After the noise of Bangkok, which in 1990 was mostly the result of motorcycles and tuk-tuks racing through the streets, Saigon was astonishingly peaceful. There was traffic, but a minimum of 90% of the vehicles on the road were bicycles, pedaled calmly by men and women in straw hats and covered head to toe in clothing to keep the sun off their skin.

At the few intersections where there were stoplights, the flow would dutifully some to a stop until the light changed and then start up again in a nearly silent processional, with no one seemingly in a big hurry to go anywhere. It was delightful.

Walking around the wide streets with European architecture lining the way, it was easy to imagine someone had somehow transported Paris to southeast Asia. The French colonial influence was everywhere, including along the main thoroughfare that had what I think of as a sort of frontage roads between it and the sidewalk on either side – just like the Champs Élysée. And that’s not where the similarities ended. While it was easy to find people who spoke English, those who didn’t spoke French.

My professor Dr. Steinfatt and I weren’t entirely sure how we would be received given the whole war thing. While I was clearly too young to have been involved, he was of the exact age to have served although he didn’t in actuality. What we discovered, though, was that we were welcomed with great enthusiasm.

Everyone initially assumed we were Russian, I suppose because that was the most likely nationality of white tourists at the time. When they found out we were American, every person we met in the streets broke out in huge grins. “Oh, you’re coming back! Welcome! Welcome!” Several even told us of the hardships and prison time they faced after the war because they worked with the Americans, yet they were still thrilled to see us visiting their country again.

Of course, not everyone saw it that way. The government was still quite wary. When we checked in at the Tourist Office as sternly instructed to do so on the flight in from Bangkok, we were forbidden to leave the city limits on our own. Our original plan had been to fly into Saigon, take the train to Hanoi, and then fly from there back to Bangkok. Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford the bribe we discovered would be required to make that happen.

The folks at the Museum of the Wars Against the Northern Aggressors were quite cordial though. History is written by the victors, as the saying goes.