Vietnam...It's a Country Not a War

Dong Khoi is the central hub of Ho Chi Minh home to boutiques, the Notre Dame Cathedral, at famous Rex Hotel. Built in the 50's by the French it became the home base for the US military during the war and many journalists. Walking into the Rex is like stepping into another era. Elegance and luxury are combined with what I can only begin to describe as safari via the 1930's (thing large tusks). My experience at the Rex was in three areas: massages, the roof top bar, and the cafe. Anyone is welcome into the hotel regardless if they are staying there or not.
The cafe on the bottom level is a great place to cool off. The room is large with ceiling fans slowly turning. I had a hard time not being swept up in the feel of being a war time journalist, as my friends and I sat around and talked about what we did in Vietnam, laughed over stories of our adventures only days earlier in China, and planned for our next few days in Thailand, all of the time watching a flat screen TV that was showing pictures of a uprising in Beijing just the day before. The ice cream here was a great treat and enough of a reason to bring us back three or four times.
The Roof Top Bar can not be missed. The music is a bit hokey, their was a mariachi band playing. But at night the lights that are strung around the roof give a romantic feel to the bar, and the cool breeze is a wonderful break from the hot days. The food wasn't memorable, but the spring rolls were to die for (I found this true anywhere I went in Saigon
What first drew me to the Rex was the massages. On the top floor of the hotel, all the way in the back is a small "salon". Just ask downstairs and anyone at the desk will point the way. My one suggestion is to have a girl ask for directions, after all the "salon" is known for it's Happy Ending, if you catch my drift. Once upstairs you must wait outside until a chair is ready, but the views are worth the wait. Large parts of the city can be seen from here. Once inside I got a massage, pedicure, and manicure for under $10 plus tip (this is what the girls live off of). I sat next to my friend Shawn who was enjoying the massage and pedicure more then he would admit when my friend Mike came out of one of the back rooms. He was looking whiter then usual and very jittery. When he saw me he immediately ran over and stood next to me looking around for his friend Christina. A few minutes later Christina came out of another room, he grabbed her an ran. Later that night I caught up with Mike to ask him what happened. He explained that he was taken into a back room (I didn't even know that they existed until he told me) for a massage that turned out to be full body. When the massage came to an end the girl asked if he would like a "happy ending." Mike said no, but she didn't take that as an answer and proceeded on. That's when he jumped up and ran out of the room and found me outside. After hearing his story I had a hard time going back to the Rex for a massage.

