Đà Nẵng does not feel like a surf town. The gaudy beachside nightclubs are a far cry from the bohemian vibes of Hawaii or San Diego, and the coastline is more synonymous with basket boats than surfboards. Look for it, however, and you’ll find a subculture of beach breaks, skate bowl surf shacks, board rental huts, and passionate surfers within a tight knit but welcoming community.

Surfing is not new to Đà Nẵng. As infamously referenced in Apocalypse Now, many American soldiers surfed the East Coast during the American War. Đà Nẵng’s Mỹ Khê Beach was “the place to kick back with a beer; an attempt to create a little bit of Honolulu in Vietnam, only with barbed wire.” These are the words of Dave Ferrier, a former American helicopter gunner, discussing wartime surfing in an interview with The New York Times in 1992. Surfing also caught on among local Vietnamese residents, and the scene has been steadily growing in popularity since.

Đà Nẵng's surfing culture might not be as prominent as that in Hawaii, but the local community is close-knit.

Mỹ Khê Beach hosted Vietnam’s first international surfing competition in 1992. Vietnamese officials formerly invited students of San Clemente High School, California, to represent the US for the tournament, as well as amateur teams from Japan, Reunion, Indonesia, and South Africa. More recently, Mỹ Khê Beach held the Đà Nẵng Surfing Open in 2022, organised by Boardriders Club Đà Nẵng. Mũi Né-based surfer Việt won the competition, beating competitors from home and abroad.

Lifeguards on the beach.

The three main spots in the area are Nam Ô Point, Nước Beach, and Mỹ Khê Beach. There are many others, running all the way from Bình An in the north down to Cửa Đại Beach near Hội An. Bình An has the least reliable conditions, but nearby Nam Ô Point gets relatively consistent surf thanks to its protection from North Easterly winds.

Surf up!

Making surfing friends in Đà Nẵng.

However, Mỹ Khê Beach is still the surfing cultural hub of the Đà Nẵng area, even if the lack of barbed wire doesn’t make it feel any more like Honolulu. The sheer length of the beach means that it is easy to avoid other beachgoers, and it is home to more than ten surf rental shops, most offering lessons for VND800,000 an hour. Naturally, this is my first port of call after arriving in the city.

I had heard mixed things about the wave quality, so was pleasantly surprised to find a group of very capable surfers riding a consistent break. I flag one down as he brings his board onshore. He has a deep tan and dreadlocks and walks as if he owns the beach. “I’m surprised,” I tell him. “The waves are pretty big.” He looks offended. “These are tiny, bro!”

Hải believes that waves are better in Mũi Né, but Đà Nẵng is a better place to live.

My new friend’s name is Hải, and he is more than happy to explain why Đà Nẵng is the best surf town in Vietnam. “The waves are better in Mũi Né but Đà Nẵng is a better place to live — here we can party!”

Hải has a relentless energy for surfing, constantly asking me when we were going to hit the beach again. He also clearly loves the community and camaraderie that comes with it. “Where can I find this community?” I ask.

Local Surf Team's hand-painted signage.

“LST, bro!” says Hải, proudly pointing to the LST (Local Surf Team) logo emblazoned across the nose of his board. LST, he explains, is the most popular surf shop among locals, and is joined with FAYA Bar and Cafe, where surfers and skaters congregate in the evenings.

This sentiment is backed up by Hải’s friend Thảo. Thảo lives in Hanoi but is in Đà Nẵng for five days to help run her friend’s surf rental store on the beach. Thảo tried surfing for the first time this February, and loved it so much that she’s been on several trips to Đà Nẵng since. Like Hải, she speaks about surfing with the borderline obsessive tone that I have heard in so many surfers from Japan, Mexico, California, and now Vietnam — that sense that once it clicks, nothing else can compare, because when you’re on your board, nothing else matters.

The friendly face behind FAYA.

“Have you made many friends surfing down here?” I ask her. “Oh yea,” she says. “I think surfing is one of those things where it’s easy to make friends… You should go to LST or FAYA Bar if you want to meet more surfers.”

LST and FAYA Bar and Cafe are technically two separate businesses, but they complement each other perfectly and are connected by an impressive skate bowl in the courtyard. LST offers a variety of services from simple board rental to advanced coaching, custom board design and even bespoke motorbike board racks.

FAYA Bar offers drinks and good vibes, and is the perfect place to mingle after a hard day’s surfing.

FAYA Bar offers drinks and good vibes, and is the perfect place to mingle after a hard day’s surfing. Speaking to the owner Teo, I learn that he neither surfs nor skates. “So why open a surf bar with a skate bowl?” I ask. “Because we got the rasta lifestyle, yo!” When I ask if I can take his photo, Teo casually picks up one of several bamboo điếu cày lying around the bar, lights it, and says “OK” before taking a long tug and blowing a thick stream of smoke through the air. “Now, please excuse me,” he says. “I’m off to play football.”           

The following day, I wake up to find the sea completely dead, and, unfortunately, it didn’t improve for the rest of my stay. It’s early September, the beginning of the season, and the surf is naturally unreliable. Thảo, Hải, and everybody I speak to recommends that I return from mid-to-late October when the surf is at its most consistent.

Skating around a small pond, anyone?

Sure enough, when I catch up with Hải in October, he tells me the waves are so high at Mỹ Khê Beach that he’s heading further south to surf a gentler point break. He’s as enthusiastic as ever, asking me when I’m coming back to hit the beach. “Local surfers welcome everybody in the world to come here and have fun sharing the waves,” he says. “I think we’re proud of it.” 

It is hard not to marvel at how this sport, which was introduced to Vietnam under the bleakest of circumstances, has forged such communal pride among a small contingent of locals — even some like Teo who don’t surf at all. Đà Nẵng might not feel like a surf town and the waves might well let you down, but go to the right places and it feels like surfing is suddenly the most significant thing about the city’s entire identity. This is not Hanoi with its beguiling old quarter, nor Hồ Chí Minh City with its towering skyscrapers; this is Đà Nẵng, and in Đà Nẵng you can surf… sometimes.

“When you turn it on, the train is not only moving, but it can make sounds too. The sounds are so authentic that when I listen to it, I feel like I am sitting on a real train right now,” Minh Tú, a Saigon-based model train aficionado, shares with me the satisfied feeling every time he gets a mini train to run.

An impressive display of miniature trains.

In the early 2010s, a community of like-minded train model enthusiasts started taking shape in Vietnam’s cybersphere, consisting of about 10 to 15 members from all across the country. Over time, this family of locomotion fans would grow bigger, blossoming into a Facebook group called Vietnam Model Railroader with more than 2,000 members. How one practices the hobby can be wildly different even amongst members of the community, ranging from as simple as keeping them as collectibles to the creation of small-scale functional train tracks with high levels of details that require a lot of artisanal skills and effort.

Minh Tú's journey with model trains began in 2011.

Full steam ahead, from online to offline

Minh Tú has been a member since the group’s early days, and even though it’s been many years, he still dedicates a large portion of time to the hobby to this day. To learn more about the train model scene in Saigon, we met Tú at a cafe on Alexandre de Rhodes Street. Upon arriving, it was apparent that the venue is not just any regular cafe, because there are miniature trains on display in every corner of the restaurant.

“I always have a thing for tiny scale models, they have a certain cuteness and the small details are interesting to look at,” Tú said. He can still recall falling in love with these tiny vehicles at a hobby center while traveling in Australia. “I was taken aback by how they built massive scale models that recreate a scenery or part of a city. It was unbelievable.”

Tú started his journey with railway scale modeling around 2011. He would eventually get to know other people sharing the same interest when he hopped around online Internet forums for people who like miniatures. What is it about train models that capture his interest? I was about to ask him that when our conversation was interrupted by a staff member informing us that the first floor was available.

The cafe hosts an expansive display of train models.

On the upper area, there is a big glass cabinet housing over 50 scale models, most of them miniature rail carriages. Framed covers of multiple rail-related magazines hang on the pink walls. Tú led us further into a room where he kept model locomotives — a train’s most attractive part — in an expansive display that fills up a whole wall.

To own a locomotive scale model like this, one may need to shell out US$200–600. While it is a bit pricey, a closer look into Tú’s collection can explain why they are valued that way. These models have a significant amount of details, and the best part is, “every detail, even the little ones like the printed texts, are made to look as accurate as possible to the real train,” he shared.

The cafe was previously owned by a friend of Tú named Tuấn Anh, also a railroad model hobbyist who played a major role in holding the community’s first-ever offline meetup. After Tuấn Anh moved to the US, Tú took over. They then decided to turn the cafe into a space to showcase their love for the railway.

“We have members from many places [like] Saigon, Hanoi, Đà Nẵng, etc. Back then, our community mostly connected via the internet,” he reminisced. “But we managed to have our [in-person] community meetup for the first time in 2013, almost ten years ago. And it happened right here, in this cafe.”

A mini-world with life-sized fun

Scale-wise, the miniatures in Tú’s cabinet are 87 times smaller than their real-life counterparts. In more technical terms, this is called an “HO” scale ratio (1:87.1). The ratio is an essential aspect of scale modeling, as it directly influences how hobbyists build their “dioramas” for these models.

“Dioramas” are three-dimensional miniature scenes or locations. The goal in building a diorama is to make it look as authentic as possible, so if a creator is using an HO scale train model, then the miniature versions of the tracks, trees, bridges, etc. need to follow that same ratio too. Once the tracks are wired with electricity that allows the trains to automatically move, the entire scene will come to life.

“Building a diorama is a way for me to be creative in thinking about creating scenery,” Tú said. “It’s a learning-by-doing process. Sometimes when I think I have finished a project, a couple of days later, I want to tinker with it.” While Tú has made a diorama by himself, it's not on display anymore because he disassembled it a while ago to make some changes. Fortunately for us, we could feast our eyes on Tuấn Anh's diorama project right in the flesh.

Tuấn Anh’s diorama is a replica of a European town. Railway dioramas based on European scenery are popular, because the market for these miniatures is big in Europe, especially Germany. Many top manufacturers for railway miniatures are based in Germany, like Trix, Fleischmann, Piko, or Märklin, which is the oldest model railways company in the world. Germany is also the place that holds the largest HO scale model railway system in the world called the Miniatur Wunderland.

While landscape modeling requires one to buy many suitable scale models, some elements such as terrain can be handmade. “Personally I like making the rocky, mountainous areas. These terrains require lime cast to shape and create texture, and then color, by using paint. It requires a lot of artisanal skills to do that,” Tú said.

Building a diorama can be a time-consuming process, he usually spends his free time working on one: “It can take months, or even years. But you can never ‘finish’ a diorama though, because we are replicating the world around us, and the world around us changes all the time. So we enjoy the work in progress.” 

Many adult hobbies can begin from the simplest memories of our childhood, Tú's passion for trains and miniature models is no exception. “Maybe it’s because I was able to experience them a lot when I was young. My first train trip was with my father on the steam-engine train from Hải Phòng to Hanoi,” Tú recalled. “An amusing thing I can remember is how I my eyes hurt afterwards because the soot and cinders flew into my eyes.”

When he was a teenager, Tú left Hải Phòng to go to school in Hanoi. During this time, he would return to Hải Phòng every couple of months to visit his family by train. “In those moments of farewell, when I said goodbye to my family and hopped on the train, looking through the window and seeing their silhouettes moving away from me, I always had an indescribable emotion. My connection with trains probably started taking root from that.”

