"Vietnam..Ho Chi Minh.. Mu Nam Mu Nam."
(Vietnam..Ho Chi Minh..Viva, Viva)

There had to come a day when we would pay homage to "Uncle Ho" who peers down from above our blackboard, paying more attention than most of our students.

So we rose early, as Ho, being Vietnamese, keeps early hours. In fact, last entry to the mausoleum is at an ungodly 10.15 am. We cycled like mad to the other side of the city, and so concerned were we about being too late for Ho, we stumbled across the path in front of the mausoleum. Two steps later the whistle was blown and we were confronted with one of the stormtrooper like guards that protect their father Ho.

Luckily once we had been shunted round the corner, and had all our bags, mobiles, cameras and other new fangled things that Ho might not have approved of removed we were allowed into the line. Most of the people who go are Vietnamese, and it is a very somber occassion as you march up into the marble hallway, reminiscent of many a five star hotel, hands out of pockets, eerily silent and feeling you have stumbled upon a cult.

Ho had been well and truly tangoed. The Russians, whom he goes to for repairs three months of the year, had not done a very good job. He did not look human, and while perhaps that was the aim, as he now has a God like status, I am pretty sure they didn't want him to turn into the God of orange fizzy drinks.