Saigon - Saigoneer

Every Morning, I'm Grateful for My Carless Ride to Work on Hoàng Sa Street

2024-03-28T12:00:00+07:00

In the decade-plus of Saigoneer’s existence, we’ve had six offices strewn across different parts of Districts 1 and 3. Over that period, my homes have been located in Bình Thạnh and Thảo Điền, requiring significant commuting time.

In a perfect world, Saigon’s first metro line would provide a pleasant trip, but unfortunately, we’re living on another timeline. This means that most of my commutes have occurred on motorbike along the city’s congested thoroughfares, often leaving me drained upon arriving at work.

Sprinklers provide needed hydration to both the grass and passersby.

When we moved offices again last year, I punched the address into Google Maps and a thick blue line insinuated that Võ Thị Sáu would be my preferred route. Having traversed this street during rush hour in the past, I was not particularly excited by this revelation — no disrespect to the street's heroic namesake. Upon a second glance at my screen, I noticed an opaque grey line along Hoàng Sa Street, an alternate route along Saigon’s Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal that's only five minutes longer.

This suggested path has proven to be an utter delight; as close to meditation as one can have on their morning commute in Saigon. The canal twists and turns like a dragon’s tail and is flanked by modest urban development. Tree-lined and car-free before 9am, it’s a sensory cornucopia.

Rows of trees on both sides of Hoàng Sa are a welcome sight in the heat of March.

Automated sprinkler systems add to the whimsical atmosphere, as their malfunction often creates clouds of mist through which drivers have to pass. A mid-journey refresh. On lucky days when the grass is recently trimmed, a sweet scent of leveled green blades fills the nostrils.

A sense of calm is reinforced by the many temples that line the canal, providing a centering energy to my morning rides amid the scent of incense. The 15-odd minutes I spend driving along Hoàng Sa is sometimes the calmest time of my day. How many of us can say that about our morning commute?

Brian Letwin is the co-founder and CEO of Saigoneer.

The Nhiêu Lộc-Thị Nghè Canal's Comeback Story

2024-03-19T09:00:00+07:00

Water has no hometown.

It flows through streams, oceans, swamps, clouds, fruit, blood and breath, no place more or less its home than any other. It flows through Nhiêu Lộc-Thị Nghè as the canal moves through Saigon the way a rooster cry navigates an alleyway.

Photo by Alberto Prieto.

Named after Nguyễn Thị Khánh and her husband, Nghè, who helped Vietnamese first settle the area as well as the legend of Đặng Lộc who ferried children across it to the Nhiêu School in later years, the canal once inspired young poets and writers who praised its clear waters that revealed perch, snakehead and mollusks. When the city was young and idealistic, it flowed fresh as clean parchment waiting to be scrawled with songs, stories, wedding invitations and records of rice harvests.

But as the city grew, homes began to encroach on its banks. Poverty spilled out from underneath corrugated roofs and Nhiêu Lộc-Thị Nghè became sullied with sewage, plastic bags, beer cans, and barge oil. Stink engulfed the surrounding neighborhoods. Its water ran black like the ink streaking an overdue bill slipped beneath a locked door.

In 2005, while renovation was still going on, the water quality was still dismall. Photo via Thanh Niên.

Trần Khánh Dư Bridge crossing the canal to connect Tân Định and Phú Nhuận. The canal was quite polluted in 2007. Photo via Thanh Niên.

In early 2002, a plan was launched, more than US$350 million spent, over 50,000 people relocated. Dredging machines rasped their saurian maws across its bed while men with rakes and poles peeled back matted gnarls of trash from its surface. Embankments, drains and sewers were installed, trees planted and sidewalks placed. Dengue and crime fled from its shores.

Today, it’s one of the nicest places in Saigon to stroll. The stench has been whisked away, the tatters of trash drifting across its stained surface are outnumbered by the fish flitting below. You cannot drink from it, should not eat anything caught in it (despite the plentitude of fishing poles dropped in from bridges) and distributaries remain unmitigated. It’s not perfect, but it's nice. It will never fulfill the lofty potential it once held, but its descent into disgust has been reversed, and it has the ability to improve more.

I look down into it and catch my reflection in its rippling waters and recognize it as a metaphor for my life.

Our Toxic Relationship With Saigon Traffic: A Diagnosis

2024-03-12T09:00:00+07:00

There is no way to describe Saigon traffic literally and have it understood by someone who has not experienced it.

Photo by Michael Tatarski.

Saigon traffic is a load of laundry done after mistaking powdered pectin for detergent. Saigon traffic is convincing a child that sweetbread is a dessert pastry and not mashed thymus flesh. Navigating Saigon traffic is swimming laps in a hot tub wearing full hát bội dress and makeup. It wakes late and puts its skin on inside out; walks on stage to offer a bouquet of thistles and poison ivy to the actors after the play; remixes sounds recorded in a slaughterhouse into music for wedding ceremonies. Circus ape cage-scented incense. Week-old milk poured in a termite mound. TV station broadcasting nothing but static. Saigon traffic forces you to take deep breaths through a sandpaper straw. Hot, hot, hot, Saigon traffic is a waiting room built out of bee swarms and tin-foiled laughter. It’s a tongue touching the hot wiring exposed by a diseased tooth. Saigon traffic stuffs your precious nostalgia in a burlap sack and beats it with a rusted length of rebar before tossing it in the sea.

You cannot blame being late on Saigon traffic; you knew it would be like this.

Vignette is a series of tiny essays from our writers, where we reflect, observe, and wax poetic about the tiny things in life.

The Simple Pleasures of Kite-Flying in Thủ Thiêm

2023-05-16T11:00:00+07:00

One of the most elegant means to observe the textured heft and untethered strength of otherwise-invisible wind — there is plenty one could say about the poetry of flying kites.

I could grasp at philosophical pseudo-koans about kites, like “the same string that keeps a kite tethered to the ground, enables it to remain in the sky”; share stories of Kim Yu-sin inspiring an army by tethering a flaming sphere to a kite, to suggest a bad omen had returned to the heavens; detail Ben Franklin's first harvest of electricity by looping a key around a kite string during a storm; offer an incomplete list of governments that have banned kite flying (the Taliban, Mao's China, 18^th-century Japan, 21^st-century Egypt, etc.); and passionately argue how “kite” the predatory bird out-astounds “kite” the flying contraption in every way.

But it's better to keep it simple. Because flying a kite in Thủ Thiêm is a simple pleasure. Simply show up at dusk when the summer heat begins to lift. Plastic chairs already line the boulevards built for developments that have yet to appear. Vendors sell cold drinks and basic street snacks. You can bring a kite or buy one there. Enjoying the event is as simple as jogging a few paces while a string uncoils into the air and the kite takes flight. You don’t even need a kite; simply ease back in the chair and chat with friends and family while watching colorful swaths of fabric drift across the sky.

Kites warrant no applause. You will not hear the ooh's and aah's that fireworks or sporting matches elicit. Pleasure is measured in small talk and smiles. Pleasure comes cheap. Perhaps that is what I appreciate the most about kite flying. Saigon is not a cheap place to live, doubly so for families. Not everyone can afford restaurant visits or structured entertainment, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have opportunities to enjoy fresh air and a night out. Kite flying ignores demographics, incomes, reputations, and past sins and welcomes all. I don't have to worry about how or even if I fit in. With the city’s expansive skyline towering in the distance, kites smear the skyline like children’s names written in beautifully crude crayon strokes.

Plan to Put Canopy Over Treeless Lê Lợi Pavement Sparks Debate

2023-03-29T15:00:00+07:00

Late last week, the Ho Chi Minh City Department of Planning and Architecture unveiled a proposal to install canopies across Lê Lợi Boulevard’s pavement.