“I get to express my madness.” That is what Trần Khánh Linh, also known as Lyna, says when asked why she has been waacking for the last 10 years. By day, Lyna is a jewelry and gemstone seller, but by night, she joins her friends at the Soul Waackers, a waacking group based in Hanoi, and practices a dance style that allows her a vibrant way to self-express.

Lyna first discovered waacking through a competition in Nam Định, her hometown, and when she came to Hanoi for university, she has been following it ever since.“When I’m working,” she says, “I am rather gentle and elegant. But when I am dancing, I am wild and fierce.” When meeting with clients, Lyna is composed and receptive to their wishes. When the music is on, she transforms into another being that encapsulates the songs’ emotions.

Lyna (wearing red and green) in a waacking battle. 

Since the unique style of dance was born in the early 1970s, waackers have often danced to disco. The sexually charged lyrics of hits like Donna Summer’s ‘Love to Love You Baby,’ Musique’s ‘In the Bush,’ or ‘Push It’ by Salt-N-Pepa become the background for Lyna to convey her enthusiasm openly. Her moves contain passion, sorrow and joy.

Zupi (Đức Nguyễn) works a dayjob in a stuffy formal setting, but when with Soul Waackers, he takes pride in his femininity.

The opportunity to fully express themselves is what draws many people to waacking. Another member of the Soul Waackers, Đức Nguyễn, nicknamed Zupi, speaks of an instant connection and a sense of belonging. “I am not transgender, but my femininity is strong. And dancing allows me to share that side,” he explains.

Zupi (in black) performing.

Zupi’s day job is an event manager, and he often conducts business in suits and tie. When he gets on the dance floor, he slips into flowy skirts and dresses, sports high heels and flows with sensual moves. Being gay and proudly out since his teenage years, Zupi expresses his pride in the waacking community for their effortless acceptance. In the dance scene, he finds that people do not care about personal identity or appearance, they celebrate skillful techniques and suitable costumes, regardless of the contrast between the dancer's on-stage persona and their everyday self. Zupi explains: “Take hip-hop for example, they have a fashion style that is always on display, even during practice. There is a specific presentation to the dance. But for waacking, no one will bat an eye if a dancer shows up in a cat costume.”

Tyrone Proctor, widely considered the father of waacking, on stage with dance partner Sharon Hill in 1975. Photo via LA Times.

It is no surprise that the waacking community is so welcoming to all considering its origin. Born in the underground gay clubs of Los Angeles, the dance was initially known as punking — a derogatory slang for gay men. Later on, it was appropriated and adapted to waacking. The style borrows inspiration from silent films. Without words, emotions are conveyed through sharp, striking movements. Since its inception, waacking has always been a refuge for marginalized individuals to freely express themselves, away from the confines of their oppressive daily lives. This aspect remains unchanged, even as the dance style has spread to various corners of the world.

Soul Waackers at the I.D.C - In Fire We Trust Dance Championship in 2022. Photos courtesy of Soul Waackers.

In Vietnam, the dance started gaining popularity in 2010, thanks to the efforts of figures like Cường Nguyễn, also known as C2 Low, the leader of Soul Waackers. He has been organizing shows and classes across the northern regions of the country, popularizing waacking when it was relatively unknown. Through these efforts, he gained recognition and followers such as Lyna and Zupi, who are now his friends and dance mates. He continues to give classes and takes pride in the ever-growing and diverse community. “You will find young children and their mothers in my class, young or old, gay or straight, all are welcome,” C2 Low shares.

C2 Low (Cường Nguyễn) is very active in the dance scene in Hanoi, helping to organize shows and classes for anyone who loves to move.

Lyna busting a move at Soul Waackers' studio.

When asked about their goals and aspirations for waacking, Lyna reveals: “I want to keep bringing joy to my audience, I want them to laugh, and smile the moment they see me performing.” In a less altruistic tone, Zupi humorously shares: “I want to find one student that will follow me, and to him alone, I will share my wisdom.” C2 Low, on the other hand, aims to elevate Vietnamese waackers onto the international stage. He acknowledges his advantage over dancers from rural areas, as being from Hanoi exposed him to the dance scene at an early age and provided more opportunities that allowed him to save up and compete abroad.

Zupi (left) and Lyna (right) warming up.

C2 Low hopes to elevate Vietnamese waackers onto the international stage.

During international competitions, Lyna, Zupi and other Soul Waackers follow closely and celebrate his wins from home. “We have a long way to go, compared to international dancers with more resources and experience,” C2 Low explains, but he remains optimistic. “But I know we have many promising talents right here.”

A safe space for creativity and gender fluidity.

The Soul Waackers come together twice a week for a practice and freestyle session. They embrace their most comfortable selves, whether that means dancing in socks or rocking 11-centimeter platform heels. Within the studio’s walls, each dancer effortlessly transitions between powerful, rhythmic movements and elegant, poised poses. They take turns dancing for one minute at a time, grooving to timeless disco songs. During the hour of practice, the Soul Waackers draw inspiration from one another's energy. They encourage each other to attempt daring and challenging moves and celebrate when they succeed. The sound of applause, finger snaps, joyful shouts, and laughter fills the air throughout the session. Here, at least, is a safe space for the creativity and gender fluidity that is often missing in their daily lives.

Northern California is blessed with serene nature. Growing up there, pathless trails and cloudy mountain peaks were my safe havens, and when returning home on break from college, it was a tradition to visit my favorite hideout place: a curvy hill near my old high school. Sitting atop the hill and looking down at the city offer a peaceful means to recharge and quiet my mind. The appearance of clouds adds more to the valley’s awe-inspiring nature.

Upon graduating from college, I returned to Vietnam for a fellowship. After more than a decade away, Vietnam is familiar yet also strange. In bustling Saigon, the appearance of many high-rise apartments and residential areas contrasts sharply with Northern California's diverse natural landscapes. Despite reconnecting to my motherland, its people, and the local community, I yearn to venture beyond the vicinity of Saigon to explore Vietnam’s meadows and mountain ranges. I enlisted some close friends to join me. Scouring sources for hidden, unique experiences to immerse in nature, I came across the concept of săn mây, or cloud-hunting.

A towering wind turbine atop the hill in Đà Lạt.

Cloud-hunting has recently been popularized among Vietnamese youths. A proper cloud-hunting experience typically starts with waking up early around 4–5am, followed by a commute to the site to admire the clouds. Cloud “hunters” or admirers usually stay in the area, take pictures of the views, and wait until the clouds disappear. There is a circulated myth that cloud hunting is a matter of pure luck. If you visit during the days that clouds appear, you are said to have good nhân phẩm (moral character). If the clouds don't appear, it is a gentle reminder to keep working on yourself and try again next time. Whether you have good nhân phẩm or not, predicting the weather is a difficult task. Therefore, many visitors travel to the sites to simply enjoy the stunning scenery; the clouds are just a bonus for those who luck out.

A picturesque view from the farm.

We commenced our first cloud hunt in Tà Xùa, Sơn La Province, during our three-week trip in northern Vietnam. The area had apparently been blessed with dense clouds for three days straight since the beginning of the Lunar New Year, but we arrived in town before 6am on the fourth day and couldn't capture any. After the unsuccessful cloud hunt in Tà Xùa, my best friend and I didn't give up. We decided to make another bet with the cloud god and booked a trip to Đà Lạt on a whim. We took an overnight bus from Saigon and arrived at a tea hill, the cloud hunting site, at 6:30am. Our persistence finally paid off, as the clouds were still there when we came. We climbed onto the rattan bridge to catch a closer glimpse of the clouds as the morning dew disappeared. The soft white balls of air floating at a distance, adorned by the morning sunlight and chilly weather, welcomed us to the beautiful city and a weekend of pure joy and relaxation.

Though Đà Lạt has no shortage of beautiful cloud-hunting sites, Cầu Đất Tea Hill, with its uniquely designed rattan bridge, is usually a top choice. Located 23 kilometers southeast of Đà Lạt's city center, Cầu Đất Tea Hill comprises green tea hills at over 100 years old and spans 230 hectares at an altitude of 1,650 meters above sea level. Previously belonging to the French, the tea hill is now an agricultural and tourism site. It houses some of the most beautiful flower gardens in the city, including a yellow rose garden interspersed between soaring pine hills, giving it a romantic European vibe. The vast space, dotted with lovely wooden houses designed by the French, giant teapots, and curvy roads, creates a poetic and dreamlike landscape. Besides Cầu Đất Tea Hill, Đa Phú Hill, Du Sinh Hill, and Hòn Bồ Peak are popular cloud-hunting places. 

The garden at the farm and the trail leading to it.

According to locals, the hours from 4 to 6am is ideal for capturing dense, fluffy clouds on the tea hill. The sun rises at about 6am, and the clouds disappear shortly afterward. By then, the tea hill slowly changes its dark, dull rope to a beautiful pink-orange cape that wraps around the green fields, signifying a new day. Even without the clouds, the scenery is stunning and therapeutic. 

Nowadays, as many young people flood to “cloud paradises,” hunting clouds can be understood as a natural form of therapy. After all, the activity allows people to find much-needed peace and solitude away from busy city life. Observers can let their minds untangle as they watch the carefree clouds drift by, shrouding the mountain ranges at dawn. 

Successfully captured the clouds from the bridge.

The limitless sky, the clouds, and the boundless green mountains make up the ethereal beauty of nature in the morning. Looking at the white clouds, I imagine it symbolizes what relaxation feels like: letting go of all worries, releasing control, and mindfully welcoming new surprises to my life. Viewing the clouds allowed me to connect more closely with nature. I stood and closed my eyes for a moment. A cool wind blew past my face, lifting my hair. At a far distance, the clouds kept flowing and flowing, pristinely white and fluffy, just like cotton candy. I felt grounded, rejuvenated, and at peace.

Since I started my foray into jazz dance, the most common question I’ve gotten has been “What, you can dance to jazz?”

This is not a surprising sentiment because before, many people, myself included, have always deemed jazz a music genre for “chilling.” For me, jazz was once the mellow love songs by Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker’s heart-wrenching melodies, and instrumental background music in coffee shops or artistically crafted Instagram reels. I knew that jazz helps people wind down, and many put on jazz music to study, to relax, to sleep, but I never came across anybody seeking jazz to move their muscles.

To quench my friends’ curiosity, I often show them videos of new dance moves I learned from Xoay Studio. Every spinning kick performed by my classmates on a background of cascading saxophones, percussions, and Ella’s sultry voice seems eager to prove that “hey, jazz can be lit, too!”

Miss Xoay, my jazz dance instructor.

Jazz dance is a world of myriad colors, so it’s difficult to find a common definition of what “dancing to jazz” is. Some types of jazz dance can only be described as “wild” — we perform high kicks, jumps, and non-stop hand-leg movements as we flow along the musical rhythm. Some styles entail graceful dance and spinnings on romantic melodies. There are solo routines for those who love being the center of attention. There are duo routines for couples. There are also group choreographies for friends to have fun together. When it comes to jazz dance, anyone will be able to find something that fits their personality.

The members of my dance class each come from different life paths, age groups, professions — we nearly have nothing in common apart from our dance membership. The most out-of-place person here might just be our instructor, Miss Xoay. She started as a B-girl and built a career in contemporary dance. Now she’s a jazz dance teacher at Xoay Studio. Her brush with jazz dance began with a swing club, a small branch of jazz dance characterized by a fast pace and energetic moves. From that day, she studied jazz dance in South Korea to bring the art form back home to Vietnam.

