Who knows how I stumbled across Van Thanh swimming pool. But that’s what happens. One day you’re in Saigon, it’s hot, you’re sweaty, and you’re wondering where you could go for a swim without having to wake up early in the morning for that two hour drive to Vũng Tàu. You look through Google Maps, ask a friend, but still no luck. So you continue dreaming of the beach, dreaming of palm trees and an ice cold mojito where the condensation rolls off the glass—drips—onto your belly as you lay your head back on the lounger and drift to the lapping waves. Maybe there is no such thing in Saigon? Maybe you’ve got no choice, pack the swimsuit, book, and tanning lotion for that weekend getaway even if you’ve heard Vũng Tàu is just o-kay. But then you come across the name: Van Thanh Swimming Pool. From the reviews and pictures it ticks all the boxes so checking the clock and realising how much precious sun you’ve wasted trying to find a pool, you hop on your bike to speed off.
That scenario was pretty much how I found Van Thanh. I went for the first time roughly six months into the city and the discovery elevated my Saigonese experience in a way only a few others had back then. I still remember parking my bike outside the Van Thanh Tourist Park, walking up and nodding at the smiling security guard outside. Passing under the gate, laughter and the clink of glasses came from a group to my left. They were dining under a gazebo jutting out onto the Saigon River. Further down, the place looked like a postcard from the countryside: red-bricked open-air buildings, coconut trees, and flower gardens with blooms of all colours. The space felt magical. It reminded me of Luang Prabang in Laos, that Buddhist city nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers that put me in a dream-like state for the three nights I spent there.
The swimming pool was near the end. Paying the fee, I gave the ticket to another happy worker wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt. He tore part of the ticket off before gesturing to the pool with a wave of a hand, as if to say, There you go, you’ve found it—You’re here. Loungers surrounded the round pool, which was separated in two with a smaller, shallow end and a larger, deep end. Next to them, a jacuzzi of sorts. Shielding my eyes from the sunlight playing off the calm, blue-green waters, I saw there were only a few others. That’s when it hit me. The silence. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on the silence but I’d sensed it from the moment I walked into Van Thanh.
During my first months in the city, I’d been bombarded with the sounds of Saigon, a hungry, insatiable slew of noises that had me convinced I was under attack. After a while you get used to it. Somewhat. But the fact remained: you were never far-off from some kind of noise in Saigon, whether it be the distant wail of an ambulance, the yelp of a barking dog, or the call of a peddler doing their rounds, selling cleaning appliances, selling whatever. Silence had evaded me in the city, and apart from home there were no pockets where I could truly be alone, a reality I had no choice but to accept until that day I found Van Thanh. Realising the silence, the sensation was similar to the feeling of leaving a concert, ears ringing as you slowly returned to Earth and a state of normalcy. Finding a lounger under a coconut tree, I lay a mat atop of it before diving in the pool for a quick swim. Apartment blocks rose across the skyline, concrete behemoths between which was trapped the mad cacophony of the city. Leaning back to float in the water, I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face…
Since that first trip to Van Thanh, I’d been about a dozen times. At one point I had a routine, heading over at noon on a Thursday or Friday, grabbing a bánh mì and mango smoothie along the way before spending a few hours working on a tan, reading a book, listening to some music. For someone who loves the beach and ocean as much as I do, Van Thanh is a bit of a dream come true. While I might not go as often as I used to—life tends to get in the way of relaxation—whenever I’m desperate for a dip in a pool, whenever I need to slow down a little, escape the grinding machinery of Saigon and spend several hours sinking into a peace and quiet like no other, I know where I’m going.