As VnExpress reports, the canopies are part of a public amenity proposal the department submitted to the HCMC People’s Committee, aiming to improve the landscape of Lê Lợi after years of being fenced off for metro construction.

The project is estimated to cost VND20–30 billion, involving the installation of four-meter-wide metallic canopies over sections of the Lê Lợi pavement. The proposal promises “a design using colors that are harmonious with surrounding scenery.”

In May 2017, the northern half of the iconic Saigon boulevard was sectioned off to serve underground construction of the city’s Metro Line 1, resulting in the removal of 28 heritage trees on this pavement. Last year, from April to October, the metro project gradually returned the pavement and two lanes of the street to pedestrians and motorists, but the new sidewalk remains treeless and exposed to the elements.

The canopy proposal has sparked heated debate on local cyber spaces as netizens express concerns over the need for new canopies. According to an informal poll put up by Tuổi Trẻ, 84.8% people surveyed (1.282 votes) voted no to the new setup. Many pointed out that trees would do a much better job of providing both shade and aesthetic appeal.

Proprietors of businesses along the pavement, however, are mostly in agreement, believing that the provided shade will help boost customer retainment during the hottest hours of the day.

In an interview with Tuổi Trẻ, a department representative shared that the covered walkway will not run throughout Lê Lợi, but only span certain sections. Smaller plants like vines and flower pots will be included, though tall trees won’t be possible due to the area’s infrastructure constraints involving the underground metro.

The pavement stretch from Phan Bội Châu to Nguyễn Trung Trực was an example given by the representative of a historic shophouse row that would get coverage and a painted makeover. “Beneath this area is the metro station and subterranean commercial floors so we need to carefully determine the suitable types of trees,” the representative added. “The installation will be aesthetically pleasing and long-lasting, not just a temporary structure.”

Vignette: For Cafe 81 and the '404 Not Found' Places of Our Lives

2023-03-06T09:00:00+07:00

We all have them.

A favorite shop, stall, or restaurant that we frequented for years until one day, maybe a Tuesday, it closed. No going-away party, no teary-eyed owner handing out momentos and thank-you’s beside a locked gate. Maybe a social media announcement. Maybe not.

Some memories of these cherished haunts remain vivid in our minds: the stiff crink left in our back by its wooden chairs and the awkwardly low table we had to crouch over to type on; the warped reflection off the tube television’s concave screen when walking back from the bathroom; the shelf of decrepit paperbacks we were certain no person would ever read again, if they ever had. But over time, other details become hazy: the painted plaster walls were peeling, but what color? What music played in the background? Did we always go alone or ever invite a friend?

We all have such places, each is special to us but insignificant to the city as a whole. For what it's worth, mine was Cafe 81. I got to know it when it was located at 216B Nguyễn Văn Nguyễn, just a few blocks from my apartment at the time. It seems pointless to describe it now that you cannot visit it, though a Hẻm Gems feature we wrote about it serves as a time capsule of sorts.

Sometime in 2019, after I took up residence elsewhere in the city, Cafe 81 moved across the neighborhood. That location closed recently, too. It then opened at another address that closed as well late last year. I don’t know why. I could play Big J Journalist and make some calls, chase some leads, beat down some doors and get some answers. But what’s the point? You can’t ungrind a coffee bean, let alone return it to the plant it’s been picked from.

If you live in Saigon long enough, the addresses start to read like broken web addresses. 404: Page Not Found. The only response available is to start a new search and remind yourself that the city wouldn't be the vibrant place you love if it didn't change, and that applies to your personal favorites as well.

[Top photo of Cafe 81 in April 2018 by Kevin Lee.]

Vignettes are little stories from our writers.

Ở đó ở đây Sài Gòn — A Love-Hate Letter to the Maze of Paradoxes

2023-02-27T11:00:00+07:00

Editor's note: Adrien Jean is a Saigon-based photographer and a frequent contributor to Saigoneer's Darkroom series. His photos often depict the precise moments in time when the visual elements of our daily life line up just right to evoke a special feeling. In this special photo collection, which contains all of Jean's favorite shots of Saigon, he penned a loving ode, titled 'Love/Hate Letter to Saigon.'

Love/Hate Letter to Saigon

Ở đó ở đây Sài Gòn
Reflection of my inner demons
Enlivened by the will to constantly reinvent yourself
But can one move on while forgetting their past?

Fragile memory like the smile of this old woman who slaves
To sell her lottery tickets for a bánh mì
Dispossessed of her favorite sidewalk
Where she used to rule the game
Forced to stoop in front of this race to modernity
To which she hasn’t been invited

Saigon never sleeps
She dozes in the fog of a scooter parade
Introverted hiding behind the Joker mask
When you crack apart and lay yourself bare
In these ageless hẻms smelling the dawn of time
I find some missing parts in you
Maze of paradoxes

Ở đó ở đây Sài Gòn
Land of opportunities and theater of dreams
A place easy to love & hate
Just sip your cà phê sữa đá and enjoy the show

___

Stuck between worlds.

Old building.

Playing pool with style.

Intense gaze.

Dead end.

Divine apparition.

The yellow-helmet gang.

Hào Sỹ Phường.

Underground world.

Life is a rainbow.

Framed.

Under watch.

Tetris.

Schizophrenia.

Cut in two.

Money heist.

Life in a hẻm.

Emerging lotus.

Saigonese sitcom.

Skyline.

Rare capture of the 'Vietnamese Ninja.'

Dragon in motion.

The magical and soon-to-disappear land of Thủ Thiêm.

Sending my prayers.

I want to be like you

Knock knock.

Last train to Saigon.

Deep in smoke thoughts.

Catch me if you can.

Adrien Jean, a long-term resident of Vietnam, has traveled and photographed throughout the country, documenting ethnic festivals and life in less-visited regions, but capturing the streets of Saigon is what inspires him the most. Learn more at his website.

Inside the Sawdust Alley in D8 Where Old Furniture Goes to Get Repurposed

2023-02-22T11:00:00+07:00

My lungs began to heave with raspy coughs as I ventured deeper into the alley of 124 Phạm Thế Hiển.

Tipped by a colleague, I found myself in an unfamiliar part of District 8 in search of Saigoneers with a story. Upon arrival, I made the amateur mistake of tearing off my mask to take a breath of air, not realizing that the atmosphere was filled with minuscule fragments of wood chips churned from the lumber milling nearby. It seemed as though my photographer colleague and I were transported into a snow globe, but instead of snowy flurries, we were surrounded by swirling clouds of dust made visible by the vivid sun.

The alley stretched no more than 40 meters but felt like an endless abyss, its spatial features distorted by mounds of aging antiques packed tightly next to and on top of one another. A mothy and moldy smell quickly latched onto my clothes and filled my nostrils, while a screeching melody hummed by metal tools would periodically ripple through the atmosphere.

The little alley that induced my respiratory attack is a bustling recycling and trading hub for second-hand furniture. Rendered irrelevant in their former households, doors, chairs, and cupboards — or gạc-măng-giê as Vietnamese grandparents would call it — are procured by craftsmen in this neighborhood to be repaired and sold to new owners. Decade-old wooden ware is piled on barges from the Mekong Delta by the tons and dropped off via river ports, while smaller shipments arrive stacked on tricycles from Saigon and other Southeastern provinces.

Once unloaded, each item is inspected to be given a quote based on factors such as wear and tear and material. Few of the pieces can be described as pristine, but many retain a sturdy build, their lacquer finish glossy and their nails unbudging — beacons from a golden age of Southern craftsmanship.

Others, however, seem to have suffered much more turbulent lifetimes, as they show heavy dents and scratches. Those deemed too unsalvageable end up stripped down to chunks or planks. Regardless of their state, the natural wood that makes up these pieces remains a precious commodity to the people that appreciate its durability and aesthetic.