“Does everyone remember the roots of this dance move?” Xoay often quizzes us. When she introduces a new move, she explains the history behind it so we have a deeper understanding of jazz. Started as a traditional performance art form in Africa, jazz dance entered the Americas alongside slavery in the 1600s.

Cheerful lyrics and dynamic stomping and clapping were how African slaves engaged in leisure to keep their spirits up amidst hardships and abuse. Gradually, this became a distinctive dance culture in plantations across the US. White participants started taking an interest in jazz dance in the 19^th–20^th century at nightclubs.

Lindy Hop, the dance I’m currently studying, was developed by Frankie Manning, a Black dancer living in the 1920s–1930s, the golden age of jazz music and jazz dance. It’s commonly deemed the most basic style for newbies. Even so, I have expended considerable energy in practice sessions, because jazz is not just about memorizing a series of steps. One has to “feel” the music to move both arms and legs, follow the rhythm, and learn where to minimize and maximize your efforts to express the “jazz spirits.” After four months of learning, not even half of learners can master these aspects.

Xoay, on the contrary, seems to be gliding on every music note. When she dances, everyone gathers around marveling at how she swings her legs and kicks with razor-sharp accuracy and fans her hand with utmost finesse. When we get to a challenging verse, she moves effortlessly with a smile and even sings along to motivate us, while we desperately try to get air into our lungs to keep up with her. A positive person by nature, she always reassures us that it’s okay to lag behind, as long as you have fun.

Whatever skills we learn in class are showcased in “social dance” sessions — a ballroom event where we can openly dance with other performing enthusiasts. These dance hangouts are often held by long-standing dance troupes, like Saigon Swing Cats and Hanoi Swing Out.

During these soirees, there’s a very wholesome set of guidelines to ensure that the dance floor is a safe space. First, it’s “best to be nice” — you should pick dance styles and moves that can accommodate your partner’s skill level even when one’s a little more advanced. If you’re a courteous and fun dancer, everyone would want to dance with you, no matter their or your levels. Moreover, try your best to praise your partner if you like whichever move they just did. Another more sensitive rule is to ensure that your body is clean-odorless-dry before taking the stage to guarantee an enjoyable dance for both you and your partner. Most importantly, don’t hog one dancer’s attention the whole night, because everyone deserves a chance to have varied partners.

My first time at a social dance, I remember feeling embarrassed to the point of nearly rejecting a male partner, as I didn’t think that anyone would invite such an amateur like myself to dance. Once I calmed down, I was brave enough to head to the dance floor with him to demonstrate skills I didn’t think I had. Since then, my opener to warn new partners has been “I’m a really noob dancer.” But that’s okay — every dance partner I have had was patient with me every step of the way and laughed with me when I accidentally stepped on their foot or toppled into them.

I realized quickly that at the gatherings, no one really cares what level I’m at, as long as I want to dance and I’m up for having fun. Newcomers not knowing anything can melt into the circle and mimic basic moves that the leader is doing. Veterans often extend their hands to ask you to dance if they see that you’re standing shyly on the edge.

Or you can do as I do: invent new moves as long as they’re on beat, and then invite the first person I see to join me. Only later did I accidentally discover the decorated profiles of those that I managed to get to the dance floor: a dance instructor, a winner of some dance reality TV show, etc. But for some reason, maybe my relentless aura of carefreeness, they accepted my invitation.

For those who desire physical activities but can’t drag their bodies to the gym, the jazz dance studio is a perfect alternative. I can’t be on the treadmill for over 20 minutes, but I can dance for an hour straight without feeling bored. The ebullient bars of music invade my mind and control my limbs unlike the intense counting of a personal trainer or my own efforts to exert myself. Only when the mashup mixes stop do I realize that my feet and arms have turned into exhausted noodles.

It’s such an addicting sensation. Every midweek, once I’ve settled all work affairs, I take my time to choose a really classic look and wear my old tattered pair of Converse to head to the “ballroom.” Dressing to the nines and dancing along to the jazz might be the single bright spot of my monotonous week of computer-wrangling. It’s my own world outside of the boundaries of an office.

I think everyone should find and keep to themselves a hobby, like jazz dance, in their life. Few friends get what I do and my parents can’t understand why I keep coming back to the dance studio. Sometimes, I feel like one of the 12 Dancing Princesses in a story by the Brothers Grimms, who sneak out of the castle to dance at night, leaving behind threadbare shoes in the morning.

Discover more activities by Xoay Studio via their Facebook page here.

Flashing flares of neon lights hug the body of a dancer who’s spinning around a pole in the raucous thrum of music and sensuous gasps. In the mind of the average Vietnamese, pole dancing is often associated with more sordid corners of society. On the contrary, in the past decade, this performing art has slowly earned a respectable place in the country as not only a mesmerizing spectacle, but also a formidable sport.

Not long ago, Saigoneer had the chance to meet Quân Bùi, a pole dance instructor and also Vietnam’s golden athlete at international championships.

10 years on the pole

Quân Bùi shows me footage on his phone from his first-ever competition on the international level. On the screen, a rather slender young man nimbly twists, whirls, and jumps around a pole, but still manages to make graceful landings every time he gets on and off it. The wiry on-screen figure shows a stark contrast with the athletic man sitting in front of me.

Quân says that he’s befriended the pole for 10 years. Since that impressive performance, he’s been asked to judge several overseas competitions in Japan and Germany. These events then opened more doors for him to rub shoulders with dancers from all backgrounds, not only to showcase his skills, but also to gain more knowledge about the sport.

“When I’m competing, I need to execute moves with high difficulty levels to score points, and rev up the audience,” he shares. “But now, I rarely have shows that are that ‘lit’ anymore.” Ever since he decided to turn his talent to instructing, Quân seems to have mellowed out, becoming more patient with students. Everybody who follows his classes knows him by the affectionate moniker “Miss Bùi.”

Even though the bulk of his time is now dedicated to coaching, Quân tells me that he has to keep on honing his skills. Every day, he sets specific periods for personal practice, as he strives to participate in one competition a year even though he doesn’t have much free time. The self-discipline helps Quân to complete his teaching tasks while maintaining his form, especially during a time when new stars have popped up in the scene.

According to Quân, aspiring pole dancers should learn by heart the art form’s fundamental principles and techniques before plunging straight into spinning along with the music. Newcomers will find their start on a static pole to get a feel of the metal while doing basic movements. Then, it will be time for a spinning pole. From there, they will learn how to place their center of gravity so as to not be swept away by momentum.

Everyone’s experience on the pole is different

To help outsiders like me understand the diversity of pole dancing, Quân gives a primer on a host of different dancing styles. There’s pole sport/pole fitness and pole art. To practice the former, athletes go barefoot and focus on acrobatics that demand a level of core strength and endurance that even matches that of bodybuilders. The ideal body shape that results from this strenuous form of exercise has attracted many young hobbyists who take up pole fitness instead of boring gym reps. In pole art, dancers interact with the soundtrack to choreograph a complete art performance. There are also subcategories of pole art catering to performers with different personalities.

A few main subcategories include dramatic, which is close to dramatic plays, aiming to wow the audience; comedy, which blends in humor to tickle the audience; strip, which is fairly self-explanatory; and exotic, a sultry genre that incorporates techniques performed on high heels.

In the expansive realm of pole art, the dancer can freely express their own style and skills on any piece of audio from any genre, not limiting themselves to just club mixes or supposedly dance tracks. Performers can sprinkle in techniques from other genres of dance like contemporary and hip-hop to craft their own unique routine. One of Quân’s best students even finds a way to shine on a metal rock background. Thanks to the flexibility of pole dancing, both literally and metaphorically, dancers have complete creative freedom to channel their energy to viewers, a crucial hallmark of any excellent art performance.

The genre-bending variety of exotic has catapulted the style to one of the most popular subcategories of pole dance. Dancers are not limited to pole movements, but they have ample room to display their floor work on Lady Gaga-esque heels. The challenge is not only mastering the footwear’s weight, but also wielding them in a way that looks effortless. Exotic pole performances are always alluring thanks to a certain sensuality in the movement of the artists. Therefore, besides having complete awareness of their body, dancers need to thoroughly practice the choreography in tandem with other elements like lighting effects and music in order to tell a visual story that the audience can’t take their eyes off.

As a veteran of exotic pole dance, Quân Bùi has enchanted the audience at many contests, as well as via his TikTok and Instagram. When I ask if the word “exotic” is a reflection of the public’s misguided perception of the art form, he explains: “This style is very well-known in the west, but it’s still a novelty in the country [Vietnam]. I bring it here with some adjustments to suit Vietnamese dancers more.”

@quan.buii Không cần phải nói nhiều - Pole dance @txinh #fyp #quanbuii #poledancing ♬ original sound - Quan Bui

Leaving behind gender stereotypes

While pole dancers might appear svelte and elegant, in some aspects they are not too far off from body-builders. In fact, pole interactions require nearly every muscle in the human body, especially abdominal muscles, hip muscles, triceps and biceps.

When analyzed in the context of a physical sport, the pole has been a part of the athletic routines of many cultures for centuries. Mallakhamb is a traditional sport from the Indian subcontinent that employs a wooden pole with acrobatic swings, balancing acts, and even yoga poses. In China, pole swingers appeared as early as the 12^th century. Circus performers participate in gravity-defying acts on poles ranging from 5 to 9 meters tall.

Watching recorded footage of the above-mentioned sports, pole dancers might immediately recognize poses like Cupid, Inverted Crucifix or Mantis, even though they were adapted for a circus or yoga context. Being such mentally and physically demanding sports with a rather daredevil attitude, it’s natural that they also attract male participants. In some communities, children can even start learning their ways around a pole without being subjected to social prejudice.

Even though male athletes have been part of pole sports for hundreds of years, gender stigma is currently a specter haunting modern pole dancing. Quân was able to get gigs as a dancer in Singapore, which served as his introduction to pole dancing. He then signed up for his first-ever competition, the Malaysian Pole Championship. One might have pegged Singapore for a land of cosmopolitan influences and worldly exposure, but there remains much prejudice directed at male pole dancers. Features on male performers on Singapore-based news sources like Strait Times and AsiaOne had to be removed after a barrage of criticisms by netizens, demonstrating that a significant segment of the public is still reluctant in accepting pole dancing.

Still, determined to pursue a passion that lets him express who he is, Quân Bùi kept going to practice and signing up for competitions. The later half of the 2010s saw a boom in the number of male pole dancers in Vietnam. Quân’s classes were gradually being filled with more male students just as eager and skilled as their female counterparts. I personally had a chance to be in the audience of VietPole Championship 2022 in Đà Nẵng, and was delighted to find that the contest had an event dedicated to male dancers: Male Pole. Even though there were only two participants, each brought up very different performances in both narrative and execution.

The atmosphere of Vietnam’s pole dancing community has changed so much since the early days when Quân Bùi first got on the pole for the first time. Some still harbor negative perceptions about the art form, but the new generation of participants is serious enough about their craft that it’s now a well-regarded activity.

