Every single Vietnam War movie follows a similar pattern. Long hair, a token Jimi Hendrix and/or Doors song set to the background of an afternoon patrol, rampant drug use, napalm, amputees in bloody bandages and the by-the-book officer who just can't relate to the younger generation.

But two things are a constant, no matter who is producing the film:

1. The Vietnamese prostitute.
2. The bicycle/rickshaw taxi drivers.
   

My time in Saigon taught me that these staples from the silver screen really were, and very much still are, staples on the real screen known as everyday life.

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Here is the first thing every person in that country asks you: "Do you have a girlfriend?" Cabbies ask it; vendors on the street ask it; even girls your age ask it. Like this one I met, who barely knew any English at all, except for one thing:


"Do you have a girlfriend?"

They might as well just come out with it and say what's really on their minds: "Would you like to marry me and take me home to America?"

Or, for the ones who are a little less romantic, "One hour, $40."

Those ones just ask you if you want "boom boom."

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"Boom boom" is hands down the greatest euphemism for "sexy time" that I have ever heard. You cannot walk down the streets of Saigon (how great is it that Vietnamese still call Ho Chi Minh City by it's pre-war name?) at night for five minutes without some sleazy dude offering it to you. Once, I even had a guy offer me "boom boom" at 8:30 ... in the morning. ("Dude, it's a little early for that," I told him).

When people don't speak good English, and it's obvious that they have simply memorized one line for any white person they see walking down the street, it is always fun to try and engage them in a conversation.

"Yo, yo," one guy said as I was about to cross the street and go back to my hotel. "Boom boom. Beautiful girls, one hour, $40."

"Really?" I said. "Boom boom, only forty bucks?"

"Boom boom." Every word that I said in response meant I was that much more interested; his eyes were getting wide.

"Hmmmm...."

"Beautiful, beautiful."

"Okay," I said. "Here's my question."

"Boom boom." Like a dog watching my hand for the treat.

"Let's say that I take a little longer, and I go, oh, say, an hour and two minutes." He grabbed my arm -- this was a sure thing, he must have thought. "If that happens, do you charge me for two hours? Or is it like, 'Okay, the guy was so close, we'll just charge an hour.'"

"Forty dollars, boom boom, beautiful girls."

"I mean, or is it like Cingular Wireless?" I continued. "Kind of like a rollover plan."

"This way." He pointed to a hotel in the distance.

"Nah, I was just messing with you man, I don't want any boom boom," and I kept on walking. It was downright cruel, like smearing a bunch of peanut butter just above a dog's nose, so that he can smell it, but just can't reach it with his tongue.

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Sometimes "boom boom" solicitors don't even code the question -- like our last night there, when, as Uncle Dan and I walked down the street looking for a good place to eat, a pair of girlfriends on a moped pulled up beside us and asked, "You want to have some sex?"

"No thanks, I'm not interested, but my uncle here...."

We just kept walking.

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Hell, even some of Uncle Dan's business contacts thought it would be polite to see if I was interested in sampling the local cuisine.

"You must see the first floor," the man said, his insinuations flying right over my head like a U.S. fighter jet. These guys were wearing Dad-is-home-from-work white collared shirts, after all. I associate clothes like that with my wholesome childhood. How was I supposed to expect that they'd be gauging my interest in a "massage?"

Uncle Dan, 21 years my senior, is a little less naive than me, and knew what was going on the entire time, I suspect. But it didn't take long for me to get up to speed.

The first floor was, well .... there were black lights, a neon blue glow illuminating everyone's face, really friendly girls, lots of snickering in Vietnamese, and a general vibe of shadiness.

"What are we doing here?" I said to Uncle Dan, as the business friend stood next to me, reading my reactions with a big ass grin on his face, trying to see if I was starting to drool or not.

"He's just trying to show you a good time." Danny was enjoying my discomfort.

I think my face gave away the answer that I was not. My first rule of protocol on things like this is that if I ever do go to "the first floor," I'm sure as hell not buying anything when my dad's little brother is standing right next to me. It was pretty awkward.

"Beautiful girls, yes?" the man asked, still grinning.

"Uhhh, yeah." Awkward. "Are you ready to leave?"

The guy was just trying to be nice, and wasn't sleazy by any means -- it's just that this was Vietnam. The same Vietnam I saw in movie theaters my entire life.

When we left the first floor, one of the really good-looking, really friendly girls even tried the equivalent of the "Come here often?" pick-up line on me. "You have been here before!" she yelled in her thick Vietnamese accent, before giggling uncontrollably. I blushed, and kept walking.

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"Yo, yo." One of my favorite things about Vietnam is that the word "yo" really is part of their language. They say it for "cheers" at the bar, they say it on the street, they say it just all the time. "Yo, yo!"

Well, they also say it when they're trying to get your attention -- including when they want to offer you rickshaw rides and "boom boom."

Take Sinh, for example.


Sinh (pronounced "sing") is the man.

My first impression of him was that he was just another rickshaw/taxi service dude who pimps in his spare time. "Yo, yo!" he yelled at me as I walked along the sidewalk, his legs pedaling furiously to try and keep up with the speed of the mopeds swarming around him like bees on the street. "No thanks, man," I answered, not slowing down to give him the time of day.

"You are very handsome!" he yelled, still pedaling. I had to laugh at that -- a first for me in Vietnam to hear such a compliment from a 60-year old man on a rickshaw.

"How many girlfriends?" he asked, panting.

"None, man," I said, still laughing.

"You no have girlfriend?" He feigned astonishment. "Why no many girlfriend?"

I wasn't trying to get into a discussion about my history with long distance relationships at that particular point in time, so I ignored him and walked into a Buddhist temple on the corner.

But he followed me in -- this guy was really persistent.

I had no intention of hiring a bicycle taxi, but once Sinh starting talking to me about how he loves America, how he fought in the Saigon army, how he struggles to make a living, I began to consider it.

And once he showed me the book he has, full of raving reviews from previous customers, I figured, "What the hell? When am I gonna be able to experience Saigon on the front seat of a rickshaw ever again?" and hopped on.

And I am so glad I did, because it was awesome.


I was giggling like the prostitute from the night before who had pulled the "Come here often?" line. When I say that the mopeds are like a swarm of bees, I really mean that they are like a swarm of Africanized killer bees. ZOOOOOM! ZOOM ZOOM! ZOOOOOOM! Please keep your hands inside the windows of the bus. "Lanes" to these people are like the sidelines in girls lacrosse -- they're just suggestions. It is downright Hobbesian on the streets of Saigon.

Sinh seemed harmless -- more wholesome than any other person I had met thus far in Vietnam. But it didn't take long for me to realize that he had ... other businesses as well.

"Look there," he said, an apparently good-looking girl (I couldn't see because of her smog face mask) parked next to us at the red light. "Beautiful girls, Saigon, beautiful girls."


"Yeah, I guess, I can't really tell."

Then, we saw a bride on the street.


"Beautiful girls," he said again, and pedaled up so that I could get a picture.

"You want blowjob?" he asked right afterwards. "Massage?" You would think that he would first offer a massage, and then get more direct. You would figure.

"Nah man, I'm good." I can only assume he meant from a girl, but still, not my style to pay for that sort of stuff.

But this was Vietnam. I wasn't sleazed out. Sinh was just being polite.


And Sinh is still the man.