Due to depleting local lumber resources, old forests taking years to grow, and high prices caused by dwindling supply, the alley has become a part of the informal circular economy that brings Saigoneers electronics, plastic pellets and apparently, chairs.

This recycling operation first started in the 1990s, or so we were told by Nguyễn Thị Láng, a 71-year-old whose entire family migrated from An Giang to found and run a second-hand furniture business here. “When I first arrived in 1992, there were already people living in this alley, but nobody was selling anything.”

Her brother, like many others, owned a warehouse to store boats and merchandise here, since its proximity to the Đôi Canal made the neighborhood ideal for access and transportation. Eventually, someone made use of his warehouse to store old furniture and resell them with success, causing the rest of the neighbors to follow suit, and a robust trade took off from there.

Supplies can be sourced from anywhere, but larger shipments often come when a family decides to downsize. As I made my way around the alley, I could see from the corner of my eye glimpses of the home lives of distant strangers.

There was an impeccably preserved altar for ancestral worship, a dragon-phoenix couch — the type that strikes fear into the hearts of hometown-bound kids — and a peculiar drawer where childhood photos and dean list certificates were left. It was hard for me not to be overcome with curiosity and sadness.

What kind of life did these people live? What circumstance drove them to let go of their family heirlooms? Did the baby photographed know that his mother loved him very much, and that her signs of affection were forgotten in a sold-away drawer? I could never know the answers, but I know it was probably better that the pieces were discarded in this alley instead of being left rotting in a scrapyard. Their presence here at least brings livelihood for the craftsmen that will soon send them on a journey with a renewed purpose.

Before they can do that though, craftsmen must restore the furniture to satisfactory condition. I caught anh Kiên working his magic as he painted a door in teal while blasting cải lương in the background. Kiên hailed from Thái Bình, but followed his wife’s family here and took up the offer when her father wanted to hand over the family business. “Doors are often made of crepe myrtle or golden oak,” he informed me, “while tables are made of redwood and pyinkado.”

The frame of this particular door deteriorated due to moisture damage and must be replaced with a new one that Kiên was assembling. Once that was done, he could sell it for VND150,000, which he admitted wasn’t much considering the time and labor spent, not to mention the frequent exposure to chemicals. On the bright side, with vintage mania in full swing in the city, Kiên can sell a whole lot more of these doors that open to nowhere as decorations to cafes that use them for a sprinkle of nostalgia.

While at a workshop, I also ran into another Kiên, this one a bit younger at the age of 34, who also ended up here due to a relative. He was relatively new to the job, having started just eight months ago. Kiên previously worked in mechanics, but struggled and eventually left the field because of COVID-19. His skills transferred quickly, he said, and he can now earn up to VND400.000 a day porting and refurbishing furniture, which is also the average earning of a worker in this area.

As I interviewed Kiên, my coughs began to act up again. He was removing the varnish of a couch that had lost its shine, while other workers nearby sawed up and sanded down their own tarnished pieces, all without safety equipment. The workshop, constructed from steel sheets and wooden boards, offers little ventilation, and much of the sawdust and heat can’t escape. When I asked him about the harsh working conditions, though, he expressed little concern. “The fan will take care of it,” Kiên assured me with the same confidence he has about the security of this job, “I’m planning to work here for a long time.”

Our most spectacular encounter of that day had to be with Trì, the owner of a store and a workshop, who can only be described as relentlessly charismatic. Trì refers to himself as Trì Gỗ — or Timber Trì, a title that much befits the expertise that he would later showcase. Seeing us meandering through his shop with a camera and recorder, the Long An native quickly approached us not with a sales pitch, but a crash course on woodworking.“Now you kids listen carefully,” he said while smacking a tape measure against a chair. It was his preferred instruction tool for the rest of our impromptu classroom. His first lesson: not all furniture is made equal.

“You’re looking at vanity wardrobes made out of red rosewood. This one was made in Hố Nai. This one was [made in] Saigon. And they’re not the same,” Trì explained that Saigon and Hố Nai were the two meccas of furniture in southern Vietnam. Trying to stay on top of the competition, the two manufacturing hubs were constantly putting out new, trending models that would often overlap in design.

A layman wouldn't notice the differences, but Trì was quick to point out that Hố Nai carpenters went for a softer look and adorned their creations with detailed carving, while the ones from Saigon opted for a sturdier build. The same thing goes for armchairs: one would spot armrests with intricate, delicate patterns, and the other would boast a bulky, utilitarian appearance.

Trì is in the camp of inner beauty, though, and openly vouched for the Saigon-made furniture, which he claimed was made with better material and craftsmanship: “It's all about the wood.” He advised buyers to search for doussie, rosewood or melaleuca, if possible, though he acknowledged the supply for second-hand timber is dwindling by the day. Productive as the current Vietnamese lumber industry might be, it simply cannot catch up because forests take decades and centuries to grow.

That brings us to the question of what will happen to the second-hand furniture market when second-hand furniture runs out? In reality, new furniture is still being made everyday, but mass production and the usage of lower-grade materials like MDF (medium-density fibreboard) to lower cost have given rise to a generation of furniture destined for planned obsolescence. Anyone who has put together something from IKEA or Shopee can vouch for this. The craftsmen whom I talked to, who treat solid wood like religious artifacts, consider plywood of any kind rubbish and dread that some of it is already sneaking into shipments.

Trì also shared that, although business is still good, many experienced craftsmen have abandoned the field, and that he wouldn't be able to pass the trade to his daughter either, because she’s pursuing a different career in school. Meanwhile, Kiên doesn't even have any plan for the next generation, believing that the trade “will gradually expire in a couple decades.”

I don't necessarily believe in the view that synthetic and industrial wood is useless — it's light-weight, versatile, cheap and straight to the point. But it's also devoid of grains, and thus, characters. Humans often revere the rings of trees and the grains of wood because they speak of centuries-old wisdom that humans can't attain in their lifetime. That’s why for ages, we’ve cut them down and put them in our houses in the aspiration of obtaining the unobtainable. And if “we are what we consume” is to be believed, what does this shift from binding the fabric of our existence with time and patience to binding it with hot glue and debris of something once greater, signify?

Saigon's Metro Line 1 Went on Its First Test Run Last Week

2022-12-26T11:00:00+07:00

Last week, the Saigon Metro project took a major step in realizing many Saigoneers’ long-awaited dream of experiencing their own urban railway line.

On December 21, the HCMC Management Authority for Urban Railways (MAUR) organized the first test run of Metro Line 1 with passengers. MAUR staff was joined by city officials, journalists, and some lucky locals living in the vicinity.

The maiden trip did not cover the entirety of the line, only spanning five above-ground stations including Suối Tiên, Vietnam National University-HCMC, Saigon Hi-Tech Park, Thủ Đức and Bình Thái.

The test-run stretch was 9 kilometers long with the train running at 40 km/h; the designed speed is 110 km/h for the above-ground section of the line and 80 km/h for the underground portion.

Following the December pilot, MAUR shared that progress on Metro Line 1 has reached 93.56%. This pilot session marked the beginning of Phase 5 and 6 of eight phases in testing, which will be conducted for most of 2023 to prepare for an end-of-the-year launch.

In August, MAUR arranged a test run for its trains at the Long Bình Depot. Earlier this year, all 17 trains to be used on this line arrived from Japan; it’s estimated that 14 of them will serve the track when the line is finished.

Metro Line 1 will feature 14 stations, connecting northeastern suburbs with downtown Saigon across nearly 20 kilometers of railway. Metro services are expected to operate from 5am to 11:30pm daily, with 4 minutes 30 seconds between trains.

[Photo via Thanh Niên]

A Saigon Restaurant Poisoned Dozens of Stray Cats. What Happened to Those That Survived?

