Is it Ho Chi Minh City or Saigon?

We came into Ho Chi Minh City the way so many travelers do now, by water first, then by road, stepping off our floating home, the Coral Princess, with that familiar mix of excitement and curiosity that has become the rhythm of our 115‑day Circle Pacific cruise. The port felt like a threshold - behind us, the ship’s steady routines and the wide, patient sea; ahead of us, a city whose name alone carries layers of history.

But one big question we had was all about the city name. Is it Ho Chi Minh City or is it Saigon. We wanted to get an answer and had all day with Captain Bruno to figure this out, so off we went on our adventure.

We booked a private tour with Chris and Scott, new Coral Princess friends who live in San Jose, California. It was another hot and humid day and Chris introduced us to a spray that you can use on your skin to cool yourself off. So with our newly found friends we were off. Just a foot note, Chris continues to call me Jon Stewart as she believes I host some kind of TV talk show. I have no idea where she gets that from but it is now bringing me more recognition no matter where we go.

Will the real Jon Stewart stand up ?

We are off on our City Adventure

Our private tour was with a young guide who was an energetic young man who spoke excellent English and called himself "Captain Bruno", although that was not his real name. The van seated 12 but there was only the four of us in the passenger section - finally an air conditioned vehicle with no one fighting for good seats. Captain Bruno and his driver loaded us up and off we went.

He kept us totally entertained for the entire 7 hours we spent together. Our ship was about 1 1/2 hours from the city, so during that part of the drive he gave us the background and history of the city. He also lives in the old Saigon area and told us that most people still call it Saigon.

The drive into the city was our first lesson. Ho Chi Minh City - still called Saigon by many locals, especially when speaking about the older city - doesn’t reveal itself all at once. It arrives in layers: the widening roads, the sudden density of motorbikes, the tangle of overhead wires, the storefronts and street vendors, the flashes of French Colonial architecture standing beside modern glass and concrete. Captain Bruno narrated as we went, pointing out neighborhoods and explaining how the city has expanded outward, swallowing what used to be separate districts. He spoke with the ease of someone who has told these stories many times, but also with the energy of someone who still finds meaning in them.

The Central Post Office

The Central Post Office building sits in the heart of District 1, near other colonial-era structures, and it carries that unmistakable French imprint - high arched windows, symmetrical lines and a façade that looks both grand and practical. The post office was built in the late 19th century, during the period when France controlled much of Vietnam as part of French Indochina.

Construction began in the 1880's and was completed in the early 1890's. The design has been wrongly attributed to Gustave Eiffel, though it features a similar cast-iron frame design similar to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. In those days, communication was empire’s bloodstream. A central post office meant connection to other cities, to other colonies, to Paris itself.

Inside, the space opens into a long hall with a vaulted ceiling that makes you instinctively look up. The light is soft and filtered, and the architecture feels almost like a train station -built for movement, for people coming and going, for messages traveling farther than the senders could imagine. Along the walls are large maps - historical in style - depicting old Saigon and the telegraph lines that once stitched the region together. Captain Bruno explained that the building has survived wars, regime changes, and the city’s relentless modernization, and yet it still functions as a post office today. It wasn’t a museum piece frozen behind ropes, it was a living building where locals still buy stamps and mail packages, where tourists still send postcards, where the everyday continues inside a structure built by a colonial power long gone.

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon.

The lower two pictures are murals on the walls around the cathedral with city scenes

From the post office, we walked across the street to the Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon. Even from a distance, it’s striking twin bell towers were rising above the surrounding trees and traffic, but as we approached, the reality of the moment set in. We couldn’t go inside.

The cathedral has been under restoration for what feels like forever, and Captain Bruno confirmed what we’d heard - renovations have stretched on for years, more than a decade, a slow and careful process made complicated by the need to preserve the original materials and structure. They had to transport the bricks from France.

Scaffolding and barriers kept visitors at a distance, and the closed doors felt symbolic in a way I didn’t expect: a reminder that history is not always accessible on demand, that some places are still being repaired both physically and metaphorically.

These three photos are of the church that I took from google and because we could not get in to see anything I wanted our readers to know how beautiful it really is. Definitely some French influence.

Standing outside, we talked about why a Catholic cathedral exists here at all, in a city so far from Europe. The answer, of course, is tied to colonization and missionary work. Catholicism arrived in Vietnam centuries ago through Portuguese and later French missionaries, but it was during French colonial rule that the Church gained significant institutional power and visibility. The cathedral was built in the late 19th century, funded and supported by the French administration, and it served both religious and political purposes.