After years spent in front of students, Quân learns that each person comes to pole dance with a different motivation. Maybe they want to try a whole new hobby, or maybe they want to improve their physique. No matter what propelled them to take up pole dance, to Quân, the most crucial factor behind any success is resilience. Putting aside score cards, Quân is happy to come to class every day as Miss Bùi to sow the seeds of Vietnam’s next crop of dancers.

Moments before the engine started, I became aware of the fact that just a few centimeters of metal and plastic separated my butt and the asphalt.

The distance between butt and track is pretty short.

I was sitting in a go-kart, waiting for the race to begin. Since last year, a few members of the Saigoneer team had been talking about trying go-kart racing for an article. One pandemic season later, we finally had the chance to visit a couple of kart tracks in Hanoi for some stories and adventures.

Left foot brake, right foot gas

Weee!

With me was our photographer, whose passion for speed and motorsports I had personally witnessed one night when he drove me home from a bar. Our first destination was Go Kart Vietnam, whose staff told us to arrive 15 minutes early for some lessons before driving. In reality, it took less than 10 seconds: “Left foot brake, right foot gas, don’t use them at the same time.” I went over this lesson in my head; unlike my colleague, this was my first time driving a go-kart.

The track's visual instructions.

I asked a staff member why there was no seatbelt. He told me the karts used to have them, but most guests didn’t care to put them on and just let the belts drag on the track, so the team took them out. Besides, it was perfectly safe, I had nothing to worry about; or so he assured me.

Go-kart racing is a family hobby for every age group.

On the track, we were with four other guests. Once we were all strapped in, so to speak, the race started. I gently pressed down with my right foot; the pedal was very responsive and the kart moved forward immediately. I had the pole position so I was in first place for a few seconds until our colleague zoomed by and left us all in the dust.

With a low center of gravity, the karts are relatively safe for racers.

The engines on our karts were 390cc, three times the size of my 125cc motorbike. Still, I took the first few laps just like how I normally drive on the road: slow and steady. Then, as I got used to the kart, the safety-first "grandpa" within me disappeared and the speed demon, whom I didn’t know was there, came out. I floored it. The engine roared and the kart sped forward. Like a Hollywood cliché, I let out an exhilarated yell.

Mario Kart, but with actual physics

A big turn was approaching rapidly. I stepped on the brake and gripped the steering wheel. The kart started drifting with that satisfying sound of rubber dragging on asphalt. in my mind I must have looked so cool; little did I know that I was committing a grave mistake. Our photographer made the same turn and passed me again; I lost count of how many times he had done that already. My helmet didn’t have a visor, and most of the dirt caught in my eyes must have come from his kart.

Watch out for sharp turns.

Only when the race was over did I learn why I was eating so much dust. For one, I hit the brakes for all of the eight or so turns on the track, while our photographer only braked for one. I imagined his right foot rarely left its pedal during the whole race. Then I learned that the points where you hit those pedals were important, too.

At the finish line.

Tuấn, Go Kart Vietnam’s manager, explained to me that for every turn on the track there were three important points: the brake point, where you tap the brake; the turning point, where you turn the steering wheel; and the throttle point, where you hit the gas. The better you execute these points, the faster you’ll go.

Being a spectator from the side is no less exciting.

Tuấn continued: “You have to hit the brake at the right time to not lose the engine torque. And if you hit the throttle point a little too late, then another will overtake you if they did it well.” I didn’t understand the mechanics of it, but I knew what it felt like. After each drift, there was always that frustrating moment when I stepped on the gas but the kart didn’t respond. It took a long time to recover the speed, and that was why our photographer could lap everybody so well.

From secrecy to an open secret

The track is next to a river.

Knowing about these points and actually doing them well takes a lot of time. Tuấn would know, as he has been with this sport since the beginning: “Go-kart racing came to Vietnam around 2016. Anh Thịnh [Go Kart Vietnam’s founder] and I were among the first people to bring this sport here. Back then it wasn’t popular like this; people played this sport in secret clubs.”

A good time for everyone.

Tuấn and Thịnh were not their real names either, it was just what other people in their group called them. Tuấn said secrecy has been a part of the culture since the beginning because what they were doing wasn’t exactly legal. They used to meet at the foot of Nhật Tân Bridge to play with the karts that they had bought themselves. “We had about four or five karts back then, and each club had about 10 to 15 members. We just met up and took turns racing with each other,” he recalls.

Maintenance is also key to a safe operation.

To keep the karts running, Tuấn’s group also had to learn the necessary maintenance skills: “We had to do everything ourselves. Thịnh was the first one to build a go-kart track in Hanoi. He also designed and set up this track.” After a couple of years spent operating in the shadows, Tuấn and Thịnh opened a go-kart track for the public. Their business hadn’t had trouble with authorities, but others were not as lucky.

Waving the checkered flag at the finish line.

Last year, when the idea of writing about go-karting first came up, I spoke to Lê Anh Cương, co-founder of Go Kart Hanoi — one of the city’s first kart tracks. When they first started, Cương’s business was doing fine; thriving in fact. But then they got too popular for their own good.

“One time,” Cương said, “a newspaper reported about us and revealed our address. The local authorities saw the news and came to ask for our permit. But the thing is, this sport is not regulated yet, so there is no permit for us to apply.” Luckily, Cương was able to settle with the officials, and they had to take some precautions afterward. They removed the address from the fanpage, meaning whoever wanted to try the sport had to send them a private message, and they asked all news sources not to share their location again.

The adorable electric karts indoors.

Now, as the heat wore off, Cương’s business was able to expand again. They collaborated with shopping malls and opened Vietnam’s first indoor kart track, VS Racing. We visited it the day after Go Kart Vietnam. The electric karts here had less power, but still made for a fun experience. VS Racing seemed to pay more attention to safety as well. The karts still had their seatbelts, and before driving, all guests had to take a test to prove that they knew all the essential precautions.

While the interior track offers a lot of fun, it can't compare with the high-adrenaline rush of the outdoor karts.

VS Racing is a good place for newbies to dip their toes into the sport, but after the experience at Go Kart Vietnam, I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed. There is just something about trying a new sport with truly passionate people, and the folks at Go Kart Vietnam are nothing but passionate. Tuấn said he worked here because he loved the sport, and he would love to share it with more people, if only the public’s perception could be changed.

“The most difficult thing is the prejudice around this sport. People tend to think negatively about racing as being dangerous or reckless. So I hope we can change that perception so that this sport can come to more people and not just the youth who loves speed.”

Paragliding means heaving in a lungful of air, bracing against a gale’s resistance, letting one’s mind ponder the vastness of the ocean below, floating in the middle of the sky, and — for me this time — taking film photos.

Across the length of Vietnam, there are myriad recreational activities that adrenaline junkies can participate in, from trekking among the northwestern mountains, stand-up paddling along the central coast, surfing the crests of Mũi Né waves, or marveling at coral reefs while diving in Phú Quốc and Nha Trang.

On Đà Nằng’s Sơn Trà Peninsula, one can take in the beauty of Vietnam not just along the road or from the ocean, but via the incredible vantage point of the troposphere through paragliding.

Floating above Đà Nẵng.

Introduction to paragliding

Paragliding is an adventure sport not for the faint-hearted. Participants jump or are dropped from a certain altitude that could be hundreds or thousands of meters from ground level. After that, they glide horizontally while supported by a fabric wing until landing.

To get the glider up high, the pilot must take advantage of lift and gravity. Both take-off and landing are on foot. Depending on the type, the paragliding wing, or canopy, can have space for a single harness or tandem harness. Gliders control the canopy’s movement by sensing the movements of the air. Paragliding enthusiasts can opt to explore the sky alone or in tandem with a friend or professional.

Faster alone, more fun in pairs.

Where to start paragliding

At a height of 700 meters above sea level, Sơn Trà has become an ideal base for those wishing to experience the exhilaration of gliding across the sky. Near the peninsula’s peak lies a patch of flat land while below is the deep green of the jungle. The most important factor, of course, is the abundance of wind that naturally surrounds the peninsula.

Inexperienced paragliders must be accompanied by a certified gliding pilot with all required documents presented to the peninsula’s management committee. If take-off is allowed, you will have a rare opportunity to observe the entirety of the Sơn Trà Nature Reserve, Mỹ Khê Beach, and metropolitan Đà Nẵng from a crane’s viewpoint.

Starting point: The take-off ground on top of Sơn Trà.

Before flying, there are a few things to consider.

Because paragliding is an extreme sport, participants must follow very strict guidelines to ensure they stay safe throughout the duration of the trip.

First, check the local weather on the day to see if it’s ideal for flying. If the sky is too cloudy, rainy or stormy, take-off is not possible. Furthermore, after 4pm, experts warn that the wind direction tends to be unpredictable and the visible range is very limited due to a lack of lighting, so it’s best to postpone the session to the next morning. Those living with vascular or blood pressure disorders, or acrophobia are strongly advised against paragliding.

Attire-wise, gliders are freer to express their personal style compared to other sports, but my advice is to stick to long pants and a jacket and avoid skirts or dresses. A pair of sports shoes might be suitable for helping with the take-off run.

Ready for flying!

18 minutes to touch the sky

A mutual friend introduced me to Thế Anh, a professional paragliding pilot in Đà Nẵng. Anh is a member of Danang Paragliding — a gliding club that hosts instructional classes. Members have joined numerous paragliding events throughout the country, like Mù Cang Chải (Yên Bái), Đường Tam (Lai Châu), and Tri Tôn (An Giang). As a veteran, Thế Anh is entrusted with handling the technical control of the flight. I could only contribute by…wholeheartedly enjoying the incredible view of Đà Nẵng.

My trusty pilot preparing for take-off.

11am: Pre-flight

Thế Anh picked me up at the Mân Thái Beach and we took a cab together to Sơn Trà. After driving past many checkpoints where our documents were assessed by officials, we finally reached the paragliding ground.

Before we flew, my pilot gave me many instructions. The most pressing priority was to fully cooperate with him and understand how to assist him when needed. The other requirement was to mentally prepare myself for take-off.

Waiting for the wind.

One needs to understand and accept the inherent risks of paragliding. During the flight, one must only touch wing components with the pilot’s permission.

11:30am: Assessing the wind direction

First and foremost, a flight can’t start without a thorough inspection of the day’s wind. Once it’s determined that the wind direction and volume are satisfactory, the pilot will start setting up.

The guest glider will be tightened into a harness and given a helmet. The pilot checks the wing and then deploys it in the correct way for take-off.

There's the wind, let's fly!

12pm: Fly!

After a final wind and equipment check, the pilot and guest glider make a dash according to the pilot’s instructions. When in the air, the pilot will help you adjust the position so you’re as comfortable in the harness as possible.

Linh Ứng Pagoda from above.

Đà Nẵng Bay and city center.

Floating in the sky.

Thế Anh occasionally steered us according to the wind direction, levitating across patches of thick forest on the Sơn Trà Peninsula. From above, I caught the entire structure of Linh Ứng Pagoda. The 70-meter-tall Avalokiteśvara statue seemed as tiny as table decor. Our wing slowly made its way to the sea, bringing us closer to Tiên Sa Port and scores of majestic bridges that connect the banks of the Hàn River. I sat there in my harness, my legs swaying in the air, my hands working my camera to capture everything from the basket boats on the far horizon to the throngs of traffic just beneath us.

The pilot also prepared a GoPro for us and I only needed to hold it. Breathe in a lungful of fresh ocean air, feel the wind resistance on my chest, and let my mind immerse in the view — this was no doubt an unforgettable milestone of my life!