2022-09-20T12:00:00+07:00

Almost 10 months ago, my life was turned upside down as our household welcomed a new feline member.

I call the little munchkin Noir (French for black) because he has a pitch-dark coat of fur, just like that nook inside the bush where somebody discarded him. Before him, I never thought of taking care of anything besides myself, but thanks to Noir’s helpless meows and piercing bright eyes, I reluctantly took on the parental role for a furry baby. Since our fateful encounter, I also started paying attention to the existence of other cats like Noir, but living much tougher lives.

They hide under the shades at parking lots, meander in between the legs of nhậu tables to seek food scraps, live like nomads on people’s altruism, and often have short lifespans because of accidents and illnesses. Of course, being a stray anywhere in the world comes with scores of challenges, but right in front of my eyes, the tales of stray Saigonese cats is a vivid sight of misery. The perpetual clash between history and modernity in a rapidly developing city nudges the cats between slaughterhouses and rescue homes, between kidnappers and good Samaritans. Some slip through the cracks of our society and never return.

Two tabbies at a parking area.

My concern for Saigon’s stray cats compelled me to reach out to some local cat rescue philanthropists to delve deeper into the dynamic between city inhabitants and felines and seek some answers for my own personal conundrum: how and when will Saigon stop being a town of stray cats?

In limbo between ethical and legal shortcomings

“The existence of strays is because of humans.”

“When I heard that people were gathering to dispose of over 20 cat carcasses, I was beside myself. The first thing that popped in my mind was going around, finding the [poisoned] food and throwing it away, so those that haven’t eaten it might survive. I asked my neighbor about the ginger cat and her babies, because she just gave birth a few days ago. When he shook his head and said ‘they all died,’ I burst into tears,” Hải Yến recounts to me that haunting moment on May 27 when over 50 stray cats at the 151 Đồng Khởi Apartment Complex were deliberately poisoned by a restaurant in the same building. Yến runs a shop in the complex and had been taking care of the strays.

The cat massacre caused an uproar, and every detail of stray presence at the old apartment leading to that fateful day was dissected by netizens who debated hygiene issues, cat smell, loud noises and the struggles of the offending restaurant owners. The narrative seemed to be subtly rationalizing that “the killing was an inevitable solution, we seek your understanding.” Hardly any media report mentioned how the ill-fated cats lived before their demise, or why there was such a significant population of stray animals at one of Saigon’s most prominent heritage buildings.

The trap Yến often uses to catch stray cats. This model is often used by animal activists in major metropolises around the world to capture stray cats as part of the Trap-Neuter-Release (TNR) program, designed to help curtail unsustainable cat reproduction.

In reality, the cruel poisoning incident is just the straw that broke the camel’s back, exemplifying the worsening conflict in a municipality that’s growing with both humans and animals. The controversy of whether apartment complexes should allow pets is still an ongoing debate. Who has the rights to determine if the pets can stay or must be evicted? And if eviction is due, where can they move to?

Furthermore, Saigon doesn’t have a dedicated animal control department, so is sorely lacking in sound measures to tackle roaming pets and strays. This mounting pressure gives rise to annoyance and hostility among those who don’t want to be near pets. When a tragedy happens, stray animals are nearly always brought up as a nuisance, or even malicious presence, while the root cause can be traced to human sensibility (or lack thereof), and the dilly-dallying of policymakers.

The tale of the Đồng Khởi strays is not an exception . “This apartment block has always housed cats. So many generations of residential heads have wanted to get rid of them, but never managed to,” Yến, who’s been there for 11 years, explains. “Cats might be frightened by people, but the mice here, they just hang out on your chair. After the cats moved in, the mice were all gone. Anybody who lives here knows that, they start feeding them too, and see them as members of the building.”

The corner where Yến often puts down food for the cats.

It’s hard to get a clear answer for the question of whether the furry residents are “permitted” to live there or not, but no one has the authority to provide for the strays either. So Yến and other cat-loving inhabitants took on the role of impromptu cat guardians: feeding them, hiring cleaning services, and getting them fixed as much as possible to maintain a balance somehow. The cats, to repay the hospitality, help with pest control and welcome new visitors. Even then, some residents were “heartless enough to kill my kids,” according to Yến.

To add insult to injury, even after the online furor, the perpetrators did not meet any punishment, administrative or otherwise, because harming stray animals is not penalized by local law. The cat overpopulation conundrum will not be addressed either, because that is a citywide issue that whatever happened to one building won’t have much sway over. “It only needs from three to six months for the cats from other neighborhoods to migrate over here. On the Nguyễn Huệ side, there are also many stray cats on the roofs. If the cats here die, they will take over,” Yến tells me.

A cat trap in its natural habitat.

Traumatized by the collective passing of their friends, the surviving cats retreated to the building's deepest nooks and crannies, making it difficult to rehome them. Only around 10 managed to escape death, but many of them will face a future full of hardships, even though they were rescued by kind Saigoneers.

Saved by an animal shelter, but is the work done?

“I have a default mindset before going in, knowing that they might not make it.”

From 151 Đồng Khởi, the cats who survived were received by Team16 in hopes to find loving homes for them. Established after another animal welfare crisis a while ago, Team16 is a grassroots nonprofit that operates “group homes” for unfortunate cats and dogs in Đà Nẵng, Hanoi, and Saigon.

“For sure, nearly every animal we rescue is sick with something! Blood parasites, feline infectious enteritis, feline infectious peritonitis, even amebiasis,” Quyên, head of the Saigon team, says of the strays’ health. “They are all highly fatal diseases, I know going in that they might not make it.”

Existing as a supposed stop before finding a forever home, shelters like Team16 tend to end up being the forever home for many strays. Elderly cats and those with matted fur, or deformed limbs rarely catch the eyes of adopters. According to Quyên, in the shelter’s one year of operation, only 10 managed to find new homes, amounting to less than a quarter of the intake. When we arrived for a visit, there were some tiny kittens just a few weeks old, shivering under heating lamps.

A kitten that was rescued recently.

Following a belief that “things should go in accordance with nature,” many Vietnamese don’t want to neuter their pets. A sexually mature female cat can deliver 2–3 litters a year, and not all owners have the humanity or resources to take care of every kitten instead of throwing them away. Widespread unplanned procreation has resulted in an exponential increase in stray cats that shelters have to rescue and care for. Thus, in the tiny 40-square-meter space of Team16 Saigon, many cats and dogs have to live together, sharing every surface, every litter box.

An apartment unit is clearly not an ideal location to host this many animals, but for many unofficial shelters with limited resources like Team16, this is their reality. Every month, the rent, the cost of food, cat litter, and veterinarian fees always keep their finances in the red.

The operation of shelters like Team16 relies heavily on donations, which could come in the form of pet food or money. Still, no matter how full the reserve is, it never stays that way for long. It only takes an infectious flare-up or one sack of kittens at their door for the surplus to quickly go into vaccination fees and vet treatments costing millions of đồng.

Finance is one thing, but caretakers must also sacrifice a lot of their own resources. For Quyên, running the shelter is a full-time job demanding all of her time and energy. It begins at 6am and ends late into the evening; sleepless nights are commonplace.

“Every cat rescue trip is a challenge. Sometimes we have to wait hours, climb, sprawl on the ground, use nets, our hands, using every means possible to get the cat home. My body is often full of scratches after a trip [...] There are also periods when I have to be available 24/7, because kittens can have sudden drops in body temperature. We try to close our eyes for 1–2 hours, but don’t dare to sleep, we’re afraid to wake up finding them dead.”

Like most people-run animal shelters, this kind of work is unpaid, but because of the label “rescue center,” some people assume the volunteers should be responsible for all situations brought to them.

Adult cats at Team16.

