TRAVEL MEMOIRS

Making My Way in Ho Chi Minh City

You take your life into your hands every time you cross the street

If you’ve never visited Southeast Asia before, you’re in for an urban adventure. By the time I visited Vietnam, I’d already wandered the streets of London, Paris, New York, Los Angeles, and Hong Kong. But nothing prepared me for what I was about to face in Saigon.

The metropolitan area of more than nine million people is now known as Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) but many still call it Saigon. That was its name before the war, which ended almost fifty years ago.

My first challenge was just getting out of the airport and into my hotel room. I emerged from the customs and immigration clearance area to face an enormous crowd of people waiting to greet family and friends. The throng of hundreds of well-wishers created a cacophony, yelling out names, and trying to get the attention of those who had come through the security doors while waving their homemade signs.

I had emailed my hotel ahead of time, requesting a car to meet me, but quickly realized that connecting with the driver wouldn’t be so easy. I wandered around the perimeter of the huge crowd trying to avoid having to wade through the middle of it with my luggage cart. Police were blocking the two openings where people were making their way out of customs. They were pushing back anyone who wandered into the open space hoping to greet their loved ones with a spontaneous welcome home hug or kiss.

After my first pass through the crowd, I worried how I would ever get through again. When the guard turned his attention to one family I made my break and squeezed my way back into the crowd. When I finally saw my name on a card I nearly wept with relief. If I hadn’t found my driver from the hotel I would probably still be there searching.

That was only the start of my culture shock. As we made our way through the chaotic streets to the hotel, I was overwhelmed by the sights, the smells, and the sounds.

Saigon was a blaring sound of honking horns. Everyone uses their horn because they have to in order to get to where they are going. Traffic is a jumbled mess but amazingly it works.

There are some cars, trucks, and taxis on the roads but by far the overwhelming vehicle of choice is on two wheels; motorbikes, motor-scooters, and bicycles — in that order. The streets are teaming with them, everyone from infants to seniors, from monks in flowing robes to women wearing the traditional ao dai outfit. It’s common to see entire families, mom, dad, and kids all riding through the streets on a motorcycle.

Everyone is supposed to wear a helmet and while you see the drivers wearing one, usually the passengers, even if they are kids, don’t. Most drivers also wear a face mask, even before the time of Covid.

There were also motorcycles and bikes loaded up with everything you can imagine, furniture, bricks, big plants, and boxes and boxes stacked on the back. Despite their big load, they didn’t slow down, weaving in and out of traffic balancing their cargo, and dodging the occasional pedestrian.

Surprisingly there were relatively few people walking along the streets. Sidewalks are crowded but that’s because they are blocked by motorcycles parked everywhere, and the thousands of street vendors who set up shop wherever they like.

For the few brave pedestrians who try to cross the street, it is a hair-raising adventure. There is a right way and a wrong way to go about it. What you have to do is to watch for an opening and then step off the curb and start making your way across, very deliberately and without fear.

I watched as pedestrians stepped off the curb and didn’t even look both ways, despite the chaotic traffic. They trusted that drivers would avoid them and they usually do. It was like a life-or-death version of the old video game “Frogger.”

As a Westerner I had it drilled into me from a young age to look both ways before crossing the road. This wasn’t going to be easy. I learned that you are supposed to walk at a steady pace, not too fast and not too slow, just enough for drivers to anticipate your next move and swerve around you. I was told, “Whatever you do, do not stop!” because drivers and motorcyclists won’t be expecting it and you will end up getting hit.

The first time I had to cross the street I wandered around the block looking for someone I could follow. When I couldn’t find my savior I steadied myself and stepped off the curb, my heart pounding in my chest, my face flush with a mix of excitement and fear.

As I made my way across the road with horns blaring at me, and all manner of vehicles swerving around me, I did break cardinal rule number one and I looked into traffic. I tried to coordinate my pace according to the flow. And when I stepped up onto the curb on the other side of the street, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt proud of myself. I survived it. This was going to be okay.

It’s not easy getting to know people when you don’t share the same language. A good friend of mine from Canada put me in contact with her cousin in HCMC. Khoa (Kwah) is a newlywed and new father and runs three very successful companies. He still took the time to spend the evening with me.

Khoa picked me up at the hotel on his motorcycle. Instead of being nervous, I felt like I was on a high as we weaved through traffic, so close I could reach out and touch the riders all around us. I didn’t hang on for dear life; in fact, I barely hung on at all, just like the locals.

He helped me sample some of the flavors of Southern Vietnam. very close to what I had been eating at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant back home. We had Bahn Xeo (Vietnamese crispy crepes with shrimp, vegetables, and noodles) and fresh spring rolls wrapped in mint and lettuce leaves. We hopped back on the motorcycle and rode a few miles to a downtown cafe with a hopping bar upstairs.

I broke my after-six o’clock anti-caffeine resolve and had a Vietnamese iced coffee that was as thick as syrup. I had to ask for a second pitcher of sweetened condensed milk so I could drink it. The caffeine rush had me buzzing for hours. It was a cool place and a popular hangout for young trendsetters. The women were all beautiful and dressed to the nines — most looked like models.

But the highlight of the evening was our conversation. Khoa told me his story. He grew up poor in rural Mekong, the Delta area south of Ho Chi Minh. He put himself through university and worked his way up as a successful entrepreneur by the age of thirty.

We talked about his family and my friend back in Canada, who virtually introduced us. We also talked about the war and about Vietnamese politics. I thought that subject would be off-limits, but it seems times have changed. I learned more about Vietnam in those three hours than I had in my whole life.

Khoa invited me to join him at one of the six weddings he would be attending that week. Couples prefer to tie the knot just before Tet (Vietnamese New Year). I couldn’t make it since I would be on the road cycling to Hanoi.

While there is action in Saigon after dark, it’s surprising how fast it all shuts down. Any other big city of this size has a constant buzz of traffic 24/7, but in Saigon, they roll up the sidewalks early. Around 7 pm you see all the shopkeepers and street merchants packing up their wares. Whole families team up to fold the fashions that have been displayed on the street, laid out on plastic sheets right on the sidewalk, or hung from every available bit of space around a shop’s doorway.

When I woke up at 4 am and looked out my hotel window, I didn’t see a single motorcycle or person on the street. That meant I had some relief from the constant din of the honking horns. I was able to fall back to sleep and prepare for the other adventures Vietnam had waiting for me.

Thank you for reading. If you want to read more, here’s a link to one of my stories about my cycling tour of Vietnam.