In the schizophrenic hustle of Ho Chi Minh City, where the vestiges of a war-torn past lock horns with the neon kiss of capitalism, I find myself. Vietnam's premier metropolis is like a street fighter on acid, a maelstrom of sounds, colors, and flavors that leaves you punch-drunk, bewildered, and inexplicably elated. The city, formerly Saigon and forever carrying the spectral echoes of that name, attacks the senses like an unhinged guerrilla, all guns blazing.
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