Having lived in Saigon for two years now, I’ve been to my share of bars, restaurants, and cafes in the city. There’s plenty to choose from. Whether it’s the roadside cơm tấm joint serving up what continues to be in my eyes the perfect meal, or the stylish wine bar in Thảo Điền where after the third glass you begin to look around and wonder: Is this even Vietnam?
The truth is, Saigon’s got it all and it all feels so accessible. Growing up in Tokyo, there’s always been a part of me that’s never been able to fathom just how massive the city is, just how metropolitan and impossible it can sometimes be. Saigon’s never had that problem. Sure, twenty cafes can be stacked one on top of the other like a never ending game of Jenga, but driving around you still feel like if you really wanted to, you could try a different place for every day of the week and somehow begin to piece together the puzzle that is this city. Though I’m still unravelling the mystery, during the past two years I’ve come across a few places that have captured and held my attention, so much so that even though I want to discover what else is lurking down that alleyway, past that corner, I can’t help but come back to them.
Neo is one of them. If you look up Neo- on Google maps, it lists itself as an art cafe. There may be no better description for the spot, as, for those of you who’ve been, the four-storey building is as much of a feast for your taste buds as it is for the eyes. I don’t remember the first time I went to Neo, but whenever I think about it I can’t help but picture the way it’s lit. The lamps in the second-floor cafe space let off a playful mishmash of colours that reminds me of being back in Shibuya as a teen, staring up at all the neon billboards and marveling at how they danced like the galaxy.
Of course, Neo’s so much more than good lighting. It’s one of those places that seems to have a finger on the pulse of the city, always a few steps ahead, always hosting events where the coolest kids in town come around to enjoy a few craft beers on the rooftop, all the while the sun sets on the rest of the city. Who knows why it’s got so much charm, why it’s so beloved, but if art is a reflection of the artist then surely Neo must be a reflection of its owner. That guy is Cheeky, or, Tuan. While no one likes stereotypes as they’re much too easy, when I think of Cheeky I can’t help but picture him as that class clown back in high school, popular with everyone. Of course he’s friendly—as are most Vietnamese—but more than that he always just seems to be enjoying himself. He’s got zero pretense, likes what he likes (art + music + drinking and having a good time?), and he’s essentially built a business that’s an extension of all the above. How can you fault someone like that? That’s the dream, really. Some people are living theirs.
So what about a day at Neo? That’s the title, right? What happened, what’s the story? Well, it wasn’t anything special. A Thursday off from English teaching and I didn’t have any freelancing work so I decided why not, why not leave the house and spend a few hours in the city? Neo came to mind, mainly because of the Radler beer I’d had a week or so prior. I might not know much about craft beer but what I do know is that stuff’s deadly—Have one pint and before you know if you’ve gotten through your fourth. Off I went then, straight to Neo, parking my bike in the garage looked after by the security guard who also takes care of a family of cats and dogs. He always seems to be caring for another kitten, another puppy. Up the stairs to the third floor cafe where Cheeky sat with two people, eating and having some juice. There were some others in the room: two Vietnamese girls who looked like university students, a foreign girl with a tattoo on her right arm, reading a book. I sat in the far corner, next to the vinyl collection and for the next two hours struggled between working and finding myself so distracted by the music I had to use what little discipline I had to keep from losing myself in the groove. A few hours of that before I went up to the rooftop, had a Radler and read a bit more of White Teeth by Zadie Smith. What a book. What a day. Went home with a slight buzz as the sun set on the city, turning the sky a deep red as if whoever was upstairs had smashed up a thousand strawberries and thrown them out to waste. A day at Neo. I’ll have many more. I’ll have nights there, too, drinking one Radler, two, find myself looking around at some point and thinking: How’d I get so lucky? But that’s how it goes, I suppose. Sometimes things work out better than you’d expected.
