This fountain is part of Turtle Lake, a small water feature in central Ho Chi Minh City, with a history. The lake is named in honour of a turtle, who may or may not have been real, and may have lived at this spot. What is present now, is a tower resembling a lotus flower, a lookout tower, and a fountain. To be frank, the entire edifice could do with a spring cleaning, but it is a fountain and it is operational, so here it is.
Below is some of that history:
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Built twenty-five years ago on a traffic circle where Vo Van Tan, Tran Cao Van and Pham Ngoc Thach Streets intersect, Ho Con Rua is an ideal spot to pause a bit and snap a photo or two, perhaps during a stroll between sights like the Ben Thanh Market or Unification Palace and the War Crimes Museum (recently renamed the War Remnants Museum).
It's easily spotted. You'll see Ho Con Rua's towering concrete lotus flower, at least partly, from a few blocks away. As you get closer, the peaceful scene comes into view: guarding acacia trees encircling the off-and-on fountains spraying murky green water; curving sidewalks elevated just above the surface, and steps leading up to a mini-observation deck - which some people seem to mistake for a public restroom (no need to go to the top). Across the street, quiet little cafes serve fresh coconut and coffees, and at night, sellers of dried-squid and balloons set up their pushcarts along the circle.
All that, but where's the turtle? Well, I wanted to know where our reptile friend had gone, as the spot has become somewhat of a city symbol for me. (I spent my first night in Vietnam at a Can Tho University-branch dorm across the street.) The first Vietnamese people I asked said either "boom" or "blown up" with dramatic hand gestures. The tranquil and turtle-less scene we see today wasn't always that way.
Originally the spot was called Soldiers' Park or the French Soldiers' Memorial, a collection of bronze statues erected by French colonists in the early part of the century. South Vietnamese President Dieu tore it down in 1963, one of his last actions before he and his brother were assassinated.
His successor Thieu used the site to build Ho Con Rua, at the suggestion of fortunetellers. The mystics had told him that the "dragon" of South Vietnam rested in Saigon, its "head" conveniently at Thieu's home, the Presidential (now Unification) Palace, and its "tail" here. A monument could conceal and protect the spirit of the south, it seemed, so 300,000 wartime dollars were shelled out for the four-year project (1970-1974), including a concrete turtle for "wisdom." Of course, it didn't really work as Thieu would've liked.
Not long after Saigon's fall in April 1975, a group of "national" minorities apparently blew the turtle to bits, hoping to revive the dragon's fiery tail--and the south. It didn't. What it did do was kill a few passersby, get the guilty party arrested, and inspire a novel and movie in the early '80s. (The pedestal for the turtle is still standing.)