After a bit of cold weather (three days of 10°C), I was actually excited to return to Ho Chi Minh City, despite all of the heat. I think after so long, my skin finally became accustomed to the heat. And even though I was not immune to sweating, after sweating all day and night for months and months, you become accustomed to it, the sweat beads no longer driving you to the brink of insanity.
As a form of torture, I did not sleep with the air-conditioning running at night, so the heat and humidity woke me up before the sounds of the city could. It is because of this oppressive warmth that the city starts so early. People want to accomplish as much as possible before the sun becomes an unbearable enemy, constantly trying to coerce you indoors. If you decide to sleep with the air-conditioning on, don’t fret, it won’t be long until the streets wake you anyway, forcing you outdoors in search of sustenance.
Upon making your way out into the alleyways, you will find yourself in a true labyrinth. One where things materialize overnight, never to be seen again the next day. There are various stalls of breakfast restaurants that were certainly not there when you got home last night. Laundry has been set out to dry, dogs and cats run freely, as do the children, but not together. There are ladies selling vegetables and fruits, carefully laid out of blankets, taking refuge in the shade of tall buildings and alleys, who will abandon their posts as soon as the afternoon sun invades. The jumble of telephone and electricity wires overhead seems to act as a guide, finally leading you out of the protection of the buildings and into the open.
You do not have to walk far for your first stop of the day: breakfast. That is of course unless you were hoping to find something other than a hot bowl of soup. In that case, you will need to venture farther. If phở is your breakfast of choice, there are a plethora of options, although usually the best one is where it seems impossible to find a place to sit because everyone else has beaten you to a table.
Eventually a space opens up, you are ushered to a chair and table and the waiter asks you something in Vietnamese that you do not understand. Seeing you are confused, she changes strategies and makes pretend bowls with her hands, large and small. That’s the menu. Either a large bowl or a small bowl, she knows what you’re here for.
After an unexpectedly short amount of time, she brings over a steaming bowl, and plenty of fresh herbs and beansprouts. You are not expected to eat all of the herbs, but you are expected to eat all of the beansprouts. It seems like the hot bowl of soup shouldn’t be manageable in the equally steamy restaurant, but somehow (probably the taste) it all seems worth it and you look forward to the same routine tomorrow.
The second stop after breakfast is inevitably coffee. Salt coffee, coconut coffee, milk coffee and egg coffee on a constant rotation throughout the day and week. Caffeine is addictive, that is without a doubt. Couple that with the whipped-almost caramel tasting salted cream that they add to the already sweetened coffee, it’s no wonder you can’t stop drinking it.
By mid-morning the cafe is filled with locals who will sit for an hour watching a single cup of cà phê sữa drip into a glass with condensed milk at the bottom, to watch the stream of people walk past. The cafes of Ho Chi Minh have people watching that is unrivaled in other parts of the world, and you quickly understand how and why the cafes seemingly never have curbside seats available. If you are ever lucky enough to find yourself in one of these seats, you wouldn’t want to leave either, stirring the sweet layers of your coffee into oblivion.
I was once told, jokingly, that crossing the street in Vietnam is easier if you close your eyes, and the more time I spent in Ho Chi Minh City, the more this started to make sense. In some parts of the city, the traffic has no breaks where one would be able to squeeze across the road without impacting flow. Instead, to get across, you have to go very slowly, while looking in the eyes of the motorbike drivers who are seemingly heading straight for you, extend your arm, and walk. A breaking of the eye contact or a mistimed step is no good for either party, so confidence is key.
Walking through the streets themselves is a perpetual rotation between scorching heat from the sun and brief respite provided by the long allées of towering trees that seem to stretch on endlessly. However, these are no ordinary sidewalks, the sidewalks in Vietnam seem to have adapted into anything but a place for pedestrians to amble. Instead, they are parking lots for motorbikes and cars, seating areas for restaurant carts and stalls, juice stands, and ladies sitting under umbrellas selling a wide variety of goods.
