One day, you're the Imperial City, home to the emperor. Next thing you know, he's been exiled by the French. Fine, we still have the buildings. Nuh-uh, time for the final indignity. Within a month in 1968, you're overrun by the North and 2500 citizens are shot, clubbed to death or buried alive. Not done yet. In what strikes me as a fit of pre-pubescent rage, the Americans level entire neighborhoods and napalm the palace. Hard to bounce back from that.
And, to be honest, they haven't. Is "The New Hue" charming or picturesque? Not even in the ballpark. She's that widowed dowager aunt that you have to invite over every Christmas, who's always sucking on peppermints and has a strange, musty odour about her. Although, for the analogy to truly fit, she'd have to follow you around the house constantly, droning on and on, "Hello, sir. Somesing foh you? Cyclo? Massage? Lady?" Hardly seems likely.
Call me a romantic fool (as I'm sure many of you have already done), but again, the old lady still has certain charms - kind of like the $20 she always sticks in your birthday card.
The Citadel, for example. As with so many of these ruined tributes to absolute wealth and power, you can't help but be stunned by what they must have looked like in their heyday. Even now, with so much of it destroyed, it's awe-inspiring, if for no other reason than the sheer size.
I could literally show you hundreds more buildings, but I'm sure you get the idea. These emperors - whatever it takes, call me when it's done.
Speaking of which, there are also plenty of pagodas and tombs around Hue, most of which you can get to via quaint countryside bike rides - if you can reach the city outskirts alive.
The tombs follow the same general principle - money and/or workers are no object.
This is Ming Mang's "tomb". The actual tomb is under the hillside in the background and consists of an underground palace with a secret entrance, also underground. Modest.
The Thein Mu Pagoda is built on a hillside overlooking the river. It's actually more well-known for being the starting point for the Buddist monk who immolated himself in Saigon to protest the government's policies. That little blue car is the one he drove in. Now that's involvement.
So Hue, just like Auntie Griselda, has her good side. But I think the real reason for my fondness are two residents I met here by chance.
And isn't that always the way?
I went to Lac Thien because I'd read that their banh khoai (Vietnamese pancakes, stuffed with stuff and folded in half) were quite tasty. As I'm munching on mine, this old guy approaches my table and begins gesticulating wildly.
"Oh-oh," I thought. "Crazy guy. Hope he doesn't go for my pancake cause then I'll have to kill him."
Turns out he's Mr. Lac, the owner. Ask me how long it took to find that out. So he sits down and we have a "chat." Remember how Zorro (well, technically Don Diego) had that servant Bernardo, who was deaf & mute (like Mr. Lac, as it turns out), and they could somehow understand each other perfectly? It was just like that, except for the understanding part. So what? It was still fun.
Then on my last day, as I was wandering down an alley in search of yet another pagoda, I passed a tiny elderly lady sitting outside in front of her house.
"Pardon me," she said in perfect English,"are you looking for something?"
"What the......?" I thought. "I'm so tired I'm hallucinating."
No, I was not. This is Missy Nyet, who worked as a librarian for the Americans in 1968, when all the shit went down. Eureka! I had hit the motherlode. I don't have the time or the energy (and believe me, neither do you) to share even a fragment of her story - brother imprisoned, not speaking English for 20 years, yaddha, yaddha - but I can tell you that the next hour seemed to fly by. It sounds silly, but we were like 2 kids who'd been apart for the summer on the first day back at school. She's one of those people you meet once or twice in a lifetime and I was heartbroken to finally say goodbye.
So maybe my analogy isn't really an analogy. Maybe it's the people who have lived and are living in a place that make it memorable.
Or maybe I'm just old and full of shit.
Next episode: Khe Sanh: Ah Yes, I Remember It Well
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