In a mausoleum, frozen in time and ideals, lies a man just like any other. And every day hundreds line up to walk past his cold body and... look at it. Why?
Why do people trek for a week to see a piece of hair claimed to be remnant of Mohammed's beard? Why do private crowded little rooms in cathedrals have a piece of bone from some ill-remembered saint with legions of people lined up outside to lay eyes on it? What is the human attraction to relics?
We had an early start this morning to join the frozen queue at the Ho Chi Minh Presidential Palace area to see the body of 'Uncle Ho'. I was feeling better after a record 10 hours of sleep but Jo and Alex had been struck by he same lurgy and stayed in bed. So, it was just Paul, Jola and I who joined Jay shivering in the morning air to see the 'dear leader'.
We shuffled along in an orderly, somewhat over-policed, queue periodically getting in trouble for talking, walking two-by-two and having hands in pockets. Hats and umbrellas were also a definite no no and got a stern warning from the upright, earnest guards.
Finally we shuffled through the mausoleum to stare at... a dead body.
Sorry this entry is so glib but I've never been comfortable wth cults of personality, the use of human relics in religion or the worship of people who are just... people. There are some truly amazing people living in the world today. None of them are worthy of this kind of adoration either.
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