The Cu chi tunnels are a footnote of the war that made it possible for Viet Cong troops to move into the south. These elaborated tunnels, located in the town of Cu chi, the tunnels once covered over 250 km and included everything from firing posts and air-raid shelters to kitchens and infirmaries.
My group turned off into a heavily wooded; I couldn't make out any signs of live let along a museum or a set of tunnels. We were lead to a briefing room which was made up of nothing more then a log wall and a roof to watch a movie on a small TV. Here is where it started to get strange. The movie was nothing more then war propaganda. It started off a little like this "Cu chi the town of palm trees. Cu chi the town of beautiful forests. Cu chi the town of hard working farmers. Cu chi...." and continued on about all the things that Cu chi was. Then it turned to focus on three people and told all about them. It started off with Hung who likes fishing, swimming, hard work, shooting down American helicopters, and riding his bike. It then went to Hoa who loves to cook, sew, kill American soldiers, and bake. All the time the movie showed the the people whom they were talking about running around with various weapons and smiling. The movie stopped and we all sat quietly. Although a word was never muttered we all knew what each other was thinking. The guide got us up and walked us to where the tunnels were located.
As I walked through the woods mannequins stood at various places wearing shoes made of the wheels of American tanks and, as our guide pointed out, clothing taken off of dead American soldiers. Again we all remanded quiet. After passing stacks of bombs and huge craters that was a result of them we made it to the tunnels. Our guide asked us to find the entrance, which was impossible to find since is was a small wooden door covered with grass and moss. Anyone who wanted to try to see if they could fit through the entrance. The smallest people in the group agreed and after several minutes of twisting and turning managed to fit through. However the rest of us used the special, bigger entrance made for larger visitor (and when I say larger I'm talking about anyone bigger then a 10 year-old child. I was lead through three different tunnels most of the time so small that I was crawling on my hands and knees. Some of the guys at the front of the line thought it would be funny to try and scare the girls by yelling bat and stopping. We weren't fooled.
The last tunnel took us into a larger room that I found that I could stand in. It had a large table in the center and was used for planning strategies. Again the boys decided to yell bat to scare everyone. Getting a little peeved the girls took the exit out with the tour guide. However the boys, taking a wrong turn, went down the wrong tunnel that wasn't part of the tour and "haha, bat, haha" quickly changed to "AHHHH!! BATS!" A couple of bats came flying out the exit with a hand full of jittery guys.
The tour ended at a small shooting range where for a $1 per bullet we could shoot AK-47's at targets. Myself and a couple of other people couldn't bring ourselves to shoot the guns. In a strange way, that even the tour guide couldn't understand, we felt that it was a bid to morbid. With the guns blasting in the background we decided to take a walk and ended up in what I couldn't describe as anything other then a cemetery for heavy machinery. Tanks, helicopters with bullet holes in them, and other war-time vehicles were littered through out the yard. When the bus pulled around to take us back to Ho Chi Minh we scrambled back onto it to wait for the rest of the group. Overall the experience was amazing, especially to have an insight into a part of history that is only glazed over in text books, but it asked if I would ever go back? That's not something that I'm sure I would do. The Cu chi Tunnels sparked something in me that I can't explain and I'm not entirely sure that I ever want to feel that way again.

It's with a heavy heart that I write this review. There are no words that can describe the atrocious, horrific sights that are inside. The fact that it was once called the War Crimes Museum gives a good indication of what is behind the gates. My friend had visited the museum the day before with a photographer who had photographed the war. He urged us to go, but once in the gates he changed. He became quiet and keep his head down; it wasn't out of not wanting look at the items on display, but it was because he didn't want to see our reactions.
The main hall is full of pictures that depict that most disgusting acts of war; tanks dragging bodies through the streets, American solders posing with the heads of dead Vietnamese, and bodies of the dead who were subjected to Agent Orange, Napalm, and White Phosphorous. Out of all the graphic photos the one that is burned into my head and haunts me the most was of two American solders standing in front of a large container that was painted with the sign "Purple People Eater." The caption under it explained it was full of Napalm.
Other rooms contained pictures of war protests from around the world. Another was full of medals of Americans who sent them to Vietnam with letters of apology. Yet another room has jars with fetus in them showing what Agent Orange did to the unborn.
The museum itself isn't totally unbiased. The captions that accompany some of the pictures I don't believe accurately describe the photo. The one that I remember the most was one of a young solider over the body of a dead Vietnamese man. The caption described it as an American solider as laughing at the body, but it looked more like the solider was about to throw up. The horrific look on the soldier's face had no traces of a laugh or even pleasure, but looked more like he had just looked into the pits of hell.
In the court yard sat a tank and a plane with a French guillotine nearby. My friend wanted us to pose for a picture in front of the tank, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Vietnamese tour guides gathered around smiling and encouraging us to take the picture, but I felt sick even thinking about it. I was ashamed, scared, distraught, and several other emotions that I can't find the words to describe. I wasn't alive when the war took place; I wasn't born until the 80's, but the war stuck something inside of me that I couldn't explain to anyone. It was a look into a war that very few who have never fought in combat will ever see. It was the other side in all of it's horrific glory. It was their story.