“When they see a stray cat on the street, some people just take some pictures and write a random Facebook post, and they complain when we can’t rescue it. Actually, everyone can take the initiative by bringing the cat home, taking them to the vet, doing as much as they can before pushing the work on shelters that are already looking after hundreds of other animals,” Quyên says.

Even with the hardships and annoyances, Quyên always tries to fill the tasks at the group home to the best of her ability. She believes that, while there are many animals out there going through abuse, starvation, extreme weather, at least the cats and dogs here have already been rescued. “They have enough food, wet food, kibbles, and they are healthy,” she explains. “Watching them play, doing crazy shits like this, it makes me happy.”

Still, Quyên reiterates that the ultimate home for the rambunctious bunch of furry friends frolicking around us is not an “orphanage” like this, but the loving arms of a family.

What to do to ensure that Saigon is no longer a town of strays?

“The owner doesn’t need to be rich, they just need to really love and be responsible for them.”

In the discourse surrounding animal rescue and welfare, we tend to center the conversation on activists like Yến and Quyên, who are the ones taking action and spending significant efforts to give stray animals a better life. However, members of the public can also play a crucial role in turning our hometown into a better living environment for every creature.

An example of one such person is the security guard at 151 Đồng Khởi, who decided to take in two kittens from Yến, after his usual feline friend died in the poisoning. With two bowls of fresh water, some kibble, and a ball he made from scrap paper that they could play with, he has turned a harrowing ground into a happy home for cats, as it once was and has always been. Those people could be the sweet ladies I met at the Tân Định Veterinarian Office — they go to the same temple and both adopted cats from a kind-hearted monk who rescued local strays. Their kitties were carried in shopping bags like toddlers.

Two kittens were adopted by the security guard at 151 Đồng Khởi.

Of course, legal frameworks and state-sanctioned animal control programs are the ultimate solutions that are sustainable in the long run. But at the moment, Saigon has engaged in no such discussions, and there are other apartments like Đồng Khởi that are ticking time bombs just waiting for a tragedy to spring up from brewing conflicts between pets, pet owners, their neighbors, and the buildings’ management.

In the meantime, what actions can be taken to help out?

For Nguyên Anh, providing support means opening up for more love. Not long ago, she adopted Xám, another survivor from the poisoning, from Team16. “I was really unsure because I am already keeping two [cats], but my emotions at the time were very powerful,” she explains.

Xám, who was lucky enough to escape the dire situation, now has a loving home.

“At the time I didn’t pick any specific cat, I just told them that I wanted to leave it to fate. Then, they sent me a photo of a bony, blemished, gray cat,” she recalls. From a sickly, worm-infested stray boy scavenging for food scraps, Xám became the youngest in a family of three.

“Xám has really bonded with his siblings. He’s quite shy, if his sister is sleeping somewhere, he will try to get close, but he doesn’t show much affection. Lately, he’s getting more handsome, with silkier fur, and a bright face. He hides less and is less afraid of humans.”

Heart-breaking incidents like 151 Đồng Khởi will recur as long as humans continue to exercise their privilege to execute animals when they no longer serve a purpose, but there are ways animal lovers can help shift popular beliefs.

“What the community can do right now is speak up more, so the awareness has a chance to spread, so we can cultivate more good deeds in our society. Everyone can form their own rescue center at home to save unfortunate animals they encounter. That’s the only thing I know to do.”

Perhaps, if each of us can do one small thing like that, at the end of their existence on Earth, each cat — stray or pet — will have been happy and loved.

Dedicated to Noir and Muối Tiêu, the loves of Uyên Đỗ’s life. Graphics by Hannah Hoàng, Mỡ’s mum.

Readers can provide assistance to the operation of Team16 through their Facebook page here.

Saigon Extends Notre-Dame Cathedral Renovation by 4 Years to 2027

2022-08-08T11:00:00+07:00

Originally scheduled for completion in 2020 and then delayed once to 2023, repairs to the Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon's roof, windows, flooring, exterior and core wooden structure are now expected to be finished in 2027.

COVID-19 resulted in a prolonged work stoppage and extended delays for imported materials, which prompted the updated timeline, according to Lâm Ngô Hoàng Anh, head of the Ho Chi Minh City Department of Culture and Sport. He explained that until the revamp is finished, the garish scaffolding and unsightly barricades will remain, an onerous blight on the city center.

City officials first announced the refurbishment aspirations in 2015, though work only began in 2017. At the time, it was expected to cost US$4.4 million (VND100 billion), but the most recent predictions put the total bill at US$5.98 million (VND140 billion).

In 2018, the original timeline for the project was pushed back from 2020 to 2023 because damage was found to be more extensive than originally thought. While church services have continued during the construction, it is closed to tourists. That, however, doesn't stop vandals from defacing it with graffiti.

As of 2020, half of the work on the roof was complete, although the majority of restoration tasks remain for the interior. Some scaffolding was removed from the sides of the building at the time, allowing viewers to witness the changes.

Nothing about the iconic structure seems to be timely. Its first brick was laid in 1877 and it opened to the public in 1880, but its spires were not added until 1895. Until now, the church has not seen any significant reconstruction efforts.

[Photo by Hải Long via Soha]

Nearly 50% of Produce Sampled at Saigon Wholesale Markets Contains Pesticide Residues

2022-07-29T10:00:00+07:00

Nearly 50% samples of fruits and vegetables gathered from Saigon wholesale markets were found to contain pesticide residues, while significant amounts of seafood tested positive for dangerous metals and banned antibiotics.

Representatives offered the troubling findings at a conference to present six years of work by the Ho Chi Minh City Food Safety Management Board. Specifically, pesticides such as carbendazim, permethrin and imidacloprid were discovered on 271 out of 570 produce samples taken from three different wholesale markets in Saigon. Heavy metals, particularly cadmium, were found to exceed permitted levels in 42% of seafood samples while banned antibiotics were found in 37% of seafood tested.

The HCMC Department of Industry and Trade reports that approximately 70% of Saigon's daily food supply comes from wholesale markets, of which there are three major facilities in the area. The frightening numbers may point to larger problems, as critics of the investigations claim that too few samples were taken of the more than 6,500 tons of agricultural products that arrive at the markets each night, and thus significant amounts of infected foodstuffs cannot be removed from the supply chain.

Agencies simply lack the resources to examine more items. Moreover, the length of time it takes to receive test results makes the process ineffective for capturing tainted products.

Saigon residents have long professed food safety concerns stemming from a lack of transparency in production and distribution, as well as minimal oversight at points of sale and preparation. Standards and compliance efforts have been minimally enforced despite various proposed labeling and inspection schemes, including making all items traceable to points of origin. The concerns about chemicals in Vietnam's raw and prepared foods have spread to international markets as well, including a recent high-profile recall of beloved Vietnamese instant noodles in Europe.

Following the release of the report, the Agro-Forestry-Fisheries Quality Control Department under the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development requested the Food Safety Management Board of HCMC to re-assess the findings in fear of the impact on export prices and demands.

Over the past six years, documented instances of food poisoning have affected 185 people and resulted in seven deaths. During the same time period, inspectors visited 327,554 establishments around the city, recording violations at 36,953 of them. Authorities recently proposed upgrading the Food Safety Management Board into a department to better surveil, test and inspect food.

[Photo is only for illutrative purpose and does not reflect the subject mentioned in the article]

Tân Sơn Nhất Airport's New Terminal Will Have Áo Dài-Inspired Design

2022-07-19T11:00:00+07:00

After years of existing on paper, Tân Sơn Nhất’s third terminal (T3) has slowly materialized in the form of visual renderings.

On July 14, the Airports Corporation of Vietnam (AVC) confirmed with local media that the assessment council for the T3 project has decided to move forward with a design inspired by áo dài, the national costume.