12:18pm Landing on Mân Thái Beach

After 18 minutes in the air, Thế Anh guided the canopy down a sandy beach in Mân Thái, putting an end to this once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Back to reality.

On the beach again after 18 minutes in the sky.

There’s no need for feathers like birds. There’s no need to be as light as clouds. There’s also no need for complex plane engines. Paragliding in Đà Nẵng is an accessible way for humans to explore our aerial dreams.

For much of my adult life, in the months from February to October, my mood was dictated by the results of New York Mets games. 

Over time, and realizing that I'd pledged allegiance to a team that would be marred by the legacy of the Bernie Madoff scandal, to compound its general disfunction, I just learned to love the game. When we visited District 7's Baseball Cage in early March, I was having an existential crisis. In the United States, MLB (Major League Baseball) team owners had locked out players months earlier in a protracted and nasty labor dispute, unable to come to an agreement on a new contract.

So while the players union was fighting for cost of living increases as rapacious owners were pulling in record profits while simultaneously crying poor (this saga came to a temporary end on March 10), Saigoneer decided to enjoy a drama-free afternoon casually sipping beers and taking cuts at low-speed “baseballs.”

While baseball is slowly becoming more popular in Vietnam, it is intense, requiring equipment, large open fields, dedication and skill — things that none of us have. Instead, we were breaking baseball down into its simplest, most basic form — hitting a round ball with a round bat. To my knowledge, this is the first batting cage in Vietnam, and therefore warrants something of an introduction.

Batting cages were invented sometime in the 19^th century, not long after the game of baseball itself was created. The sport has roots in older bat-and-ball games played in Europe, versions of which were brought to the United States by immigrants. By the 1830s, early forms of baseball were being played across North America, with the first officially recorded game taking place in Ontario, Canada on June 4, 1838.

America's first baseball game occurred on June 19, 1846 in Hoboken, New Jersey. The sport caught on quickly, and in just a decade, New York-area newspapers were calling it the "national pastime," a title that now stands in serious doubt given the wild popularity of football and basketball in the US.

Baseball also spread widely over the decades, with professional leagues and avid fan bases across North America, parts of Central and South America, the Caribbean and East Asian nations like Japan, South Korea and Taiwan. 

But back to the batting cage, which started to take its modern form in Southern California in the 1970s. The concept is simple: a machine launches a ball at a set speed, and the batter waits in a space surrounded by netting to keep balls from being blasted all over the place. 

And unlike early batting cages, these set-ups are automatic: balls return to the machines thanks to a sloped floor, meaning the entire process is done without needing any humans out there. 

But, it turns out that even at this primordial level, baseball is no walk in the park. Mercifully, the Baseball Cage offers four different ball speeds (and softer rubber balls than conventional baseballs), with the fastest clocking in at a modest 100 km/h, far slower than the 150 km/h-plus speeds hitters typically face in the majors. However, we, like the others casually whiling away our Saturday, were not hitters.

Some fared better than others at making hard contact — or in the case of this writer, any consistent contact whatsoever — but the crowd of mostly young folks seemed to enjoy America’s pastime despite probably never having watched a single pitch before.

The beer hall setup and aesthetic that features plenty of baseball regalia leans into the baseball vibes with framed images, South Korean jerseys and bats hung on the walls, and a big-screen TV replaying old World Series games. The environment provides plenty of respite between sessions that last only three minutes, enough for 30-or-so pitches. The pitching machines take tokens which one can buy from a waitress for various prices from VND17,000 to 38,000 per round depending on weekday/weekend and quantity bought.

Beers were affordable and varied, with many of the local and some international craft/imported beers available in bottles, with the old standby Sapporo pouring on draught.

While these batting cages offer a very watered-down version of the sport, you will likely face some muscle soreness for a few days, so I guess technically we can count this as some form of exercise. All in all, this was more of a trip to a baseball-themed beer hall than some of the batting cages I've been to in the States, but it's probably a better fit for a city where few have ever put bat to ball.  

Baseball Cage is located at 479 Lê Văn Lương, District 7.

I stood on the top floor of a building on Khâm Thiên Street, feeling grateful for the cold air. I came out here to take a break from the other side of the floor, which was divided into three rooms — three dance studios.

In one studio, five middle-aged adults were in a sports dance class. In the other, around 10 teenagers were practicing K-pop moves. The one in the middle, where I came from, was blasting house music, with close to 100 people inside. 

The middle studio wasn’t hosting a class, but a dance battle. Coming here, I originally planned to be a fly on the wall and observe the house dance community. But the spirit of the room was so vigorous that I got caught up and jumped on the dance floor, even though I had never danced before in my life. It was impossible to resist the pull, and I didn’t want to fight it anyway. I finally grasped that feeling all these dancers had been telling me about. 

A few weeks before the battle, I caught up with some dancers in a coffee shop. “When dancing to house music,” Linh Tôn said, “I feel happy, free, like I was…high. And house music itself is more pleasurable than other genres because our brains like its speed. It gets us high! I read that somewhere, but you should probably verify that online.”    

Linh Tôn wasn’t too far off from what science had been learning about how music could affect our mood. House music typically has a speed of 120–130 beats per minute (BPM); a study has shown that a tempo of 120 BPM with a rhythmic beat can induce the feeling of happiness. 

Sitting next to Linh, Đỗ Minh Anh — nicknamed Vịt, or Duck — chimed in: “When listening to house music, we feel freedom. We get to let go and be free, we get to float in the music. I love that feeling, that’s probably why I like house dance.”

“But why house dance?” I asked. “Why not other types of dancing like tap dance or ballet?”    

“I studied at the Dance Academy,” Vịt answered. “I learned ballet there, and now I’m also taking a tap dance class. Our community is like a buffet, each dish has its own flavor. House dance has the flavor of freedom; it’s not as structured as ballet, it's not as small as tap dance.”

Linh added: “Also, house music started in the clubs, where there are all types of dancers and non-dancers. It doesn’t have a limit, like ballet has to be like this or hip-hop has to be like that. With house, you just dance.”

“For me, sometimes I learn some house steps but I don’t do house dance, I do popping,” Phạm Đức Anh — who goes by Red — the final member of our table, spoke up. “But I have listened to house for a long time now, even before I started dancing. I just like it. It’s hard to say why. Like if you have a lover, why do you love her and not another one? Even when the other is hotter, why do you love this one?”

“Don’t ask ‘why’ when in love!” Linh declared.    

Linh, Red and Vịt belong to a team called House Dance Hanoi (HDH), they come together every week for a dance session. They also run events to promote house culture. They organized the battle that I was at — a playground for all to display their skills. There were more than 50 contenders, and each had their own style of dancing: locking, popping, breaking, hip-hop, etc. But one style in particular gave me a whole new view of freedom. 

“Waacking was born in the gay bars of Los Angeles,” Nguyễn Văn Minh (pseudonym), a competitor, told me, “and the moves of waacking are closer to the feminine side…I love all that is willowy and beautiful. Waacking feels natural to me because it aspires to beauty. And waacking is opening your body, let it be free. It is liberating!” 

Though Minh hasn't come out yet to some of the people closest to him, he has learned to accept this part of himself. “I think being gay is actually a catalyst for me, it is the characteristic for me to open everything. I am not tied to the social pressures of a man or a woman. I don’t have to be the provider of the family, I don’t need to be gentle and sweet, I can just be myself. And maybe only because I’m gay that I came across waacking. If I had been born straight then maybe I would not have danced at all.”

Some dancers didn’t just stick with one style but combined moves from different forms. Vũ Hoa Cầu, another HDH member, told me that his was a combination of house, soul, popping, and even some martial arts moves. “You just pull out whatever you have in a battle,” Cầu said, “but the most important thing is to feel the music and express yourself.”  

I quickly realized that he was right. The best dancers reacted to the tiniest changes in the music. They were so in-tune that they could predict a change of rhythm or when a drop was coming. It was like a battle of who can be the most present.

In between battles, there were showcases by different dance crews. HDH had a show, too. Their performance wasn’t just dancing, they were telling a story, a love story between four people, it seemed to me. They looked so happy, like a bunch of kids playing together. The whole room was enthralled. Then, towards the end of their performance, they started pulling people up on the floor to join the dance. I got up, too. For a moment I was one with the crowd, flailing my arms around and floating in the music. I was so touched that tears ran down my face. My nose was running, too, but luckily no one saw that because I was wearing a mask.

At the end of the battle, Cầu was crowned the champion. But from what most people had told me, winning or losing wasn't important. The important thing was being a part of the atmosphere. I had a massive headache leaving the studio, I guess I’m just a bit too old to hang with these kids. But the adrenaline that I got from being on the dance floor was still pumping in my veins by the time I got home. It was exhilarating to be so free; it was ineffable. And if you want to try it out for yourself, House Dance Hanoi is more than happy to welcome new people.

Follow House Dance Hanoi on Facebook to learn of their many activities and how to join.

At the end of 1999, Hong Kong artist and designer Michael Lau presented the “Gardener” toy collection, an amalgamation of his interests in G.I. Joe action figures and street culture. The launch is widely considered the birth of a new movement in toy-making: designer toys, also known as art toys.

Designer toys are a subgenre of specially made knick-knacks that are often released as limited editions. The market for these intricate crafts now include both niche artisans and big names like Medicom and Kidrobot. Creators unveil collections of unique characters to attract the wallets of collectors. In the past two decades, art toys have proven to be more than just a subculture in major markets like China. In 2020, Pop Mart, the largest designer toy company in the country, sold over five million items, despite the pandemic’s economic impact.

Figurines from the classic collection "The Gardener" by Michael Lau. These belong to a special rendition from 2009 to commemorate the collection's 10-year anniversary. Photo via Hypebeast.

Vietnam’s art toy scene is still very young, having been around for just a few years, with one landmark for the community occurring in 2019 when Cơm Hộp, a concept store dedicated to the hobby, opened. As one of the earliest trailblazers in the country, Cơm Hộp organizes events and collaborative projects to connect artists, manufacturers and collectors to promote art toy culture to newcomers. In the past two years, even though public events were hard to come by because of public health restrictions, they managed to hold four exhibitions under the name Cơm Thập Cẩm to showcase collaborative works with local designers.

Jopus with his artworks on display at the National Exhibition of Applied Arts 2014–2019. Photo courtesy of Jopus.

Jopus is a young graphic designer whose tenure in the art toy community started in 2018. He shared how he started dabbling in this nascent art form: “It was 2017. My wife and I were vacationing in Thailand during the Thailand Toy Expo. I was really overwhelmed by the art toys I saw. I initially didn’t know what to call them, simply thinking that they were toy models. Upon more research, I knew what they were, and the more I discovered, the more I loved them. I’m a designer myself, so I love designs with a strong personal creative touch.”

Like Jopus, creating art toys is a new side passion for many young creatives. Nonetheless, he says that the goal is not to make profits, but to satisfy that creative desire to painstakingly craft something that is incredibly detailed. Jopus shares: “To be able to do whatever you want without being constrained by past models or anything, to hold your ‘brainchild’ in your hand, it’s an indescribable joy.”

There isn’t a proper institute or course dedicated to creating designer toys, so aspiring hobbyists often are left to their own devices to practice their skills, do research, and network to come up with their own creation. In an interview with Saigoneer, The O Room, an artist with two years in the designer toy community, said: “For me, the creative process begins from observation, then selecting the best visuals, converting to specific shapes, modifying, and then production.”