The Ben Thanh Market is...well...it's exactly what I thought it would be. As the name implies it is a market, however it is not 100% for tourists nor is it 100% local. It was built in the 70's by the French and was called Les Halles Centrales at the times. The market is seperated into different areas for food, livestock, clothing, fabric, and other goods. Stalls are cramped together and offer the largest selection of everything that I had ever seen in my life. It's a whole days worth of exploration.
My friends and I walked in and began to look. The market is high energy and everyone is willing to talk. We were following our noses looking for a bit to eat, but that day were weren't the only ones. From behind me I heard a scream. I turned around to see my friend Tracy looking whiter then usual, and on her foot sat the largest cat I had ever seen. She jumped back and the cat, who was actually a rat, ran off into one of the stalls, past playing children and a sleeping man. Our appiete was crused.
We strolled around looking at all of the fabric, scarves, and items aviable. The shopping spree began. I bought packets of chopsticks ($1.00), a rice hat ($1), 2 tank tops and two shirts that were covered with what seems to be the pouplar slogans, ex the Vietnam flag, Good Morning Vietnam, Tiger Beer, and Apololypse Now, on them ($5), a beauitiful chopstick holder ($6), and silk placemats ($2). The best souviner was from a women who made lacquer shoes. She was a short, old women who looked like she came with the building. She helped me pick out a beautiful black base with white flowers painted on them and proceeded to size my feet and nail the straps on them in just minutes.
The general rule in Vietnam is if you look, or even casually glance over at something the shop owner assumes your intrest in it. If it isn't something that you really want don't touch it and just walk away. Browsing is not a term that is understood in Vietnam.
As we rounded the stalls our hunger creep back up on us as we found the food stalls filled with fruits, spices, coffee, and various other delights. As we reached into our pockets to find money and see what we could get our rat friend and his family apperared. We all decided to eat at the Rex hotel instead.

At first it looked like a large lake with a large island full of crumbling buildings and the water packed with boats. The Mekong Delta stretches for 2,800 miles with rich soil making it the "rice basket" of Vietnam, and its history is as long and winding as its meandering rivers. It was once the home to the French, once occupied by the Cambodians. It survived a massacre planed out by the Khmer Rouge and suffered the effects of Agent Orange during the American War.
As I entered my boat in My Tho I was a bit disappointed. The boat looked like it was being held together by hopes and prayers. The seats were wooden and fit two people on each holding about 30 people. As the boat sailed my heart sank thinking that this was nothing more then a "cruise" down the delta; lucky for me this was an historic day...I was wrong. As one of the men navigated the boat around the lake a women was hard at work preparing a drink for us. With a machete she chopped off the tops of coconuts, stuck straws in them, and passed out our refreshments. The boat started to slow down as we got closer to one of the islands. A small platform was in the water with three small boats next to it. We were told that we were going to be broken up into smaller groups of ten to be taken to another island. While we were boarding the new, smaller boats several young boys showed off for us only a few feet away by climbing the trees and jumping into the water. When my turn came to get off I put my foot onto the shaky platform and got a front seat. The boat was tiny with only a wooden plank stretching from one side of the boat to the other holding two people. We sailed out of the lake area and into what I can only describe as marsh, jungle like area. Plants grew up out of the water shading the narrow passage way that we were being led down. The beauty of the area can not be expressed in words.
The first stop was Qui Island. We were taken to a "factory" that made coconut candy. The factory was more or less a oven, a few tables, and a roof held up by four posts. The owner showed us how they put the candy into the oven and when it came out a women would cut it into small squares with a machete. She gave each of us a sample fresh out of the oven. It was amazing. Then came the hard sell; three packs of candy for $5 USD. They were so sweet (the people and the candy!) that I couldn't pass it up.
Just beyond the factory they had a cage of snakes and small chicks (aka snake food). The owners son paraded the snake around with much delight as several of the girls in the group screamed and ran. This became a huge source of entertainment for all of our Vietnamese hosts. Next door was several tables that we were able to sit at, enjoy a cold beverage, eat candy, and listen to the owners daughter sign traditional Vietnamese songs. Her voice was pleasant, and compliments were met with a shy smile and a blushing face.
After that we got back into the boats and headed to the next island for lunch. Lunch was served at a different island where the restaurant consisted of a roof, small tables that sat four people, and a stove. The owners brought us small plates of rice, fruit, and prawns This became fun for the group as we played guess-that-fruit. One item was dragon fruit, while another remained a mystery. It looked like a sea urchin on the outside, but was white on the inside. After breakfast we able to walk around the island. A few of us walked down a dirt road by ended up in the mud as a cyclo drove by. The passenger screamed "watch out, watch out" as his three year old son drove the cyclo past us. As they passed the father yelled back "Sorry, he's driving!"
We were all called back together and marched to the other side of the island to meet our new boats. The leader marched us past a tiny foot bridge where a father was working and his son was playing in the mud. We stopped to talk to the boy and take pictures. At first the boy was nervous, but edged closer to us as his father smiled and encouraged him to go to us.
The last leg of the journey was the best. Our groups where split up even more to groups of four as we entered small one seat boats. On each end was a rower with a paddle and a rice hat. We were each given a rice hat to wear as we took off back through the jungle.
Once I had been to Vietnam I fell in love with the people and the country and didn't think that it could get any better, but my trip to the Mekong Delta proved to me that it could. I have never meet sure friendly, genuine, and pleasant people as those who live and work there, nor have I ever seen such gorgeous scenery in my life. Each bend of the river brought a new surprise even better then the last.