After greenlighting the blueprint, ACV is currently going through the bidding process to prepare to break ground on the terminal in the third quarter of 2022. According to rendered visuals, the concourse of T3 will feature a curvy roof and a hollow commercial complex for shopping and dining.

A closeup of the commercial complex.

With a designed capacity of 20 million passengers per year, T3’s completion is hoped to cushion the massive delays and congestion plaguing T1 and T2, both of which currently operate well above their thresholds. ACV will be the sole investor of the new terminal, shelling out nearly VND11 trillion (US$469 million). Construction on T3 is expected to finish in 37 months.

The central government recently requested that the military, which oversees the land T3 will be built on, hand over 16.05 hectares of airport ground to ensure that construction can begin this quarter.

It's expected that the terminal will take 37 months to complete.

In 2022, with domestic tourism in full swing and international tourism steadily picking up, Tân Sơn Nhất International Airport has consistently recorded booming numbers of travelers. This June, it’s estimated that over 3.4 million passengers went through Tân Sơn Nhất, a twenty-fold increase compared to last year, which was heavily impacted by the pandemic.

Plans to build T3 have been discussed since 2018 when ACV extrapolated that by 2025, Tân Sơn Nhất will reach an annual passenger load of 45 million a year, while T1 and T2 were already overloaded at 28 million travelers a year in total. The airport's current designed capacity is 25 million passengers per year.

An overhead rendering of T3.

Terminal gates and jetways.

The terminal's exit routes.

The departure lounge.

Arriving at the departure terminal.

Baggage carousels.

[Images via VnExpress]

At Saigon's Oldest Ornamental Fish Market, Fish Are Friends, Not Food

2022-07-14T10:00:00+07:00

It is a street, not a river, that comes to mind when people talk about vibrant fish in Saigon. Located in District 5, Lưu Xuân Tín Street is only approximately 500 meters long, but it is home to dozens of aquarium businesses.

From just a few stores at the beginning, Lưu Xuân Tín is now home to rows of aquarium supply shops. Photo by Đỗ Anh Chương.

The short thoroughfare is more than 40 years old, known amongst enthusiasts as the oldest street for ornamental fish in the city.

The street entrance. Photo by Đỗ Anh Chương.

Lưu Xuân Tín Street is not only a well-known place for commerce, but it is also a popular tourist destination in District 5. Aquarium aficionados in Saigon and merchants from all around Vietnam come here to buy aquatic pets and fish-keeping items.

“There were only a few stores when I initially visited, then more and more [appeared]. Fish dealers gradually took up residence here, transforming it into an actual market,” Đặng Thị Thủy, a local beverage vendor, tells me. She has been selling refreshments here since 1992.

Cô Thủy runs the street's refreshment stop. Photo by Trần Duy Minh.

Traders often sit around her drink stall to conduct business. “My place is kind of a gathering point for aquarium businesses,” she proudly shares.

Fish merchants discuss their trade and prepare fish for customers right on the street. Photo by Trần Duy Minh.

Many merchants who do not have brick-and-mortar stores here cut fish deals on the street. “I don't have a store and I sell aquarium fish wholesale,” Phạm Kiều Oanh, an aquarium fish merchant, says. “I've been doing this for nearly 30 years.”

Tank maintenance is a constant task at these ornamental fish stores. Photos by Trần Duy Minh.

In the beginning, Oanh started her business by selling feeder fishes here. Then her trading network grew bigger, and she started selling aquarium fish wholesale.

Apart from aquatic animals, shops also sell a range of knick-knacks so customers can decorate their tanks any way they see fit. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

While there are no official business hours, Lưu Xuân Tín Street is open every day from as early as 4am to as late as 5pm. Traders, buyers, and sellers arrive on the street early in the morning to start a new working day.

Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

“I come here to work every day between 4 and 8am. I eat breakfast and have a cup of coffee here, then I meet with the buyers and direct my employees to deliver the fish to fulfill the orders,” Oanh shares.

Fish nets for fish, not fish nets for humans. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

Oanh previously worked as an embroiderer. Her older brother then introduced her to the aquarium fish industry. She and her husband are both working in the ornamental fish market, which provides the majority of their family's income.

Trays of aquatic plants. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

“This business does not make me rich, but it allows me to live well and support my family. I'm 57 years old now. No one wants to hire me because I am too elderly, this business is a good fit for me,” she says.

Scores of vivid fish species are available for purchase here. Photos by Đỗ Anh Chương.

Oanh runs an aquarium fish farm from her house in District 8. She returns home to take care of the fish when she's not on the street cutting deals and confirming orders.

Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

“Every day, I take care of the fish as if they were my children. I have been engaged in this business for a long time, and I love it. I don't want to change to another job,” Oanh says.

Goldfish in giant bags on the pavement. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

While the formation of this "aquarium street" was a spontaneous development, its existence has brought about positive impacts on the livelihood of Saigoneers living in the area, whether they are directly involved in the ornamental fish trade.

“I started my business here when I was 28 years old, and I am now 60 years old. My drink stall has many regulars and is well-visited. Thus, my life is nice and stable,” Thủy claims.

Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên and Đỗ Anh Chương.

Even when she is not present, her regulars frequently come to get drinks on their own and then settle their "tab" later. "I don't have to worry about my drink stand, and I sometimes just leave it there to let it run on its own," she says with a smile.

Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

Thủy has been selling drinks on this street for so long that she has gained a lot of knowledge about the aquarium trade here. When new dealers arrive, she is always happy to help out.

Aquatic plants to be grown in tanks. Photo by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

"I often advise newcomers on how to buy aquarium fish cheaply and efficiently here," she explains. "I love this street because everyone here is cordial. We love and support each other whether we are buyers or sellers, rich or poor."

What is this? Houses for fish? Photos by Lê Thái Hoàng Nguyên.

For some long-term members of Lưu Xuân Tín's little fishy enclave, the street has become much more than just a location to set up shop and gain an income.

A budding fish-keeper accompanies their dad on his morning fish run. Photo by Trần Duy Minh.

"This place is like my second family, and the people here are like my family members. Talking with them is pleasant and fun. The time I spend here is the happiest of my day," Oanh shares.

Saigon Police Want Nhậu Eateries to Report Drunk Customers Who Try to Drive

2022-07-11T14:00:00+07:00

Now that public gathering is no longer a health hazard, Saigon’s drunk driving epidemic is back in full swing.

Starting from July 5, the Hàng Xanh Traffic Police Squad embarked on a campaign to curb drunk driving using a number of measures, including seeking collaboration from local nhậu eateries. The squad joined the Bình Thạnh District Police Station to meet with restaurant owners on Phạm Văn Đồng Street, as Thanh Niên reports.

The major urban artery is one of many nhậu hot spots targeted by the initiative. In addition to Huỳnh Tấn Phát Street in District 7, both play host to numerous casual drinking spots that open from the early evening until as late as the next morning.

Hàng Xanh Police provided traffic safety brochures, informed eatery staff about dangerous blood alcohol levels, and distributed banners about the ramifications of driving under the influence for nhậu restaurants to hang on the premises.

The officers also requested that owners contact local ward police or the Hàng Xanh Police in cases where drunk patrons insist on driving home. This call for action has sparked discussion online regarding whether it’s realistic to depend on proprietors to rat out their customers.

Vũ Ngọc Lăng, the former director of the Traffic Safety Agency, told Tuổi Trẻ in an interview that eateries should have other measures to protect their clientele’s safety before contacting law enforcement. He suggested tasking employees with driving intoxicated patrons and their vehicle home, or asking their relatives to come pick them up.

