Vietnam War Lives On in Real, Fake Souvenirs for Sale in Saigon’s Tourist Districts

If visitors to old Saigon want to believe all pedicab drivers used to be South Vietnamese army rangers and all the Zippo lighters once belonged to American GIs, that’s fine with their hosts.

Today, daily life in the capital of former South Vietnam, which fell to the communist North in April 1975, is much like that in Bangkok or any other booming Southeast Asian capital.

But in the tourist districts, memories of the war live on and its real or imagined relics are for sale.

Vietnamese evince no nostalgia for the conflict that killed more than 1 1/2 million of their countrymen, but it lures tourists and their cash.

About 400,000 foreigners visited Vietnam in 1992, and a new hotel opens almost every month.

Drivers of cyclos, from the French word for pedicab, provide one introduction to the old Saigon. Americans who hire one hear how the driver worked with the Americans before 1975, “at Tan Son Nhut air base” or “with the Special Forces in I Corps”--maybe “with the 1st Cav in Pleiku.”

Thinly veiled hostility and hard-luck stories suggest that many feel abandoned by their one-time allies.

If you’re not buying pity, how about a lighter?

“When I die, I know I’ll go to heaven because I’ve spent my time in hell--Vietnam: Da Nang 1970-71.”

Zippo lighters with such slogans, more often expressed in unprintable language, sell for $5 to $15. The sentiments are authentic GI, even if the lighters are not.

Many of the sales are made on Dong Khoi Street, which was a string of bars known as Tu Do Street in the American era, and in French colonial times was called Rue Catinat.

“Americans like to buy old things from the U.S. Army before 1975: daggers, watches, clocks,” said Nguyen Huu Tien, 34, who works at Kodak Catinat, a store that sells handicrafts and antiques.

French tourists prefer old glass candelabra, which Tien said go for up to $800 a pair in his store and are worth up to $3,000 in Europe.

Bulky clocks scavenged from old U.S. aircraft and boats also are popular, he said, because they are made to exacting military standards.

“This is worth $250,” another Dong Khoi shopkeeper said of a heavy, black-dialed clock just sold to him by a poorly dressed man for much less.

Most stalls at the “American Market,” once a center for lost or stolen U.S. Army equipment, now deal in consumer goods, but a few still sell American or Vietnamese military gear.

With hard bargaining, a Vietnamese army pith helmet with a red star can be had for about $3. North Vietnamese and Viet Cong medals and campaign ribbons, sometimes pulled from beneath the counter, cost $1 each.

One stall owner said he goes to factories and buys medals from veterans. He said he has about 10 foreign customers a day and earns $500 a month. A typical factory worker’s pay equals $45 to $75.

Another kind of Vietnam experience is available on Dong Du Street, just around the corner from Dong Khoi, where open-front bars cater to Western tourists.

Marijuana smoke wafts through the air as stereo speakers blare songs by the Doors, Otis Redding and other ‘60s favorites. Street children dart around, selling gum, cigarettes and magazines.

At the Apocalypse Now, or across the street at the Good Morning Vietnam, you can live a war movie. Just up the road is the B.475 (Before ‘75).

Not all the bars are so self-conscious. Hoang Van Cuong, 42, a former photographer for United Press International, manages the Cyclo Bar in a tasteful building that includes a photo gallery.

Most of the photos are by Cuong, taken in the desperate weeks before Saigon fell. Prints are for sale at $20 each.

“I hate the communists,” Cuong said. “I fight against them. They make my country so poor.”