Crossing the street was never a science. At the age of five I learned to look both ways and cross; it was easy and simple. At the age of 24 I never thought that I would have to learn how to cross a rod, but not every place is like Ho Chi Minh. Vietnam takes crossing the road to a whole new level. It requires timing, precision, nerves of steel, and a since of immortality.
Every port of call the my ship arrived in diplomats from the country as well as ambassadors from the US embassy came on board. They went through the usual song and dance of what to do, what not to do, what to see, where to shop, local custom, blah, blah, blah. However one lady who spoke caught my attention; she came to tell us how to cross the road. The first crossing will leave even the toughest in tears, but there are a few facts that will help anyone. First and foremost, look both ways several times before crossing. Then step out move at a steady pace, NEVER stepping backwards. The general rule is that cars will hit you and bikes will go around you only if they have their eyes open (or, one case, if the person operating the vehicle isn't three years old). When you get to the sidewalk look both ways before stepping on, because this may become an improve road.
After a few days I had become an expert. I was crossing the road with the best of them until the night of the festival. My friends and I ventured out into Ho Chi Mihn and came to a busy cross section where six different roads met. So many motorcycles covered the area I couldn't actually see the pavement. It was like LA traffic on crack. My friend Andy and I took a breath and stepped out into the street. We held onto each other not knowing which direction any of the cycles where going (and I question if they knew themselves). Bikes swerved by us as time stopped. I was to afraid to look behind me to see if Brandalon, Mike, or Tracy were close. We jumped as a car came right at us luckly we landed on the sidewalk. Getting up we looked for the rest of our party. Not seeing them we pondered how we were going to explain that we lost our friends in a sea of cars to their families and wondering what their obituaries would say. Suddenly I heard "I thought you two were goners!" Mike appeared out of the crowd. He saw us walk into the sea of vehicles on the road and disappear. The others soon followed only to make sure we made it. The reunion was cut short as a car honked at us. We were in his way. We quickly stepped into an alley as the car sped off down the sidewalk.