Once you cross the threshold off the streets and into a temple’s garden, it really does feel like you’ve stepped into another world. Not because the plants or the architecture are alien, but because of the sound and the air. Suddenly, you can no longer hear the thrum of motorcycle engines, the shouting of city residents, or the chorus of honking off the streets. Suddenly the air is no longer stifling, but a bit cooler and the smell of diesel is noticeably absent.
Continuing through the garden, you will find a line of shoes outside the temple, which you will soon add your own as an offering before stepping inside the dark room. Once again, there is a heavy scent, but this time it is rather pleasant. The smell of incense from all tables, lining the ceilings and even in the corners of the room. For me, it was a comforting smell, one that reminded me of past homes and held me as I walked through rooms of people murmuring their prayers and statues of religious figures.
Everyone in Ho Chi Minh City knows that it will rain, nobody knows exactly when, but they know it will. So when the sky suddenly darkens with no warning, the city has few precious moments to prepare for the inevitable. Motorcyclists pull ponchos out of their seat, vendors tie tarps, shops pull out their ponchos and umbrellas to put them on display front and center, stools are stacked and anyone out in the open rushes for cover.
Those of us who are unprepared find ourselves counting on our fingers, debating if we can make it to our next destination without getting too wet. The answer is always no. Within less than five minutes the streets have turned into unpassable rivers. Sometimes the rain lasts the rest of the afternoon, and sometimes it only lasts 45 minutes. Even though the rain doesn’t do much to cool down the city, a break from the sun is always appreciated.
If it doesn’t rain the city is still hot, so regardless, the city slows down in the afternoon, when everyone finally gives into the exhaustion and heads indoors for a few hours. If you don’t want to head back yourself, you can find a cafe that’s open and spend your afternoon watching the semi-quiet streets (the traffic never relents) while sipping a cold drink seated conveniently underneath a fan.
In the evenings and nights is when the city really comes alive. Everyone is rested after the long afternoon, and is ready to make the most of their time without the sun and the heat. From my vantage point at a park, I can see children playing badminton, tennis, tag, basketball, racing in circles, tennis, rollerblading, hopscotch, skateboarding, and shrieking with laughter.
I can see people dressed nicely taking photos and the same spots over and over until a cue forms of others wanting to do the same thing. Eventually a train forms of these picture-takers taking turns and forming cues at the best photo spots in the park.
The street food stalls line the streets starting barely before the sun goes down, and after it sets they become a hub of activity. The narrow streets (made even narrower by the presence of stalls and chairs and tables) become impassable, and you squeeze through the masses while trying to find a bite to eat.
There are gas fires with vats of oil seemingly too close for safety, deep-frying Vietnamese pancakes. There are live fish ready to be grilled and skewered for ease of eating. There are fruits, vegetables, candies, snacks, fresh-pressed juices, and copious amounts of fried foods. Anything you could ever want is right in front of you. The only thing making it hard to choose is all of the vendors yelling in both Vietnamese and English, trying to promote their wares.
After eating arguably too much fried food and certainly not enough vegetables, it is time to head back. Slowly, people trickle out of the food streets and toward home.
But this city never truly sleeps, at least as far as I could tell. There are grannies sitting outside until the small hours of the morning, chatting. There are always dogs running around chasing rats. The garbage man comes around every night, picking up the surprising amount of waste that comes out of this city every day.
But no matter what time it is, there is always a light on somewhere in the city. There is always someone who is still awake. And there is always someone who gets up before you.
Thank you, Ho Chi Minh City,
xx abby
So well written Abs!
I feel like I just had a first class tour of HCMC.
Your traffic description reminds me of Harare where traffic lights and road signs are merely suggestions. And it safer to walk on the potholed roads as traffic prefers the somewhat leveler sidewalks.
Well done!
I just left HCMC, so loved reading this!