Our train clacked south along the ocean towards Da Nang, curving in and out of cliff sides that hugged beaches littered with boats that looked like washed up coconut shells. We caught a flight to Saigon, which, at $27, was easily the cheapest of our trip. Of course, officially speaking, Saigon is now named Ho Chi Minh City, but, much like nobody with any sense refers to the Skydome as “Rogers Centre” nobody calls Saigon “Ho Chi Minh City.” There's a much longer history in the original name, plus, it just plain sounds better.
We only had one night in Saigon, but it was probably for the best, because Saigon is a city for single men. It is a place absolutely jam-packed with beautiful women. Not since I visited Osaka had I seen such an alarmingly high number of stunning babes. It was as if all the rockets in the region had converged on a single spot, a hyperconcentrated honey pot, a quantum mamularity, a point of infinite ass. Even the desk clerk of our second-rate back alley hostel looked as though she should be modeling professionally. It was really too much to take.
We booked a bus to Siem Reap and were gone by 8 the next morning.
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