Street Performer

When we left the church there was a street puppeteer doing his magic. Great entertainment and such a skill. He was able to gather a pretty big crowd and he played different songs for his puppet to dance.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/71f626_2df5745a8def4dcd866eac29780a03b7/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

War Remnants Museum

From there, the day shifted in tone as we headed to the War Remnants Museum. Even the name prepares you for what’s inside. This museum was established after the war ended, originally under a different name, and it has evolved over time, but its purpose remains clear - to document the Vietnam War—known in Vietnam as the American War—and to preserve evidence of its human cost. It is not a neutral space. It doesn’t pretend to be. It is a museum built from the perspective of a country that endured invasion, bombing, chemical warfare, and decades of conflict on its own soil. Our tour guide told us that for many Vietnamese, the museum serves as both a memorial and a warning. It's a place to remember what happened, to honor those who suffered, and to insist that the world not forget.

Before we went in, we spent time in the yard outside, where military hardware sits under the open sky: helicopters, fighter planes, tanks and artillery pieces. There’s something unsettling about seeing these machines up close, parked like exhibits, stripped of their original purpose but still heavy with it. They look almost like props until you remember what they were built to do. Standing there, we felt the way an object can be both inert and terrifying, both historical artifact and a reminder of violence.

Note: Some of the photos and descriptions may be graphic and disturbing to certain individuals. We chose to post these and display the experience we had at the museum.

Inside the Museum

One of the most emotional and difficult sections of the museum was the part dealing with prisons and detention. We stood in front of displays showing cramped cells and instruments of confinement, and the air in the room felt heavier. There are reconstructions and photographs that depict the brutal conditions prisoners endured—small cages, shackles, overcrowding, deprivation. Whether you come to the museum with a deep knowledge of the war or only a general sense of it, it’s impossible not to feel something in those rooms. We moved more slowly there, speaking less, absorbing more. It wasn’t just history; it was suffering made visible.

The writing on the wall in the above photo was counting the time in prison.

Inside, the museum the exhibits are intense and often graphic. We moved through rooms filled with photographs, documents and testimonies. The story of the war is told through images that don’t let you look away. There were villages destroyed, civilians wounded, families displaced, bodies carried, faces frozen in shock. The museum also covers the broader arc of the conflict and as we walked, we tried to hold the timeline in our minds: how did a country’s struggle for independence become entangled in global ideology.

We were shown a photo of a Cigarett Lighter that someone dug up in South Vietnam from a U.S. soldier that had been killed and on the lighter was written, "If I had a farm in VIETNAM and a home in hell, I'd sell my farm and go home". They put the lighter back into the ground to be with the soldier that had died in battle.

Then we came the exhibits on Agent Orange that was another kind of heartbreak, one that stretches across generations. Agent Orange was a herbicide used by the U.S. military as part of a defoliation campaign intended to strip forest cover and destroy crops that could support opposing forces. It contained dioxin, a highly toxic compound. The immediate goal was tactical; the long-term consequences were catastrophic.

The museum documents the health impacts like cancers, immune disorders and most hauntingly birth defects that continue to appear decades later. In Vietnam, the legacy of Agent Orange is not confined to history books. Families still live with it. Children are still born with severe disabilities linked to exposure. The idea that a chemical sprayed in wartime can reach forward into the lives of people not yet born is one of the most chilling realities of modern conflict.

The title of this photo says it all, “The Terror of War”

Vietnamese-American photographer Nick Ut won a Pulitzer Prize for his 1972 image of innocent children fleeing an accidental napalm attack on their village. Front and center is nine-year-old Kim Phuc, naked and badly burned by the American chemical weapon.

Vietnam had been under French colonial rule for decades, and after World War II, Vietnamese independence movements intensified. The First Indochina War ended in 1954 with the French defeat at Dien Bien Phu, and the Geneva Accords temporarily divided Vietnam into North and South, with the intention of holding elections to reunify the country. Those elections never happened. The Cold War context turned Vietnam into a frontline in a larger ideological battle. Communism versus anti-communism, East versus West. The United States became increasingly involved in supporting the South Vietnamese government, first through advisors and aid, then through direct military intervention. What began as a political and strategic commitment escalated into a full-scale war, with hundreds of thousands of American troops deployed and millions of Vietnamese lives affected. It is estimated that the war deaths totaled 2,450,000 from 1954 to 1975.