According to Ken, who owns an ốc restaurant on Phạm Văn Đồng, he encourages diners to leave bikes at the restaurant and helps them book a cab or an app-based ride. “I will put the banner up and give a 10% discount to guests who arrive on xe ôm or taxi to encourage them to use public transportation,” he explained.

Some other proprietors, however, remain skeptical as few want to risk customer loyalty. N.Đ.V., who owns a nhậu place on Phạm Văn Đồng, explained to Tuổi Trẻ in an interview: “Calling the traffic police on customers that just drank at their place is hard to be done, I think. Even though some might sign an agreement to do so, that’s just signing for the sake of signing.”

Nhậu culture is a prevalent aspect of nightlife in Vietnam and Saigon, so drunk driving continues to be a leading cause of accidents on local roads. Lao Động cites statistics from the National Traffic Safety Committee showing that about 40% of all traffic accidents and 11% of traffic fatalities involve alcohol. Moreover, over 90% of those deaths are male, while the age group 15–29 accounts for nearly 60% of all accident-related deaths.

In an effort to curtail drunk driving, starting from 2020, Vietnam expanded the parameter for DUI penalties to any detectable blood alcohol level and all types of vehicles, including bicycles.

Saigon Zoo Starts Making Chemical-Free Paper From Elephant Poo

2022-07-05T12:00:00+07:00

One kilogram of elephant dung yields about 20 sheets of paper for use in Saigon schools.

VnExpress reports that since February, the Saigon Zoo has begun recycling 3–5 kilograms of pachyderm poop every weekend to educate local youths about the importance of environmental preservation. Schools requesting the paper have used it for painting and making cards.

"This is still experimental and no machinery is used. We do it manually and not for profit, so we only make several dozen paper sheets at a time," explains Mai Khắc Trung Trực, director of the Saigon Zoo and Botanical Garden. The zoo's elephants produce approximately 500 kilograms of feces a day, which previously was all disposed of or used as manure.

The dung is hand-washed at least seven times, boiled at 200°C for two hours, dried in the sun, and then mixed with water, tapioca starch and paper pulp before being placed in molds and dried for eight more hours. The elephant's diet of sugar cane and grass means their waste has minimal odor, though paper quality varies depending on the individual and what it ate.

Zoo staff holding the elephant poop paper after drying. Photo by Quỳnh Trần via VnExpress.

Other countries have started experimenting with using dung from elephants and other animals for electricity. Observers of the Saigon Zoo's efforts have suggested they increase their production to sell as souvenirs as a way to increase profits for the cash-strapped park.

The quaint story of turds-turned-paper is a pleasant piece of PR following the zoo making international headlines when a viral video surfaced showing one of the resident orangutans smoking a cigarette thrown into its enclosure by a visitor.

All Aboard Bus 146, Home of Plushies, Rubber Chickens and a Side of Humanity

2022-06-24T14:00:00+07:00

“Cute” doesn’t seem like a fitting descriptor for any mode of public transport, but a bus in Saigon is driving straight into the heart of Saigoneers for being the quintessence of “smotheringly adorable.”

At Saigon’s Eastern Station, commonly known to locals as Bến xe miền Đông, picking up and dropping off passengers is a daily ritual for bus operators. The terminal, one of the busiest transport hubs in the south, is where millions of residents embark on their daily commute.

For many of these travelers, especially the more veteran ones, participating in Vietnam’s mass transit system, though frugal and practical, is often a cumbersome experience due to the eternal lack of funding and human resources. Instances where buses bypass traffic laws, or where staff harangues passengers, have become the norm and triggered further stigmatization among the public.

But against all odds, a delightful presence continues to defy expectations by hitting the streets with grace. Lovingly nicknamed the “plushies bus” by locals, Bus 146 offers carnival-like rides to counter the gridlock’s chaos and inhospitality with its own brand of kindness.

At 9:30am sharp, the bus departs from the Eastern Station to head towards Hiệp Thành Station in District 12. The Saigoneer crew was greeted by chú Phạm Ngọc Tuyền and chú Phạm Văn Sang — men in their middle ages whose look and voice just exude a fatherly comfort. By striking up a conversation with the two, I learned that they had been friends long before becoming colleagues. Tuyền bought the bus and takes the wheel, while Sang is in charge of selling tickets and keeping the place neat and tidy.

When the pandemic broke out two years ago and the route’s ridership declined, Sang began to have more downtime when the bus arrived early at the station. He would spend his extended breaks and pocket change at the claw machines in the waiting room as a way to unwind after a long journey. But unlike the majority of players who might struggle to luck out, Sang was a master of chance. The machine’s plushie reservoir fell slowly into the conductor’s arms every time he played (VND10,000 each time) and the cuddly toys became decorative trophies with a life of their own on Bus 146.

Sitting at the rear entrance and plucking out colorful tickets for those who just entered, Sang says to me: “It was for my own entertainment at first, but the bus ended up looking prettier with them. The passengers seemed to love the idea too, so I went ahead with it. All of the stuffed animals that I get from the machines I hang here.” Over time, the bus has accumulated more than 100 toy residents that reside at different corners — hanging on the handles, by the window frames, and behind seats. The vehicle’s rigid interior softens where it meets the cushiony touch of a chubby duck or minion, which blithely swung back and forth with every stop and turn the bus makese while dodging a swerving motorbike

Steady in his driver’s seat, Tuyền watched over the steering wheel. Tuyền admitted that he isn’t much of an arcade ace like his long-time partner, but ensured that he is just as “obsessed with plushies.” As far as the man is concerned, having what essentially is a moving castle full of stuffed toys is “mad cool.” It makes the dozen-kilometer-long trips that he takes daily a bit less daunting for him, he says.

Having traveled for some distance, it dawned on me that the ambiance on Bus 146 did in fact feel more amicable than my usual commute. For so many people, taking a bus in Vietnam means enduring wobbly seats and racing to get on and off a vehicle that moves at the velocity of a rollercoaster. But the plushie bus takes its time to enjoy the ride, whether the wheels are rolling or not.

At every station, the duo would come to a complete halt until all passengers, especially seniors, have safely boarded, and welcomed them with pleasantries, a rare commodity in the world of public service. The bus also moves at a relatively slow speed, so passengers can sit back and fancy a view of the curated plushies, rather than holding on for dear life every time the bus hits a pothole.

Most importantly, there is no need to live out an introvert’s nightmare by crying out from the top of their lungs “Please let me get off here!” as the operators have installed a rubber chicken to serve as a makeshift bell. One only needs to “cock-a-doodle-do” from the rear, and the driver would “cock-a-doodle-doo” in response to confirm the stop.

Like other modes of public transport, the majority of Bus 146’s passengers are students, blue-collar workers, and the elderly. Some actually prefer traveling on the bus so much that they have made a point to save Tuyền and Sang as phone contacts.

"Squish squish."

“Some students will call me to ask where my bus is because they want to catch it specifically. I always tell them to ‘take whichever arrives first,’ but they say that they ‘have time to spare’ and wait out for the toys,” Sang recounts. Some of them even gift the bus with more stuffed animals to help sustain the "population."

But Sang and Tuyền are determined to give back by giving the plushies away, both because they like to keep a fresh rotation and because they see the young passengers “as grandchildren of their own.” During rush hour when it’s common to have 40–50 students pour in all at once, Sang improvises by having a raffle. Whoever’s ticket serial numbers match the ones of Sang’s choosing will go home with a toy from the bus. “I want them to make some good memories. So I give them what they like,” he reasons.

But more than just toys and games, I suppose the best memories on Bus 146 are from the kind hearts that operate it. Be it a student, street vendor, or casual traveler, people are treated with respect and human decency that we don’t realize has been missing for so long.

It is the cheery smile that Sang and Tuyền put on their faces; the small talk about just anything they have with passengers; the way the bus doesn’t budge until older riders have been seated; and the “no cussing" policy that the two adopted because they staunchly believe that "people don’t deserve to be bullied just because they are traveling on concessionary fares."

