It was very quiet and a little dead inside.
I have to prefix this blog post by stating that I am nothing akin to resembling a morning person and I had had 3 hours of sleep before heading out to experience the wonders of the mausoleum and its accompanying museum. The Mausoleum houses the preserved corpse of Ho Chi Minh, a leader who founded the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. During weekdays, the Mausoleum is only open until 12pm and I had currently avoided seeing it until recently from sheer laziness. Having passed the site numerous times, I was confident in my ability to rock up without so much of plan and blitz the grounds from 10am, with a mouth full of gritted determination and a decisive shutter finger. Apparently, reality had other plans for my arrival. Finding motorbike parking next to a roundabout close to the Mausoleum that cost me a whole 5,000 VND (<$0.25 US), I confidently dismounted my scooter only to end up becoming a bird at the window of a bakery. Despite seeing lines of visitors walking across the grounds and an uninterrupted line of sight to the building, I couldn’t discern where this mystical portal allowing entry could possibly be. After asking a security guard and following signs for a few blocks, I eventually found the road to petrification.
As a general description of the route from the entrance of the grounds to the exit of the Mausoleum – it was a fairly linear path with just a slight semblance of freedom of choice along the way. I couldn’t help feel that it was a rather apt representation of what the building itself championed.
After a seemingly pointless security check, where not a single pat-down of a patron was given after a conspicuously loud metal scanner alarm, I received a rather fetching temporary handbag and parted ways with my backpack as it chilled in the bag check area.
Although the route through the site was scenic enough from the decoration of foliage and glimpses of the Ho Chi Minh Museum, it was another chore en route to the main event and the images of singing elderly men playing on television screens along the way were of little interest. Once upon the route to the Mausoleum proper, it was now time to say goodbye to the fleeting love that adorned my arm and part ways with the camera that we had supported, together. Strangely enough, it was requested that any professional cameras were checked into the holding shack, but we were allowed to keep hold of any phones. Seemingly, security guards shouting at anyone who tried to use their phones were deemed a suitable deterrent (to my annoyance after trying to contact a friend.)
When you finally reach the foot of the monolithic building, it is hard to feel anything other than distaste at such an unapologetically hideous looking creature of stone. Once inside, the plastic red carpet leads you through the bowels of the building and into the chamber of Ho Chi Minh’s death-slumber, with nought but solemn stares and silence to fill the air. Whilst I am no stranger to preserved body parts and specimens, the perversion behind this setup was a little disturbing, like the Victorian death portraits, but a live-action peepshow of which we were all perverts vying for a fix of the dire. Shuffling along the edges of the chamber, my eyes alternated between the orange-lit, domed head of Ho Chi Minh and the numerous guards in white, serving their master in his afterlife.
Exiting the spying booth, the daylight had a hard, judging light to it, but once reunited and reconciled with my departed camera it was onto the next – for the first time in my visit to the site I was given an actual option on how to advance onwards: ‘left to the museum and One Pillar Pagoda’ or ‘right to the Presidential Palace.’ I’d hate to ruin a surprise, but both paths take you back to the exit of the grounds; the choice leading right, however, lets you pay 40,000 VND (under $2 US) to see the housing buildings of the deceased president before reaching the exit.
Fully saturated in the vat of lucidity that comes with sleep deprivation, a lot of the photographs and information dotted about the presidential grounds held little attention or interest, but once pointed straight towards the One-Pillar Pagoda and Ho Chi Minh Museum, spirits were greatly lifted – not only freedom to wander and to photograph, but to also mill about and observe the different, and often colourful, groups of tourists.
With only 20 minutes to view the museum and make it back to the original bag check before 12pm, there was 0 to none opportunity to take in the information on display inside the museum and with a brisk pace and discerning eye for photographs, it was a whistlestop affair. To my shock and surprise, the museum was full of art displays and alternative pieces inspired by the history of Vietnam – it was a welcome contrast to the grey and gothic scenes that had come just before.
Accidentally exiting via the car park and not the front of the building, I managed to dodge a motorbike tour salesmen, load up with my bag again and trek back to my scooter for a ride straight to land of dreams before I had to start work in the evening. Thankfully, it wasn’t a nightmare making my way there.
Overall?
Living here, in Vietnam, it is pretty imperative that I discover and learn about the local culture and history that I am clearly benefitting from, but learning from the Mausoleum itself may need only be a one-shot deal to that end; the Ho Chi Minh Museum itself was really intriguing and it was such a shame that I had to the former, only to be briefly introduced to the latter. The museum is also open in the afternoons and I’d be perfectly happy to frequent it again with my camera and a head filled with rest and patience. Considering the fact that the only part of touring the grounds paid for was the Presidential Palace, it isn’t the worst attraction I have ever encountered, but as far as unintentionally creepy opportunities to experience local culture go: you are a great ruler, Ho Chi Minh.
Accidentally Wayfaring 