'Street Dragon' by The O Room. Photo courtesy of The O Room.

In The O Room’s works, one might encounter quotidian, tongue-in-cheek slices of our normal life. For instance, the character Street Dragon is inspired by the national myth of Con Rồng Cháu Tiên. Street Dragon was born of a hypothetical scenario: what if our fairytale ancestors are alive and living in today’s modern world, engaging in simple pleasures like sitting on the sidewalk with an iced tea shooting the breeze with friends?

He explains his own production process: “It starts with shaping the figures by hand, then resin casting, surface treatment, painting, and packaging. I personally find it hardest to force myself to go through with everything until the end, because to be honest, every step of the way has its own challenges.” He also stresses that each artist has their own process and materials.

A character from the Huguu series by Thảo Xeko. Photo by Hấu Niêu.

In a market as humbly sized as Vietnam, art toys usually hold more artistic and cultural values for collectors than monetary value. Each piece is handmade by the artists, so often they exist as a one-of-a-kind creation. Holding an art toy in your hand means handling something unique and special. Most buyers are collectors who share the same aesthetic sensibility with creators, so they purchase the toys to fill up their collection or to beautify their home.

After chatting with four art toy designers, I’ve come to a personal realization, that perhaps the art toy is among the few art forms that are very difficult to fake in Vietnam. Each figure is intricate, with a strong personality. Bùi Thế Hiển is fond of Lovecraftian creatures with haunting orifices; Jopus puts his personal flair on the “octopus planet;” The O Room is more playful, with slice-of-life creations; and Thảo Xeko has a special penchant for cherubic figures with unique quirks.

'Phong Linh' by Bùi Thế Hiển. Photo courtesy of Bùi Thế Hiển. 

The O Room asserts that creativity is a strong point for toy artists in Vietnam: “Even though it’s not widely known, the local community has great potential for growth, as Vietnamese aesthetics are not inferior to any major market out there. Moreover, artists come from diverse fields, and this contributes to the broad range of subject matters in their products.”

At the moment, perhaps it’s too early to assess the monetary trajectory of this art form. Most artists agree that the output is not consistent; creators still have to rely on their own personal connections and online presence to market their works, and few see this as a livable career path. Thảo Xeko, who created the adorable Huguu figures, opines: “I think the art toy communities in Saigon and Vietnam still haven't gained enough understanding from the public deserving of the values it created.”

It’s hard to brush aside the limitations of this rather young subculture, but it’s also true that local artists have achieved a lot in just two years, so we have all the proof we need to place trust in their ability to build a more professional network, organize more exhibitions, strengthen a “Vietnam'' style of design, and even reach out to the regional arena. Of course, expanding the community is a foremost goal for art toy enthusiasts, but educating the public and collectors on the true value of designer toys is no less important. Vietnamese toys can be quotidian or avant-garde, but not necessarily cheap.

Contrary to popular belief, Dungeons and Dragons isn’t just a geeky hobby, to me, it's a form of “group therapy” that is slowly taking shape in Vietnam, bringing fun and memorable bonding moments to the tabletop.

Back in mid-August, life under Directive 16 as a recent graduate was a mix of fear, anxiety, and boredom for me. Everyone tried to endure the situation differently: maybe pick up a new hobby, learn a new craft, or try out new recipes. I did not expect myself to suddenly become immersed in the Dungeons and Dragons (DnD) scene in Vietnam, though it certainly helped abate the anxiety of living in a global pandemic.

Image by Wizard of the Coast via Kotaku.

It started with a typical video call with friends, something I had become accustomed to doing every night since the lockdown started; we chatted about random topics and sometimes streamed games. Tabletop gaming came up one night, as I learned that some of my friends were in the middle of preparing for their third playthrough of DnD — a game that I didn’t think would be available in Vietnam. I immediately asked to join, not knowing that I would get sucked into its wondrous world, something that I suspect will probably entertain me for years to come.

Dungeons & Dragons, a collaborative storytelling experience

To some communities outside of Vietnam, DnD is a classic game night staple enjoyed by many, young and old. But for those who are not familiar, especially here in Vietnam, this genre of board games is still a novel concept.

Image courtesy of Empire Capital Shop.

First introduced by American game publisher Tactical Studies Rules in 1974, the game was later acquired by Wizard of the Coast in 1997, and with numerous updates since, Dungeons & Dragons is now on its fifth edition. While not technically the first Tabletop Role-playing game (TRPG) in existence, it was the first of its kind to become a popular phenomenon among the geek community. The game went on to codify tropes and game mechanics that we now see in modern video games, TRPG, and the fantasy genre as a whole. When someone asks about the genre, DnD would be the first thing that comes to mind for many people, even for non-players.

DnD is not just a game, but also a collaborative storytelling experience. The game usually consists of four to six players controlling their characters through grand-scale adventure guided by the game’s Dungeon Master (DM), a game organizer who constructs every single detail that will happen through the game, and also narrates the player’s journey, guiding them towards their goal (or uncertain doom).

A vast array of dice and character sheets are needed for a DnD game. Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

Each player fills in the character sheet prior to playing, writing down whom they want to be in the game. There are many options in terms of character customization, each with their own benefits and disadvantages, but two of the most major decisions participants will have to make are their characters’ race and class. As of this writing, there are 47 playable races and 13 different classes, each with a distinct playstyle that can be customized and specialized even further down the road.

Gameplay-wise, DnD is a journey of listening and reacting. The DM leads the story and describes everything that is happening around players, and role-plays as side characters, from lowly villagers giving players quests to the main antagonist of the campaign that players will have to defeat to win the game. Players will then react with an action based on story events. Some actions, particularly those that require a character’s skills and knowledge, will require either the DM or players to roll the dice, of which there are six types that are used across the game for a variety of purposes, differentiated by how many sides they have. A usual set of dice is composed of a D4, D6, D8, D12, D20 and a pair of D10 (a four-sided die, six-sided die, and so on).

Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

Untethered from the rigidity of limited game design, creativity is the genre’s strongest point. Players are free to do anything they can imagine, and DMs will usually go with the flow and build up the overall plot as they go. Together, everyone contributes to an ever-developing story that can last for tens, if not hundreds of afternoons. This makes DnD, and the entire TRPG genre itself, stand out among others board games, many of which are designed to be fast-paced, quickly finished in a single session, and have a self-contained story prewritten by developers with little need for additional input from players.

Fantastic Dungeons and Dragons and where to find them

The modern-cafe-meets-tavern vibe of The Guild. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

Meet The Guild, one of the few board game cafes in Saigon that host DnD sessions on a weekly basis, aiming to provide a true DnD experience to veterans and newcomers alike.

Nami, one of The Guild’s founders, is herself an avid board game connoisseur. She is dedicated to promoting DnD alongside a healthy selection of other tabletop games to players of all ages. The cafe has a group of experienced DMs who often host one-shot and multishot game sessions throughout the week.

The Guild's fantasy-themed decorations. Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

As the genre is still relatively new in the country, DMs at The Guild put a lot of effort into explaining the game’s mechanics to all newcomers. Usually, for newbies, there will be a short meeting called “session zero” that serves as an icebreaker for the group, as well as an introduction to the gameplay. As they play, more and more mechanics will slowly be introduced and players are encouraged to ask any questions they have, so they don’t feel the pressure to absorb everything before playing.

DnD in session. Photo courtesy of The Guild.

The Guild is still first and foremost a board game café. Besides DnD, there are also a variety of other tabletop games, from casual card games to complex tabletop wargames. Interestingly, despite sharing the same setting as table-top games, avid DnD players and tabletop enthusiasts are two different demographics.

Mentions of board games in Vietnam might evoke images of teenage or kid players, but the demographics of local DnD players might surprise you. Lý Hồ Tuấn Anh, a representative of Empire Capital Shop (ECS), one of the few official distributors in the country that sells DnD materials, says of his clientele: “From English-language teachers at centers to Vietnamese secondary students, many have contacted ECS asking about DnD. Interestingly, there are young parents looking for games they can use to both play and teach their kids.”

Adapting to the pandemic

Starting a campaign in the middle of a pandemic presents some physical challenges. It’s obvious that in-person meeting was impossible, so our group had to make do with digital tools.

Over the years, the modern DnD experience has become more accessible with virtual tabletop platforms like Owlbear Rodeo or Roll20, where players and DMs converse through Discord. There are many online tools to help with the gaming experience like a dice simulator, currency calculator, and more. Even our character sheets were made in spreadsheets with prebuilt formulae for stats calculation, streamlining the character creation process by a very wide margin. Of course, not everything has to be entirely digital, some of our members still enjoy rolling the physical dice themselves for a more authentic experience.

An online DnD session on Owlbear Rodeo. Image courtesy of Phạm Trung Hiếu.

What’s truly fun is how each participant’s personality contributes to the game’s atmosphere. Maybe you’re roleplaying as an elf who tries as much as he can to be a pacifist in a cruel, unforgiving world; or maybe your partner-in-crime is a total newbie, whose thirst for combat compels him to nudge every single decision towards violence. Maybe said partner-in-crime “accidentally” commits 3^rd-degree murder during a bar brawl by throwing a chair too hard at some innocent drunkard, so now the party has to plan a rescue operation for the partner, now on death row. All of this might happen while everyone argues about moral philosophy with the pacifist elf, who’s now suggesting that the party leave him to his death, as atonement for his crime. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, our DM finds amusement in every bad decision we make, but that’s what makes DnD games a joy to play.

“I have met some DMs who have taken inspirations from Vietnamese history and woven them into the world or its characters. Many players also like to use Vietnamese names for their characters, even bringing ‘trà đá, mì tôm’ [iced tea, instant noodles] into the story,” Tuấn Anh, who runs the game shop, recalls.

Some illustrated player avatars of my Dnd group. Illustrations by polygon-draws on Tumblr.

In the middle of a lockdown that kept us all downhearted, weekly DnD sessions were one of the few rays of sunshine that I looked forward to during those tumultuous months. Even after a session ended, we reminisced about the game for days after on the group chat. The feeling is mutual for players at The Guild. “It’s not rare that members in a group will spend 1–2 hours after to talk about everything that has happened,” Nami shares. Something about the game’s collaborative, role-playing and bond-building nature was therapeutic for my mental health.

“It’s the freedom and the feeling of roleplay. There are no invisible walls to stop you from jumping over a fence, no NPCs [non-player characters] that you can’t talk to, or even rob or steal from. Anything that you can imagine, it can all happen in the world of DnD, here and now,” she adds.

The community in Vietnam

Board games as an entertainment medium enjoy great popularity in Vietnam. The community for DnD and its genre, on the other hand, is still nascent, with only a few defining moments in recent years. One of such was getting an official distributor in the form of Empire Capital Shop back in 2019. Still, the considerable barriers to entry have kept DnD from attaining the prevalence of games like The Werewolves of Millers Hollow (Ma Sói), Uno or Monopoly.

Board games create great opportunity to expand one's social circle and make new friends. Photos courtesy of The Guild.

The most major hurdle for many local newcomers is that the game demands a lot from players, not in a monetary sense, but knowledge. “The first phase of reading game lore, character creation, and stat allocation can be a challenge for some, because it takes a lot of time and there are many new keywords that they must learn,” Nami explains. “Besides, the game rules and the sheer amount of English are difficult for people who are just learning about DnD.”