The war ended in 1975 with the fall of Saigon and the reunification of Vietnam under the communist government. But “ended” is a complicated word. Wars stop on paper, their consequences continue in bodies, landscapes and memories. The museum makes that point relentlessly.

Senator Bob Kerrey confessed to crime after 32 years

Bob Kerrey denied that it was a premeditated massacre. He acknowledged his squad killed civilians but claimed they were killed in an exchange of fire in the dark after the team was fired upon. He expressed deep remorse and stated he was "haunted" by the event for decades. The Vietnamese government accused Kerrey of war crimes in 2002. However, no formal investigation or prosecution by the U.S. government took place, and Kerrey was never charged with a crime. He has described the incident as a "tragedy".

We also learned about the lingering dangers left in the ground—unexploded ordnance, mines and other remnants that can injure or kill long after the fighting stops. Extensive efforts have been made to clear these hazards and that many areas have been searched and made safer over the years. Even so, the broader truth remains that war leaves behind physical debris that can outlast the politics that it created. It changes the land itself.

By the time we finished the museum, we were emotionally drained. It wasn’t just sadness; it was a kind of stunned quiet, the feeling you get when you’ve been confronted with too much reality way too quickly. Outside again, the sunlight felt almost inappropriate—bright and ordinary after what we’d just seen. We stood for a moment near the aircraft and tanks, looking at them differently now. They weren’t just machines in a yard; they were symbols of a conflict that shaped this city and this country, and that still shapes how Vietnam is understood by the world.

The final push into Saigon (then renamed Ho Chi Minh City) on the part of the Vietnamese People’s Army took place on April 30th in 1975. Thousands of remaining U.S. military and members of the diplomatic corps, along with some of their South Vietnamese collaborators, were airlifted from rooftops out of the city.

I took this photo on Captain Bruno's I-pad showing the famous evacuation from the yellow house down the street from where we were standing at the entrance to the post office.

This iconic 1975 Saigon helicopter evacuation photo was taken from the Pittman Apartments at 22 Ly Tu Trong Street. While it housed CIA employees and high-ranking officials, it was actually a CIA safe house/apartment building located near the Notre Dame Cathedral, a few blocks away from the post office.

Today the former CIA Building is empty but remains as an historical structure.

Postscript - After the War

The U.S. and other nations have heavily supported Vietnam’s post-war recovery through billions in humanitarian aid, extensive Agent Orange remediation, and unexploded ordnance (UXO) removal. Key efforts include USAID health initiatives, normalization of diplomatic/economic ties and cooperating on POW/MIA recovery. There is an entire section at the museum that covers the recovery and worldwide support for Vietnam.

Key Post-War Support Initiatives:

• Agent Orange and Toxic Cleanup: The U.S. has invested over $110 million in projects to treat dioxin contamination in soil, notably around former airbases like Da Nang and provided over $155 million for disability assistance in affected areas.

• Unexploded Ordnance (UXO) Removal: Since 1993, the U.S. has contributed over $230 million for UXO efforts, conducting safe removal and providing risk education, which has significantly reduced casualties from war-era explosives.

• Humanitarian and Health Aid: USAID and other agencies have provided billions in humanitarian aid, including HIV/AIDS treatment, disability services, and COVID-19 pandemic support.

• Diplomatic and Economic Normalization: Following the lifting of the trade embargo the U.S. and Vietnam normalized relations, creating a comprehensive strategic partnership (2023).

• Reconciliation and POW/MIA Recovery: Extensive joint missions have been conducted for over 40 years to locate and repatriate the remains of missing service members.

Art Studio and Weasel Coffee

Following the War Museum, we went to a gallery where they showed us how they made lacquer coated art. It was interesting to see the skill set required to etch with an Exacto knife and cut small egg shells to fit together to make up a graphic image. The image they were working on was of a girl walking and swinging her arms. I took a photo of the image so you could relate to the work.

I had a coffee at their location with beans that had been eaten by a weasel and passed through it's digestion system. In other words it pooped them out.

Weasel coffee, or kapi luwak, is a rare, expensive coffee produced from coffee cherries eaten and partially digested by Asian palm civets. Enzymes in the civet's stomach ferment the beans, reducing bitterness and creating a smooth, rich flavor with notes of chocolate. Traditionally harvested from wild civet droppings, it is highly prized, particularly in Vietnam.

