Saigon Travel Guide

South of China is Vietnam, a country that occupies the entire east coast of Southeast Asia, with a long and narrow geography and a large population of about 90 million. Vietnam’s policies are very similar to China’s, equivalent to China’s development level around 2000. Below is a Saigon travel guide for everyone.

Where are you from, and how long have you been here?

I’m from China. I came all the way from Hanoi to Saigon. 

Why do you like it here? There are so many motorcycles. 

The city is charming, I like the feeling of riding a motorcycle. There is wind. I fell in love with every city here. Except for Saigon.

When the day is over, there are more and more people on the road, and all kinds of sounds become more and more chaotic. This place becomes a city suitable for pleasure. After nightfall, it reaches its peak.

In Durras’ memory, Saigon is a huge container. It is filled with all kinds of sounds, noise and smells.

So she wrote: “The sounds they make, all the sounds, all the movements, like a long whistle, a desperate, mournful clamour, but unanswered.”

“The smell of caramel invades the room, as well as the aroma of roasted peanuts, the smell of Chinese soup, grilled meat, various green grass scents, jasmine fragrance, dust, the smell of milk and fragrance, the smell of burning charcoal, here charcoal is put in baskets, charcoal is sold along the street in baskets, so the city smells like a jungle, a remote village in the forest.”

Just as nomads are familiar with the grassland and farmers are familiar with the fields. She is familiar with every wound of them. And you, you fell in love with every city here. Except for Saigon.

From the moment you arrive, you are like a fish out of water, struggling in the labyrinthine din.

New and old buildings alternate, complex alleys, crowds carrying huge backpacks, different skin colors and faces… Saigon, unrecognizable, goes against all your memories and imaginations.

The hotel is in a very narrow alley, the entrance is almost invisible from the main street. Walk in, the walls on both sides are covered with graffiti, a small wooden table in the corner, with a stack of snails. No one is sitting, only white incandescent lights, hanging above.

The proprietress is a descendant of Chinese, she can speak very simple Chinese. The room lacks almost everything. There is a small balcony, covered with dust. Every time you open the door, it makes a loud noise.

From the window, you can see the foreigner on the balcony opposite. You smile and greet each other, then continue to watch the sudden rain. Dense, short-lived rain did not defeat the heat.

Take a bus to Cho Lon in the evening. In a restaurant with many locals, eat a large bowl of beef noodles, then walk a long way back. All that is left is the silent boy next to you, carrying his backpack, wearing a blue school uniform. Thin, with very short hair.

The Central Post Office is crowded with people of all kinds, taking pictures, choosing gifts, standing to write postcards. The high ceiling fans creak and groan, making a tired sound. The red benches on both sides are dull.

You walk silently on the street. You don’t have the desire to take out your camera to take pictures. Here, your senses are closed, you lose interest in anything.

No secrets, private possessions, or a sense of closure. All you see is the back side of Saigon. That feeling is like you are always standing opposite happiness. The result is that you get what you pay for.

The weather is hot, and your clothes are wet and dry. You haven’t done anything. You have nothing to say to anyone, including yourself.

On your last afternoon in Saigon, you sit with a Vietnamese guy at an ice water stall in the alley. The alley is very narrow, only two motorcycles can pass each other.

On both sides, there are all kinds of stalls. Fried rice, iced water, local food with names you can’t remember, fruit in simple boxes. Exposing girls, chasing every single man on the road and asking: Do you want a massage?

The noise around you is always loud. You start to chat casually. Brief conversations, interspersed with guesses and expressions.

Later, he takes you to order a set of Ao Dai. You are silent with each other, walking a long way. Through all sorts of alleys, noisy streets.

Only in the shop of two young girls, he helps you choose a light gray-blue top and white pants. The material is smooth silk, loose, and does not stick to your body below the waist.

You get the clothes the day after you leave the Ao Dai shop. You wear it and walk on the streets of a foreign country. People keep asking you if you are from Vietnam. You smile and remain silent, and you hear their voices behind you: You are a Chinese girl.

Late at night, on the streets of Saigon, there is a lot of noise left. Like the pheromones of this city in the summer, with an insatiable shadow.

In the movie “The Lover”, a bright sunny afternoon, the girl follows her lover into the room where they are going to date.

The door closes behind her, bright light falls on the ground through the gaps in the Venetian blinds. They stay in the house for a long time. Making love, talking. They don’t talk about the past or the future. Later, she goes into that room alone time and time again, looking at the empty house. Silent. Then leave.

In Saigon, you didn’t see the shadow of the white girl, nor did you see the yellow-skinned Chinese man.

You just heard the girl from the city in the north say: “None of my friends know why I went to see the sea, because I really haven’t seen the sea, and I really want to die in the sea. I’m really prepared to die in the sea.”

Just like you, empty-handed, you threw yourself into the sea time and time again. Along the long coastline, all the way south. In the dead of night, in the early morning, in the embrace of the sea, trying to reconcile with yourself.