To provide context, the Starter Set’s rulebook is about 32 pages long, written for players who want to do a quick game, while the Player’s Handbook — the “Bible” of DnD and the only thing players need to play seriously — has a staggering 320 pages. That’s not accounting for other extra materials that Wizard of The Coast has published throughout the years. Sadly, there’s no official effort to localize content for the Vietnamese market.

Image courtesy of Empire Capital Shop.

Another problem with DnD in Vietnam is finding friends to play with, a simple requirement that might be taxing for the socially anxious when the community is already limited in numbers. “DnD groups usually consist of people who are friends from the get-go, sometimes even the DM is a part of that circle too,” says Nami. “There aren’t many connections [in the community] and the only way people know is through words of mouth and some rare invites here and there.”

Despite the challenges, some members of the community are working hard to tear down these barriers, such as Trịnh Anh Vũ, a DM in Hanoi who is currently running one of the first Vietnamese DnD podcasts called “The Runaways.” He started the project in hopes of growing the local scene by connecting listeners and building an informative platform where people can get an impression of what DnD is from a Vietnamese storytelling perspective.

Photo courtesy of Empire Capital Shop.

“The Vietnamese DnD community is getting bigger, but not everyone has groups to play, and not everyone knows how to approach the game as a beginner,” Vũ tells me. It’s the sense of escapism that brought him to the adventures of DnD in the first place, so he wants to spread that spirit. “DnD is a game about imagination and creativity, so it’s very satisfying to play. Occasionally, people just want to escape from the negative vibes of reality and immerse themselves in their world with a bunch of friends.”

Photo courtesy of The Guild.

Only time can tell how popular DnD will become in Vietnam. But for now, most are content with playing and sharing their experience with friends on social media. Nami is planning to incorporate a new in-person event called “Adventure League” into The Guild — an “organized play” that streamlines the playing process by allowing players to quickly participate with other veterans and newbies through various short missions, without the need to create a new character, thus removing the difficult social barrier of the original board game. “I hope that this plan will succeed and DnD will become a household name in the board gaming scene,” Nami beams with excitement.

Parks & Rec is a series on the eclectic range of pastimes and recreational activities in Vietnam. From novel sports to old board games, these communities help connect members and enrich local urban life. If you have a cool hobby to share, let us know at contribute@saigoneer.com. 

Laser-focused gazes, shiny bows, colorful targets, and looking cool as hell: these are the components of a picture-perfect post one might find on the Instagram of any budding archer. But social media clout aside, there are other reasons why outdoor archery is slowly becoming a favorite pastime of some Saigoneers in the “new normal.”

It is fair to say that archery has a modest presence in Vietnam. Even the HCMC Student’s Cultural House’s Archery Club, a pioneer in introducing this sport to the larger community, has only been an entity since 2014. Many other training facilities have popped up in Hanoi and Saigon since, but few were able to gain traction among the public.

“Most people assume that it’s an elite sport that only a few can afford, or that it's dangerous,” said Quan Nguyễn Thảo Nguyên, a coach who doubles as a judge at national archery competitions.

A sport that targets all ages

That was, of course, until COVID-19 happened. Coming out of a lengthy lockdown, residents of Saigon have begun to take an interest in outdoor sports — not only to exercise their weary bodies but also to seek a literal and figurative breath of fresh air after being stuck indoors for months. Archery, among other sports, has also ridden this new wave of athletic enthusiasm. We decided to visit Trần Quan Brothers, a five-year-old archery club in Saigon, to find out more about the Saigoneers that are giving it a shot.

Quan Vân Triều is the founder of Trần Quan Brothers Archery Club. He has been practicing archery since 1968. 

Trần Quan Brothers, founded in 2016, is one of the very few archery clubs that have managed to last longer than a few years in Saigon. Situated in Trương Quyền Primary School’s campus in District 3, the club’s mainstay is its spacious yard, which can be expanded to a range of 70 meters to meet Olympic standards and ensure safety for members.

Quan Vân Triều, the club’s namesake founder, said he has been passionate about archery since 1968 when he was still an active member of the Vietnam Martial Arts Association. After five decades of learning about the discipline, he rationalizes that archery is a form of dynamic meditation (as opposed to static meditation, which mostly involves sitting still). Depending on how much practice one puts in, they can gain well-being improvements such as stress relief, or increase their concentration, attentiveness, assertiveness, patience, or physical strength.

Archers can be of all ages, but most of the people Saigoneer saw when we visited the range were in their 20s and 30s. Elementary school students and elderly seniors were also present. Because of the pandemic and the 2020 Olympics, where Asian athletes dominated in archery, the club has seen an increase in newcomers. Though not all of them are taking it seriously, Triều said about 70% of registered members intend to pursue archery in the long term.

Như Quỳnh, a 34-year-old designer who joined the club in mid-2020, said that the dynamic meditation embedded in archery has brought positive changes to her daily life. When she first picked up the bow and arrow, she only saw it as a way to improve her physical fitness. But half a year later, she began to feel a deeper connection to the sport. And now, she spends two to three hours a day practicing, as well as competing in amateur tournaments.

“The saying 'a miss is as good as a mile' is very true in archery because every movement is crucial. In a way, it’s similar to meditating, because a practitioner must have complete control over their body and their state of mind. In doing so, archers develop the endurance, composure and mindfulness to face different challenges in life,” Quỳnh notes.

Như Thuần, an architecture major, picked up archery with a very different perspective. Because he was already invested in archery and shooting, as soon as he moved to Saigon for college, he immediately joined different clubs to experience the action himself.

“I’m drawn to these sports because I’m fascinated by the technicality of the long-range weapons used in them. And from my observation, archery is more challenging than shooting because archers have to calculate the curvature of the arrows and coordinate their movements accordingly.”

Thuần said that he has tried to get many of his friends on board, but most of them don’t see archery’s potential as a professional sport. “When they see a bow, they somehow conclude it's a primitive and dangerous weapon. I think since most of my friends have stuck with more common sports like soccer and basketball, they find archery a little perplexing,” he continues.

Lý Quyên, an 8th grader, has been doing archery for three years.

On the sunny training ground, we encountered some smaller figures. Young and daring 8th-grader Lý Quyên (still not the youngest learner here) tells us: "Although most of the people around me are adults, I don't feel like I have to ‘fit in’ at all. These ‘aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters’ are very nice and welcoming to me. I’m always excited to come in to practice.”

Despite her age, Quyên is more "senior" than some of her fellow members, as she has been carrying the bow for more than three years. Back when Quyên was a 5th-grader in Trương Quyền, she was mesmerized by the practice sessions of archers next door, and convinced her parents to let her try out the supposedly risky sport. Though initially concerned, Quyên's parents are now completely assured by, and proud of, their daughter whenever she raises her bow.

According to coach Thảo Nguyên, who is also Triều's daughter, for young people, in addition to physical benefits, archery is a great way to help them hone their mental sharpness. “In South Korea, the country that dominates in archery at the Olympics, the sport is taught as part of the regular curriculum in elementary schools. Hopefully, schools in Vietnam will one day consider that possibility as well,” she says.

How to keep the momentum going?

“Archery is all about subtleness. It’s a competitive sport, sure, but no flashy combat is involved. It’s just you, yourself, and your bow. Not everyone is into that,” said Nguyễn Nhựt Minh, who formerly competed on Ho Chi Minh City’s archery team.

However, despite being an individual pursuit, archery has also brought groups of people together. Since it remains relatively unknown in Vietnam, the few archers that do exist tend to depend on one another to better their knowledge and skills, and those who share a range are always ready to support fellow archers so they can all make progress. At Trần Quan Brothers, young members are now working on a project together to uncover the origin of an ancient Vietnamese bow that was almost lost to time.

Archery clubs will provide a wide range of equipment to their members, from regular to more compound bows.

Equipment and membership fees are some other factors that can greatly impact the sport’s retention rate. “Seasoned archers might want to upgrade their gear to conquer longer distances. And doing so will definitely require some big investments because high-end gear such as compound bows can cost you anywhere between VND15 and 20 million,” says Thảo Nguyên.

“Still, it’s a broad generalization to say that archery is reserved for the upper class. If you become a club member, almost all equipment will be provided to you at no extra charge. And an archery club membership is quite affordable compared to most other sports, just about VND60,000 per hour, or VND700,000–800,000 per month.”

It will be some time before archery can become an option for everyone, especially when metropolises still lack the space for more standard facilities. However, the presence of close-knit archery clubs and communities has brought it closer to the masses, among which young Vietnamese archers belong, whom one day with these collectives' support, will be ready to shoot at more ambitious ranges, and heights.

Parks & Rec is a series on the eclectic range of pastimes and recreational activities in Vietnam. From novel sports to old board games, these communities help connect members and enrich local urban life. If you have a cool hobby to share, let us know at contribute@saigoneer.com.

Like two sides of the same coin, yin and yang cannot exist without the other. It’s about dualism, the interconnected and interdependent nature of the world. To say yang, it must be in the context of something more yin, and vice versa.

For example, in our daily lives, we think, we walk, we talk, we work, that is yang. And when we take a break, focus on our breath, stand still, or sleep, that is the yin side. Balance is found when there are both yin and yang present in our life.

The more common form of yoga today is yang yoga, which focuses on muscles and flexibility. Yin yoga, on the other hand, is a deep and meditative practice, getting the muscles to relax while stressing the deeper connective tissues like the fascia, ligaments, joints and bones. So this is an invitation to connect with yourself through yin yoga.

Discovering “the other side of yoga”

“Yin yoga is a specific practice, like a branch of yoga,” shares Đinh Nữ Thùy Trang, founder of Yin Yoga Saigon. “People only know it after a period of practicing yoga in general. I do yoga just like everyone else. After practicing for a while, duyên [fate] leads me here.”

Yin yoga came to Vietnam around five years ago. And while yang yoga is a common practice here, yin might not be for everyone, partly because of its slowness.

It takes as much time as the usual yang yoga session — roughly one hour — but yin has fewer poses, with slower movements. By slowing your breath and marinating your body in the poses for a few minutes, you’ll learn how to relax while stressing your muscles. “To let the heart be heavier than the head,” Trang said in a soft voice while leading a session on YouTuber.

Simultaneously with learning how to let go of the hardness in every corner of your body, you’ll learn how to turn inward and tune into your body and your mind. “The fact that when we do yin, we close our eyes means we close the path to the outside, gives us the chance to sense our insides.” Trang points.

In my first attempt with yin, it was unbearable at first. The slowness of poses is so delicate and strangely tight in my muscles. It was a relief knowing that I could let go of the pressure of doing it right, and just be with my body’s limitations. It feels like I can take care of the soreness by observing and accepting what’s going inside of me. At some point, I lost track of time, perhaps I was really staying in the present, getting to know what is inside me at that moment.

Slowing down

“The yoga that everyone knows today is like a form of exercise,” Trang says. “People usually only focus on training their body. Therefore, beginners are easily trapped with certain thoughts and prejudices of practicing. For example, they believe that it is necessary to move well, or to acquire certain postures and achievements. Then it's like a race with others or with themselves when they don’t see improvement.”

Yin classes start off with slowness and gentleness. On Trang's YouTube videos, she reminds people to notice their feelings in body and mind, and accept whatever comes up. She calls out the feelings that the participants might feel in order to help them acknowledge the sensations.

