as made by Unimed in Korea.

My Chau Pharmacy
389 Hai Ba Trung,District 1
Open from 7am to 10pm
, and prices are comparable to those in the U.S. Point of reference is the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant, which is huge and can’t be missed.

The location closest to us was the one near Notre Dame Cathedral, and luckily, the foreign doctor was on call and could come to see me in an hour. I was told that the rates would vary between US$50 and US$90 and as much as $150 for a house call inclusive of lab work. Needless to say, this must not happen very often at the Indochine Hotel, because at this point, the entire staff, including some hotel guests, are aware that there is a sick woman on-hand. Our room cleaning crew, which is made up of four young women, cannot stop giggling. At this point, I am thinking that the laughter will stop the moment she investigates the wastebasket.

The reception rings you up when someone is here to visit you, and sure enough, Dr. Martin has arrived with nurse in tow. As I look up, I need to continue looking up, because this doctor must be seven feet tall. Nurse X, for lack of knowing her name, has a shitload of stuff with her, crammed in blue bags, and I must tell you the whole thing reminded me of a horror movie. I am impressed though, by how thorough Dr. Martin is, in his questions, and quick grasp of the situation. He blames everything on the "fut", most likely airplane.

If you haven’t guessed yet, Dr. Martin is German. And Chuck is bewildered at first, wondering what the "fut" is. He’s also not terribly excited at the sight of a hypodermic needle; neither am I, actually, and I do ask if sterilization practices are in use. Nurse X assures me that indeed they are, and proceeds to administer the recommended dose of Pimperan; remember that name. This is what you need to stop vomiting or get rid of the nausea. The stuff is also available in 10mg tablets, which they gave me but which I did not require, as the first shot handled that problem quite well. The doctor also feels that since no infection appears to be present that the Cipro tablets can be shelved; instead, he does urge me to begin taking Immodium, or the generic equivalent, which we had packed (the only thing we used, besides the DEET bug spray!). The most horrific part of the treatment was the rehydration process; the salt tablets, which were poo-pooed by the folks at the travel clinic in NY, made their debut with me on that day. They gave me fifty of them, and suggested I dissolve two to three in 12 oz. of water and start drinking. This has got to be the most hideous-tasting stuff, but I could have made pacts with the devil that day just to feel a bit of respite.

It’s remarkable, but they had everything to check temperature, blood pressure, lungs, etc. I couldn’t repress a smile when dear Dr. Martin asked me to "cowf". I am told that if I do not hydrate properly as directed, they will have to admit me to the hospital for a glucose IV. Right.

My confidence in my recuperative powers prevailed; what didn’t was my appreciation of the billing system of the hospital. On the form that needs to be filled by every patient, there is a notation at the bottom that allows you to select how you want to part with your money. I’m always thinking miles, even on a deathbed, so out comes the Delta American Express. Well, since they do not have the machine en-bag, you need to take the credit card to the hospital, have them process it, and then return to the hotel. Plus, you will be charged an extra 3% for credit card transactions. What is 3%, when we are talking about a $210 medical bill?

So there you have it! Yes, you can get sick in Vietnam, and yes, you can get good medical attention. For more listings, please follow this link. I was considerably better by the next day and able to resume sightseeing by the day after.