My ship sailed passed marshes that looked like a jungle on the water. Small boats were lined up in neat rows every few hundred yards and the occasional, lone sailor sailed by waving very so often. The air was heavy, almost hard to breath at first, but the view was so beautiful I couldn't leave the ships deck. Before leaving my family warned me to be careful in Vietnam. It was the war they grew up with and it seemed that still waged on in their minds just as it had many of the other student's parents that I was sailing with. Much of what I knew about the country at the time was what I seen in the movies like Apocalypse Now and Platoon; not the best references. I stood on the deck, looking into the water, and waiting for military choppers to appear over the horizon. The silence was broken when "Good Morning Vietnam!" blasted over the ship's PA system staring off morning announcements. At least I wasn't the only person who basing their knowledge of Vietnam off of movies.
So in order to avoid my mistakes there are some basis that anyone should know about Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh, formally Saigon, is a very eclectic place that has taken various things for all of the other countries that have claimed it as theirs and combined it with their own culture to create something truly beautiful. Prior to the French, Vietnam was ruled by China for several hundred years. In 1859 the French colonized Vietnam and turned it into the "Pearl of the Far East" and erected several Western- style buildings, which are still evident today. Later the country was divided at the 17th parallel in 1975 during the Vietnam War/ American War, the Vietnam People's Army took control in an event known as the Fall of Saigon or the Liberation of Saigon. The capital was rename Ho Chi Minh after a communist leader, but Saigon is still the widely used name by many of those living in Vietnam and can be found on everything from postcards to shirts.
Everyone that I spoke to said that the American War was nothing more then a drop in the bucket of their history; it wasn't their longest or even most memorable war, but everywhere I looked their were signs pointing to a different story. Actually the Vietnamese have seen to capitalized on it. One street lead past a couple of tanks that were used by the Americans, the War Remnants museum showcasing horrific photos, tanks, jets, and deformed fetuses exposed to Agent Orange. The Cuchi tunnels allow visitors to climb through the tunnels used by the military and even shoot AK-47's at a shooting range that sits next to a grave yard or tanks, planes, and other American vehicles. Their is even a cafe named after the famous movie Apocalypse Now. It was disturbing in the same way that I car accident is; you know that you shouldn't look but you do anyway.
The other aspect of the city that was hard to get use to was the street children. They aren't just beggars. In most cases they will come up to you, try to get you to buy something or ask for money. Once they have what they want they will run off to hand their money over to an older adult and then run off to find someone else. The hard part about this is that these children aren't just looking for a hand out; they are looking to be your "friend". Many learned my name and I knew theirs, I knew about their family, and what their favorite food/movie/and song was. They would walk with us across the street, make sure that my group got some place safely, and even snuck candy into our pockets. One girl would even would joke with my friend about he was following her because she was everywhere he was. These children reflected the attitude of the country. Everywhere I looked I found one friendly face after another. I was welcomed everywhere I went, not as just a meal ticket for someone, but as a person that they wanted to talk to and share stories with.
Shopping in Vietnam is something that shouldn't be considered as just something to do to buy souvenirs for friends back home. It's fun, exciting, and a great way to meet people and find some unique treasures. Lacquer is something is everywhere and some of the best comes from Vietnam. At the Ben Thanh Market I got a paid of custom fitted Lacquer shoes for $5.00. Clothing is another amazing find. Boutiques line streets with the most unique fashions that makes 5th Avenue look down right boring. The silk here is especially fabulous. I highly suggest getting something made from one of the many tailors in the city. However be careful, some aren't as good as the others. I was lucky to find someone who was able to turn my designs into reality while others ended up with what looked like a ill fitting burlap bag. I suggest bringing in a picture (from a magazine) then your own drawing. It is less confusion for the tailor and much easier to end up with what you want.
Also beware of fakes. Many electronics are not the real deal however it's almost impossible to tell with some items. DVDs are also dime a dozen here...literally. Most places charge $1 USD for a pirated DVD, even in the malls. Even though this may seen immoral they do have a great return policy. If it doesn't work then they will return it. Books are also a great find if you don't mind one that was photocopied!!!
Food in Vietnam is second to none. Hands down the best cuisine in the world is in Vietnam; mixing Asian styles with a French twist. The spring rolls are always great anywhere in the city. Coffee was another amazing find. I fell in love with a coffee that is put into a container that sits on top of the cup and mixes with condensed milk.
One word of advice when traveling in Vietnam: be careful. Vietnam is still a communist country even though it may not seem like it (especially compared to Cuba or North Korea). With that said their are certain rules that you need to play be that aren't always stated; mainly restrictions that I wasn't use to. The big one that effects tourists is taking pictures. I wasn't aware of this until someone on the street explained it to me. Certain areas have large signs with an X on it. This means no pictures. Whatever the sign is in front of is off limits. Be sure to look around before snapping away; there are always someone watching. Make sure that there is no X.