City Tunnels

From there, Captain Bruno took us to something less famous but deeply evocative. It was an underground tunnel from the war located in the center of the city. There are lots of tunnels in the city and this particular one had hidden passageways used during the war with routes that allowed people to move, communicate and survive in a landscape where danger could come from above at any moment. This wasn’t the vast Cu Chi tunnel network outside the city, but rather a display tunnel meant to give visitors a sense of what underground movement might have been like by connecting buildings and offering concealment. Even knowing it was a demonstration, stepping down into that confined space triggered a emotional reaction. The walls pressed in and it made me think about what it would mean to live with that kind of constant threat, to rely on darkness and narrow corridors as part of daily life. The residents lived underground during the daytime and came out at night when they could not be seen very well. Limited time to have sunlight.

I had a chance to climb down into the tunnel and it was tiny but in those days I presume it was adequate to escape the war being battled above ground.

After the tunnel visit w went for an authentic lunch at the Pho Viet Nam Restaurant.

All four of us selected Pho, and it was excellent. Our bowls of Pho had a fragrant broth, fresh herbs, tender meat and noodles that somehow felt both simple and perfect. We all enjoyed the meal served as a reset without erasing what came before.

Ben Thanh Market

In the afternoon we went to the Ben Thanh Market, a stop that has become almost a tradition for us on this cruise. Wherever we dock we find the markets because they are where a city’s daily life is most visible. Ben Thanh is one of Ho Chi Minh City’s most iconic market and it’s been a trading hub in one form or another since the French colonial period. The name “Ben Thanh” is often explained as referring to a wharf (“ben”) near the citadel (“thanh”) that once stood in the area.

Over time the market evolved. The current structure dates back to the early 20th century. Today it’s both a local marketplace and a tourist destination, a place where you can buy everything from spices and coffee to textiles, souvenirs and street food.

Walking through Ben Thanh was an experience of senses with the smell of dried seafood, incense, bright colors of fruit and fabric, calls from vendors and the constant negotiation of space as people move in every direction.

Buddhist Monk Memmorial

Our last stop was at a memorial for a Buddhist Monk. It was at this very intersection where the incident happened. On June 11, 1963, when a Vietnamese Mahayana Buddhist Monk, Thích Quảng Đức, set himself on fire at a busy Saigon intersection to protest the South Vietnamese government's persecution of Buddhists. His self-immolation, captured in iconic photographs, drew international attention, weakened U.S. support for the South Vietnamese leader Ngo Dinh Diem which became a defining moment of the Vietnam War.

The action protested the Catholic led government of Ngo Dinh Diem, which discriminated against the Buddhist majority, limiting their rights while favoring Catholics.

• The Act: Thích Quảng Đức sat in a lotus position, meditated, then was doused in gasoline by another monk before setting himself on fire. He did not move or cry out as he burned

• Significance: The shocking, widely circulated photos taken by Associated Press reporter Malcolm Browne horrified the world and put intense pressure on the Diem regime.

• Reaction: President John F. Kennedy said, "No news picture in history has generated so much emotion around the world as that one".

• Outcome: The incident led to further protests and increased pressure on the government, contributing to the coup against Diem in November 1963.

The drive back to the Coral Princess was in its own way, a final chapter. Our new found friend, Captain Bruno, continued to educate us about his country and his city. He pointed out details we would have missed like building’s former purposes, a street’s old name and the way neighborhoods changed from one block to the next. We watched the city pass by and tried to reconcile the different versions of Ho Chi Minh City vs. Saigon that we had seen in one day.

Thanks Captain Bruno for a fabulous day in your city we will call Saigon

As we stepped back onto the ship we realized that travel at its best doesn’t just show you new places it changes the way you hold what you already know. The Vietnam War is often discussed in distant terms, framed by politics and timelines. But in Ho Chi Minh City it becomes immediate. It has addresses, photographs, names, and consequences that are still unfolding yet the city is not defined only by war. It is also defined by the everyday, with people mailing letters in a century-old post office, by vendors arranging fruit at dawn, by families gathering over bowls of Pho, by the constant hum of movement that says unmistakably, we are still here.

That was our day in Ho Chi Minh City guided by Captain Bruno and anchored by history. We had moments of tears, but important lessons in history. For us, the city is called Saigon and it Lives On !

The answer to our city question

Both names are correct, but they are used in different contexts. Ho Chi Minh City is the official name, while Saigon (Sài Gòn) is the widely used, historic name, particularly for the central district. Locals frequently use "Saigon" in daily conversation while "Ho Chi Minh City" is used for formal documents, maps, and official business. We have our answer.

 Over the next five days we have three more stops in Vietnam where we will see more of this country. As I state often, stay tuned because you never know what comes next in the Hallman Adventures.