As I bid goodbye to Tuyền and Sang to return to my office, they insisted on dropping me off at a station with shade so I wouldn’t have to stand under the sun. Bus 146’s silhouette got smaller and then disappeared as it merged into the flow of traffic, continuing to attract curious looks from passersby. Perhaps like me, many of them boarded the plushie bus with that same curiosity, only to leave knowing that the cutest things were, in fact, its people.

In a D6 Hẻm, Saigon's Last Remaining Broom-Making 'Village'

2022-06-13T14:00:00+07:00

Nestled in a hẻm on Phạm Phú Thứ Street, District 6 is Saigon’s last remaining broom-making village.

Making your way into Hẻm 129, you’ll immediately notice that a whole stretch of the alley is completely coated in the golden yellow of grass stalks. These belong to a grass species called đót (Thysanolaena latifolia), commonly grown in dry regions of Vietnam and across Asia. The rustle of đót bundles, the clinking of hammers, and the zipping of strings conjure up a particular scene that even a long-term Saigoneer like myself has never witnessed.

The nimble hands of broom-makers.

According to local history, this “craft village” was formed half a century ago by Quảng Ngãi immigrants and has endured until now. Broom weavers ship in đót stalks from Quảng Ngãi and Gia Lai provinces, often sold by gatherers from ethnic minorities.

Back then, chổi đót was a popular household item thanks to its convenience and Saigon’s high demand. Hẻm workers share that once upon a time they received many bulk orders from overseas, including Singapore and the US.

Technological advancements gradually pushed the broom weavers into instability. Buying a plastic broom or even a vacuum cleaner is easy these days, and brands offer inviting warranty policies. Making brooms is no longer lucrative, especially when each only sells for VND20,000–50,000.

A worker processes đót stalks, which shed yellow dust everywhere in the hẻm.

To create a broom, there are many steps requiring significant effort. First, the maker must select a high-quality bundle of grass to strip into thinner strings and separate into small bundles. A few stalks in the bundle are purposely left longer to be the broom handle.

Skilled weavers take the task of stripping the stalks and bundling.

The feet of a weaver are often covered in plant debris.

Then, around 20 small bundles are tied together to become a big bundle, also called a rough broom bundle. From this point, the bundle will be reinforced with plastic ribbons to form a handle, hammered to create a flat shape for sweeping, and trimmed so the bristles have the same length.

Trần Thị Thu Hồng, owner of the alley’s largest workshop, shares: “Some people have looked into machines to automate the broom-making process, but the nature of this craft is hands-on. Only by holding the broom in your hands can you know if the bundle is tight or loose, even or uneven.”

Left: Trimming is usually reserved for male workers. Right: Small bundles are tied together using zinc wires.

The tightening process is a combination of technique and swiftness.

Because broom-making is such a labor-intensive craft, it’s tiring and can have negative health impacts for weavers. You only need to look at their hands and feet, filled with a criss-cross of scars, to know how long these artisans have been in the trade. One tells me: “The yellow dust sticks to your nails for a long time, even when I trim my nails, it’s still yellow when it grows back.” For those in charge of the wire-cutting step, scrapes and bruises are a daily occurrence.

Creating a tight, elegant, golden-yellow broom is an arduous and dusty process for makers.

Finished products ready to beautify people’s homes.

Many broom-makers tell me that, because of this extremely hard work and low pay, they would never want to pass the trade down to younger generations. Thus, it’s likely that these photos might be the last time we see this “broom village” in Saigon before it goes away with its generation of weavers.

Saigon Restaurant Faces Boycott Over Gruesome Poisoning of Stray Cats

2022-05-30T12:00:30+07:00

Over the past week, animal lovers in Saigon were shocked to learn of a deliberate poisoning aimed at stray cats living in a local apartment complex.

In an interview with Zing, Hải Yến, who owns a business at the old apartment building at 151 Đồng Khởi Street, District 1, confirmed that she and other inhabitants have spotted numerous dead cats due to suspected poisoning. As of last Saturday, it was estimated that over 20 stray cats had died.

“I have worked here for 11–12 years. The area used to have a rat problem, but it was taken care of after the stray cats appeared,” she explained in Vietnamese. “Most residents are fine with their [the cats] presence here and we feed them every day. Last Saturday, seeing them die en masse due to poison, we were heartbroken and frustrated.”

T., another resident in the apartment building, told the news source that her brother-in-law was the person who collected the bodies of the poisoned cats. She also expressed grief at the passing of the many cats whom she had fed and played with over the years.

Team 16, an independent cat shelter and rescue group, told Zing that so far they had taken in 4–5 cats who managed to avoid the mass killing. “Many mother cats died, leaving behind their litter. We’re trying to find them because we fear they might be next,” Vũ, a Team 16 representative, said. “A few days ago, we managed to save a pregnant cat, and she recently gave birth safely.”

It was unclear last week how the poisonings happened, though on Saturday, May 28, the owner of The Olive Steakhouse, a restaurant in the same complex, admitted to placing the poison via a post on the business’ Facebook page.

“I admit that I have wronged them [the cats], there’s no word that can absolve my actions, and I deserve to receive everyone’s harsh words,” the post reads. “I hope that I have a chance to make up for my mistake. To improve the lives of unfortunate cats, we want to make a donation to the shelter with sincerity.”

According to the post, the owner had been annoyed by the poor hygiene in the building due to cat excrement for a while, though efforts to tackle the problem in collaboration with other tenants had allegedly been unfruitful.

“I had never had a pet and was not aware of rescue groups, so I didn’t reach out to the right organization to help,” the owner writes. “Because of long-term exhaustion and stress, I acted stupidly, negatively, and recklessly.”

The Olive Steakhouse officially opened in January 2018, but had to temporarily close in 2021 due to the pandemic. The owner told Zing in a separate interview that the stray cats have been in the building for years, but the hygiene issues weren’t as bad. After the restaurant reopened this February, the stray population increased, and so did the smell problems.

While it’s unclear if the restaurant is still operating at this time, netizens in Vietnam have started a campaign to call for a boycott, spearheaded by prominent animal activists and rescue groups.

[Photo: The facade of 151 Đồng Khởi in 2015/Photo via Blogspot user whereisfatboy]

Saigon Plans to Add 10ha of Public Parks by End of 2022

2022-05-26T11:00:00+07:00

The additional parks are part of a goal to have 3–4 square meters of green space per Saigon resident by 2030.

The Ho Chi Minh City People's Committee issued a plan for the remainder of 2022 to establish 10 additional hectares of public parks and two hectares of green space, as well as to plant and rehabilitate 6,000 trees.

The city also requested lists be made for the Department of Natural Resources and Environment detailing public land plots that are zoned for parks but currently used for other purposes so roadmaps can be outlined for transforming them into green spaces.

By 2025, the city aims to add at least 150 hectares of public parks and 10 hectares of public green spaces as part of a 10-year plan ending in 2030. The aim is to get the average area of public parkland and green space in 2030 to 1 square meter and 3–4 square meters per resident, respectively.

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), it's recommended that urbanites have access to at least 0.5–1 hectare of public green space within 300 meters of their home. While this might be the case for some neighborhoods in District 1, 7, or other new residential enclaves, older districts in Saigon are in dire need of green space.

While Saigon recently revamped the park at Bạch Đằng Wharf and is moving ahead with plans to return Lê Lợi Boulevard to an accessible stretch of the city, few specific locations for increased green space have been offered.

While admirable, the plan to 'green' Saigon faces significant obstacles, specifically the high demand for urban real estate. Developers have long sought more of the valuable land in and around Saigon, while other interests for space include addressing the city's woeful parking situation.