First I need to say that I am not someone who will judge another person based on their religion, even if I don't agree with their particular way of thinking I am in no position to judge another person. Now with that said I do think some religions are harder to grasp then other and some in particular are just an all around shock, especially when what is being seen was never explained. Also with that said the religion of Cao Dai is a bit strange (no offense to anyone who practices this). So as it goes my bus pulled up into a parking lot an yet another unscheduled trip to the Cu chi Tunnels. The parking lot was full of yellow sand and signs that read "Do not buy anything beyond these gates. It will be over priced." There are always signs that show what the day will bring and I whole heartily took this a sign of what was to come.
Our group was taken to a very brigthly painted blue, yellow, pink, and gold painted building and was told that this was a temple. The inside was a even greater assault on the senses. The room was bright pink and yellow with a blue green, arched ceiling. Columns were carved with even brighter and more cartoon like dragons on them. I felt like I had died and woken up in a Saturday morning cartoon from the 80's. Observers were lead to a balcony that surrounded the temple and were allowed to watch the proceedings. Worshipers stand in perfect lines on the floor and wait for three people, each dressed in a different color to arrive (each to symbolize a different religion).
Cao Dai was started in 1926 by the mystic Ngo Van Chieu who intertwined the three main religions of Vietnam, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism with Christianity and a few other religions for good measure to create something new. Everything in the temple has a meaning. there are statues for the first female Cao Dai priest and one of the Buddha riding a tiger to symbolize the year that the construction began. At first it all seems very progressive; inducting women and even blending all religions to create one super religion. It's great, but the following what made me start to question everything. On a platform, on different levels, are the patron saints of Cao Dai they include Christ, Sakyamuni, and Quan Kong, but also include Joan of Arch, writer Victor Hugo, and Charlie Chaplin. Three million people now follow this religion.

Some travel experiences leave an imprint on you for ever, others scar you for life and if you happen to have that experience while on the back of a cyclo in Ho Chi Minh you might just end up scared both physically and mentally. Among the long list of things I was told not to do while in Vietnam riding a cyclo was right their on the top. Ignoring all rational and sane advice I got on the first cyclo that I could find and took off.

Cyclo drivers can be found anywhere that their are tourists and for 2 USD they will drive you across town. I handed the driver my money, was told to hold on, and in a brief moment of sanity I had a clear though and questioned what I was about to get into, but I wasn't given the chance to think further; the driver took off so fast all I could see was streaks. My friend, who was on a cyclo next to me, began screaming something, I'm not sure what, but I think it was "we are going to die," which the drivers didn't take as a warning, but more of as a challenge. Thus we began to drag race through the street of Saigon. It wasn't the speed that scared me, the swerving around other bikes, or the man who we hit in the street and didn't bother to stop for (he seemed okay, no falling or blood, but then again we were going at a speed where I couldn't see anything but my life flash before my eyes) it was the corners. There seems to be no brakes on these bikes and corners are taken fast and the reach an angle where my knees where almost touching the ground. The end destination didn't come fast enough. We stopped, the drivers laughed, and we got off.