Trang explains: “For example when you feel stressed or your body hurts, one way to work with it is just staying with it. You can let go of your bodies, sink your consciousness into that pain. Then the pain will go away. We can see that the pain is just an interpretation of consciousness. If we switch to another consciousness, another perspective, then the pain is no longer there, or the pain could still be there but we won't react to it the same way that we used to. It's like separating ourselves from that pain and stress.

“The yoga I used to learn is all about practicing to be better or to achieve certain success. But with yin, I learn to accept what I have, what I am at the moment.”

Nurturing our souls

More than just a daily practice to nurture oneself in life, yin yoga is an experience of opening up inside. By slowing down, I can see things more clearly, within my body, in my head, even in my heart.

Trang shares: “One time in another teacher’s yin class, I burst into tears. The memorable thing is that I had no idea why I was crying. It was so surprising and my tears flowed from the beginning till the end of the class. At the end when we were taking pictures with the teacher, my eyes were all puffy."

Perhaps in that moment of slowing down, Trang’s emotion was released. I experienced a similar thing, but not quite as dramatic. One time in a yin session, I fell asleep. It was what my body needed at that time, and I tried to be at peace with that reaction. Besides accepting how our body feels, yin also asks us to be patient and accept our real feelings, too.

So this is an invitation to connect with yourself. Because with yin, there's no rush to be excellent. Take it easy, hold space for yourself everyday, and take care of yourself mentally and physically.

[Photos courtesy of Trang.] 

Bonsai has often been regarded as an activity for the elderly, but the local bonsai community is experiencing an unprecedented renewal thanks to the participation of an unexpected demographic: young people.

Early sprouts

Hồng Mai has a pretty unique job: she runs the very first, and only, bonsai vocational training school in Vietnam. With both her parents being bonsai masters, she was exposed to the art form before she even learnt how to walk.

Yet as a child, Mai barely paid any notice to the craft. Bonsai was to her just a foreign-sounding word that her mom and dad would sometimes talk incessantly about with their friends. It wasn’t until 2019, when she had “become an adult and developed a more thoughtful perspective on their lifelong pursuit,” that she took an interest in her family’s distinguished tradition and began to grow it into something more.

In my head, I’d always envisioned the stereotypical bonsai creator as a man in his 60s, who every day would tediously tend to his plants from root to tip to create an eye-pleasing botanic figure. And so, I was pleasantly surprised when I met Mai, a girl whose youthful presence would defy most people’s expectations. She told me that she's fully aware that the majority of bonsai practitioners in Vietnam are, you’ve guessed it, men. Even at Thanh Tam Bonsai, the vocational school that she operates, the gender makeup is overwhelmingly male. Female learners prefer other disciplines, like flower arrangements or growing mai trees (yellow apricot blossom). But Mai has a steadfast belief: “Whatever men can do, women can too. It’s not a big deal to see a woman with a saw and a pair of pruners in hand, shaping her bonsai masterpiece.”

With an impressive wealth of knowledge, Mai passionately taught me about the art of bonsai and how the Vietnamese bonsai community is branching out to include more young people.

Deep roots

According to researchers, bonsai as a practice originated from China and has a well-established history in the country. Many paintings from the Tang dynasty show depictions of miniaturized plants and gardens. Centuries later, thanks to the increasing cultural and commercial exchange between the two kingdoms, bonsai was introduced to Japan and became a popular pastime that transcended social classes, enjoyed by commoners, monks and even nobles and samurai. Bonsai’s golden age was during the Meiji era, where the reigning emperor himself praised and promoted bonsai at his palace. The techniques and styles developed in this era helped to solidify the foundation of modern bonsai art.

In his book Bonsai Techniques, master Thái Văn Thiện briefly discusses the origin of the term, which at first was referred to by the Chinese as penzai. As the practice migrated to a new country, it took on new roots and began to diverge aesthetically and philosophically from its initial form. Penzai then became the Japanese word bonsai, in which bon means 'tub' and sai means 'tree.' When put together, they translate to “a tree planted in a pot” — a simple premise to a highly sophisticated art.

In Vietnam, bonsai has only been around since the 1970s, but there have been major growth spurts in local horticultural knowledge and expertise, said Mai. In the beginning, there was not a clear distinction between bonsai and regular gardening. The structure of the canopy and the styling of parts such as foliage, stems and roots remained rudimentary, which give the tree an unnatural appearance. Gradually, people began to take a more serious interest in elevating their creations, and communities of bonsai artists were formed to standardize tree-keeping and shaping techniques.

Recent social developments offer opportunities for bonsai enthusiasts to engage professionally through trading and discussion forums. And Vietnam’s tropical biodiversity is host to many diverse species, which gives artists more variety to work with. The addition of native plants and tradition-influenced elements to the local bonsai scene is putting Vietnam on the world bonsai map. This is the future that Thanh Tam Bonsai has in mind when it fosters the next generation of bonsai artists.

Young seedlings

Bonsai is often regarded as an activity not reserved for the young. “It’s an art that is underpinned by patience. One must spend years, and even decades of effort to cultivate a satisfactory bonsai creation,” Mai explained. Indeed, there are bonsai in her garden whose lifespan has far surpassed hers.

She said that in recent years, the attendees at her family’s academy have gotten progressively younger. People between the ages of 20 and 30, and some even as young as 16, have shown up for classes. Mai believes that due to the shrinking of urban green space, more and more people are seeing bonsai as a way to be close to nature and relieve daily pressures. "Not only does it have a calming and relaxing effect, bonsai also stimulates the practitioner's perseverance and creativity," she said.

“Cultivating bonsai has made me a more meticulous and observant person. When I bend or prune a young plant’s trunk, root or branch, I already have to know what shape they might take when the plant gets older. To ensure desirable results, I have to check and tend to my plant daily, almost like I’m taking care of a partner," a 25-year-old learner at Thanh Tam told Saigoneer about their personal gains.

The local bonsai scene is also attracting more female practitioners. Perhaps it’s because bonsai trees aren’t just aesthetically pleasing; they’re also financially rewarding. Depending on the complexity of the design, the price of a bonsai tree can be anything between a few hundred thousand to a few billion dong. “The earlier you start, the more time you have to create sophisticated and valuable works,” Mai asserted.

On the weekend afternoon that Saigoneer visited, before this current COVID-19 wave, learners were having their weekly practice. One particularly rowdy group was deep in discussion about styling; another was quieter, focusing on honing their techniques. There were young, elderly, Vietnamese and foreigners — all mingling together in lively fashion, characteristically unrecognizable from what most imagine bonsai to be. And we hope that with the growing success of Thanh Tam academy, more seeds will be sowed for the next generation of bonsai lovers in Vietnam.

Parks & Rec is a series on the eclectic range of pastimes and recreational activities in Vietnam. From novel sports to old board games, these communities help connect members and enrich local urban life. If you have a cool hobby to wish to share, let us know at contribute@saigoneer.com.

It’s a Tuesday night in Binh Quoi, and a group is lacing up their skates at a skating rink next to a football pitch.

This is no rollerblading joy ride, or anything of the like — in fact, you won’t see this anywhere else in Vietnam. It’s roller derby, a sport with no history in the country that even the group’s leaders admit is niche even by niche standards.

Even in the United States, where roller derby was invented and most of the world’s teams are based, the sport has something of a cult status. But Claire Stableford, one of the founders of Saigon Roller Derby, can’t imagine life without it.

“It started when Angie [the other-co founder] and I moved here in September together,” she said. “We’re both quite experienced roller derby players — we’ve played for internationally ranked teams and national teams — and there was no team here, so we decided to start one.”

A brief primer on roller derby: two teams square off, with each featuring a "jammer" and several "blockers." The jammer is who scores points for a team, and a match is broken into action-packed "jams.’" Points are scored when the jammer breaks through the opposing team’s blockers, completes a lap of the track and then continues to pass opponent blockers.

The first challenge was finding a venue; a common problem in a megacity that doesn’t always provide enough space for artistic or athletic activities. They settled on GOX, and then set about finding players.

“We found two coaches who had played in the United States but hadn’t played recently, almost straight away, and they helped us set up,” Stableford shared. “There’s been a fair bit of interest from both foreigners and locals, and we’ve been working really hard to recruit locals.”

Ngọc is one of those players. She heard about the group from her brother, who had been invited by a friend to check it out. "I didn’t know the sport existed before that, and at first I was hesitant," she said. "Out of curiosity, I decided to volunteer and spectate a scrimmage between the team...and after witnessing the incredible skills and cheerful energy, I decided that these are the kind of people that I want to be around."

“It took a lot of work, and a lot of it fell to me and a couple of other people since we have experience,” Stableford explained. “It’s not just skaters, you need help with referees, people to track time, the score, and penalties. It’s a lot of organization, but it happened and we’re proud of it.”

The group is open to all genders and and people of any level, though roller derby in the US is generally dominated by all-female teams. They gather every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday, with the weekday sessions intended for more advanced skaters and full-contact play, while the weekend is reserved for everyone and doesn’t involve contact. “We’ve had people who have never even skated, but it doesn’t take long to get those skills up,” Stableford said.

Heather McClellan is one of the more experienced players, and she was coaching group members through skating drills during our visit. She played for a team in Cleveland, Ohio before moving to Hanoi, where she wanted to start a club but couldn’t find gear or a venue.

“I scrimmaged in parks with a few skaters, but then I saw Claire post in an international roller derby Facebook group, and joined when I moved to Saigon,” she said. McClellan added the Saigon club has become something of a little sister to the roller derby club in Bangkok, which is older and more established.

“We also got some old gear for beginners, or for people who can’t afford it and just want to try, from a group called Derby Without Borders,” she said. “There’s a really supportive global community, and I can’t wait for the pandemic to end so that we can do workshops and games.”

This is a major goal for Stableford as well, who is in touch with groups elsewhere in Asia.

“We’ve reached out to a lot of teams and shared coaching plans from the national coaches we’ve played with,” she said. “When the borders open we want to go play these teams, and we want them to be at a high level so that they will give us a good challenge.”

While she is used to a world-class level of play, Stableford has enjoyed the challenges of building the sport in a place where it never existed before: “It’s really rewarding because we can focus on these new skaters that have no experience and lifting them up.”

Ngọc’s initial skepticism, meanwhile, has morphed into love.

“So far everything has been both great and challenging,” she said “I know that falling is a learning opportunity, and the more I fall, the better I will get. The feeling of accomplishment after a fall, knowing that I tried to surpass my limits, it keeps me going. I’m now able to enjoy the present instead of stressing about what’s ahead and not being able to do anything about it.”

She also shared a memory from a practice a few weeks ago when, for the first time, she managed to knock a more advanced player out of the track: “I felt bad, but behind that are feelings of great accomplishment as the coaches cheer me on.”

In just six months, roller derby has gone from unknown in Saigon, to the club featuring two house teams while planning for a second scrimmage. That was supposed to take place this Friday, but has been postponed due to the latest COVID-19 wave.

“We’re open to anyone joining the team,” Stableford said. “Roller derby is typically a female sport, but we want to introduce it to as many people as we can in Vietnam.”

Given the evident enthusiasm during a weekday evening session, they have certainly made an impact already.

Contact Saigon Roller Derby via their Facebook page for more information about the sport and how to join.