Day 163: Secret Service in Saigon

Post from Michelle:

This morning we woke up to pouring rain - the steady kind of rain that shows no signs of relenting. The kind of wetness that sucks the adventure from you and drives you back into bed. But today was our first full day in Saigon and we were anxious to explore it. Donning the armor of an umbrella and raincoats we ran down the street in search of a taxi.

Our first stop was the Art Museum. The large yellow and white French building whose architecture fascinated us as much as the art on the walls. The building had tall ceilings, large open windows, a spiral marble staircase and an ancient wooden elevator. Tim and I wandered its three floors for hours, stopping occasionally at a window to watch the rain fall and people dart for cover.

The modern art on display depicted scenes of everyday Vietnamese life, its people, and images from the war. Some of the art pieces successfully captured the horrors and suffering of the war in the faces that stared back at me from the canvases. This museum, unlike fancy Western art museums I am used to, was old and worn. Without any air conditioning or humidity control, mildew was slowly creeping around the edges of many pieces.

On the second floor of the museum I heard some commotion near the stairs. Always curious, I wandered over. There, towering over 3 small Vietnamese men, was a huge muscular black man with a distinct American accent. I think his size equaled the other three men put together.

I pretended to be captivated by a small Chinese teapot on display near the commotion û but I was secretly listening to the ensuing conversation of the foursome:

Vietnamese man: "We could take down this painting if you like." They were looking at a large painting of a heroic figure waving a red flag in one hand and shaking the other hand in a defiant fist. The figure was surrounded by a crowd that looked equally angry, patriotic and eager to fight.

American man: "No, we all know there was a war. No one denies this. You can just leave it as it is." His voice boomed and echoed as it bounced down the halls.

As I listened further I heard tidbits about "the President" and "security". I knew President Clinton was expected in a couple days in a historic visit to Vietnam. Putting two and two together I realized Clinton would be visiting this museum and this guy was security. I chuckled to think here I was in Vietnam, half way across the world from home, but here in the same room was the secret service from Washington, D.C., preparing for the President's arrival. My apartment in Washington, D.C. was only a couple miles from the White House and this felt disturbingly familiar.

The next issue I heard discussed was whether the museum officials had set aside a bathroom for the President to use. It was amusing to hear him struggle to communicate that Bill, Hillary, and Chelsea needed their own private toilet. I had just used the toilet and knew it was dirty and old. I smiled as I imagined this was the toilet the President would use as well.

My lingering over the teapot was starting to attract attention so I moved on. Later, Tim and I watched more secret servicemen lay cables and wires on the ground floor, their size equally as massive as their companions.

President Clinton, welcome to Vietnam!

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