The way back we couldn't find any cyclos so we decided on their slower cousin, the rickshaw. Not nearly as fast considering that is nothing more then a cart attached to a bike, but it was a death trap in its own right. The rickshaw drivers insisted to drive on the road with the suicidal drivers leaving nothing but a thin slice of bamboo between us and the cars and cyclos on the street. The worst was when we had to cut across traffic. Unlike most cities I can not recall a single signal light in the entire city, so crossing traffic is like a game of frogger, and I was the frog. There is nothing like seeing traffic coming at you fast and furious, while the driver takes his time to peddle across the street.

One time in Vancouver my friends and I were denied getting into a cab; there were three of us and six bags of luggage. That was too many and we needed a second cab. In Vietnam this isn't the case. While walking down the street in Ho Chi Minh a taxi pulled over because we were happily walking and that automatically signaled that we needed a cab ride somewhere. No wasn't taken as an answer and the driver walked with us down the street until we agreed to let him drive us. My group consisted of five people, three short girls (Tracy, Andy, and myself), Brandalon (average height), and Mike (big in every way).
The cab driver took an instant liking to Mike, grabbed his hand, and said "you can ride up front with me big boy!" This meant that rest of us were to fit in the back. Brandalon got in first, Tracy in the middle, and I squeezed on the end. Realizing that their was no room for the four of us I made the mistake of trying to get out and walk. The cab driver assured us we would all fit and pushed Andy into the car and shut the door. Andy wiggled around until she was sitting half on my lap and half on Tracey's and we took off.
The seating situation in itself is a story I love, but it is only the precursor to the main event. In the front seat Mike proceeded to be molested by the driver. He rubbed Mike's arm and keep saying "You a big boy!" "You must drink your milk!" "Vietnamese are short, but you are a big boy!" Andy and I were hysterically laughing at the comments and watching Mike scramble to find the door handle.
Meanwhile in the back Brandalon was giving us a play-by-play commentary as the driver swerved around the road nearly hitting cars, cyclos, and people at full speed. I could hear from the opposite side of the car "person, person, PERSON!!! WATCH OUT! Holy $#!+ I think we just killed someone! No, wait... he's standing Slow down, CAR!!!" This all the while sending Tracy into hysterics.
When the car stopped I was never so happy to be on the ground. The driver told us he would wait for us to come out of he museum. At the same time all said "No! We'll walk"

When in Vietnam getting clothing made is a must, and the streets of Dong Khoi are filled with tailors who can make just about anything. Off a side street I found a gem of a shop. Bolts of silk lined the walls, but we were told if we wanted something different that they could get it at the market in the morning. First on my list was a traditional Vietnamese dress called an Ao Da. It is a dress with high slits on both sides and and silk pants underneath. As the tailor was measuring me she very politely reminded me that the Vietnamese where their pants much higher then Americans as she measured my waist.
Next I had a skirt made that I had designed. This is a very difficult thing to try to get done. Most people I knew had success with bringing a picture from a magazine. The seamstresses seemed much more at ease copying a dress from a picture then from a drawing regardless of how detailed the drawing I was. This really surprised me since my background is in fashion and art, so I knew how to draw technical drawings, but since I was able to communicate the design she was able to work with me much more then someone who wasn't able to describe the vision as well. This made me in high demand among my friends as I went from shop to shop helping them with dresses and suits. Once everything was communicated, measured, and fabrics were chosen I gave a $30 down payment (my total was $65) and was told to come back in four days for a fitting. When I came back they had everything together and just had a few small adjustments to make and everything was ready later that night.
Not all of the tailors were nearly as talented as the one I happened to find. Many people walked away with tragic lumps of fabric, while one person had a Vera Wang bridal gown recreated in beautiful detail for $200 (including hand beading). When the vision turns into a nightmare simply refuse it. Start to point out any flaws, poor fitting, bad stitching, wrong fabric, wrong color. The shop will fight, but in the end most of the money will be refunded. In the case of my friend what was to be a $60 dress she only had to pay $5 to get out of the deal. In the end remember not to be a monster, after all this is their way of life that is being criticized, but stand up and speak your mind. Being civil goes a long way.