July 2023 - Tan Son Nhat Airport:
The moment the plane touched down, I felt every pore on my body open up.
The air was hot, humid, and sticky.
The sunshine was a little too bright—it hurt my eyes.
I got out of the airport, looked at the endless flow of motorbikes in the city, and felt a tangle of emotions expanding in my chest.
And I saw my family waving at me.
I’m home!
That was me 2 years ago.
A girl who was born and raised in Saigon, lived abroad in France for 6 years and then came back.
Suddenly the city seemed like a stranger to me.
Had it silently been changing while I was away?
Or perhaps, I had.
I was never really a fan of routines. However, growing up in Saigon, I followed the perfect schedule as most of the kids here: school, city streets, home.
On my way to school, the scents of different breakfasts would awaken my boiling stomach - bánh mì, xôi, cơm tấm - I could just pick one depending on my craving of the day. The whole process took me less than 5 minutes: finding a food stand, stopping by, ordering and then paying. Early at 6:30am on Go Vap’s streets, people would always see a smiley happy girl with her favorite breakfast riding her motorbike to school.
Her vehicle blended in the chaotically organized flow of traffic, sometimes slipping through a yellow light. To that happy Saigonese girl, the noise and the honking were just background static to the songs she was humming along to while driving.
After school, she could just take a tour in the nearest street and order a cà phê sữa đá, watching people while the coffee dripped from the phin, and landed perfectly on the silky layer of condensed milk.
Bitter. Sweet. Icy.
She could have that perfect explosion of flavors from a random café among dozens of others in the neighborhood.
Then she came home, with her mom’s exquisite cooking waiting for her to dig in, while telling a thousand random stories that had happened throughout the day.
And that was her perfect routine.
August 2017 - 13 hours flight away from Saigon:
The air was chill, dry and clear.
There were green trees everywhere, a few cars strolling at 7:00am on the streets, respectfully stopping at the yellow light and no honking. People already had breakfast at home since nothing was open at 6:30 in the morning, except for some bakery shops. Hot black coffee was drunk directly from tiny small cups, sometimes with added sugar. People walked slowly and enjoyed their own space and time.
Now amongst them, I started to miss the spontaneous breakfast I used to have at 6:30, the vibrant colors of motorbike helmets, and the chaotic streams of vehicles flowing in different directions. There were days that all the fanciest lattes with all of the magnificent milk foam, just couldn’t replace that icy, bittersweet taste of my cà phê sữa đá after school.
Right there, I captured the sense of culture, not as long lived traditions or customs, but as something that lives in small, sensory details.
July 2023 - Back where it all started
In the first few days returning to Saigon, I caught myself bouncing between “Hey, this is how it felt like when I was a kid” and “Dang, this is not what I remember of my city.” Everything felt louder, faster and more intense. It was fascinating and scary at the same time. The hues appeared richer, more alive. Yet the streams of vehicles and the constant honking just kept getting on my nerves.
At some points, I felt ashamed of being annoyed.
I could almost feel the judging eyes of that cheerful little girl who hummed random songs to the background static of Saigon. Have I lost my Saigon identity? I questioned.
But then, a funny thing happened.
I felt a sense of relief. That mix of annoyance and shame slowly turned into something exciting and pleasant. My ears began to notice the endearing qualities of the morning sounds. Vendors chatting. Birds chirping. Coffee dripping. And even funky honking. Here, there, everywhere things began to feel different.
Beyond that, the way the cơm tấm lady called me “Cưng” also put a big smile on my face.
I’d put all of that into a lofi song and name it “Sài Gòn".
At this point, I identify myself as a tourist in my own city.
And what do tourists do?
Tourists feel amazed by viewing the city with fresh eyes. They look up. They pay attention to small details. They ask questions. They follow curiosity instead of routine.
The Saigon Central Post Office or the Opera House was never an attractive spot for me when going out, since I was born here. To me and to most Saigonese, these places are for tourists. We have better local places to go—why go to a place that only foreigners are interested in? Anyways, They are going to be there many years later anyways, we tell ourselves.
How many Parisians thought the same about Notre Dame Cathedral? Those who never set foot inside the place to witness the breathtaking charm of one of the most visited monuments in the world. And then, on a spring day in April 2019, they were devastated to see the Cathedral being taken over by the bursting fire. It was only then they realized that they might not be able to see one of the world’s most precious works of art for many years following.
That moment served as a big lesson for me. I wanted to break that curse of postponing exploring my own city.
I went to the Post Office, visited The Reunification Palace, and others. Standing inside these public gems, I had never felt more proud of being a Saigonese.
We all can be tourists in our own city once in a while.
Taking a different route to work.
Visiting one tourist attraction per month.
Eating at a place where you’ve been always saying to yourself “Maybe next time!”
Or, just like Garrett, one of the three members of District 0, taking your bike and exploring the other side of the city that you’ve never been to.
Being away for so many years and coming back has put Saigon and its features under a whole new light to me.
After experiencing the cold, harsh, gloomy winter for months, I’m happy now sweating in the sun.
Being back, I don’t take for granted the warm welcome and bright smiles of the people here.
The happy tourist in me walks more slowly, looks more closely and feels more deeply.
Maybe we don’t need to be in a different place to experience something new. Maybe during our daily moments, we need to look up, pay attention, ask questions, and follow our curiosity more than our routine. Maybe all we need is to act like a traveler in our own city.
