Exploring Saigon and Beyond - Saigoneer

Ride-Hailing Changed How We Commute. Can Ve Chai-Hailing Change How We Recycle?

2025-04-03T10:00:00+07:00

Mentions of ve chai might evoke images of uncles and aunties pushing around their cart or perched on bicycles, ferrying a host of plastic bags and scrap metal, and occasionally calling out: “Đồng nát sắt vụn bán nào…” This familiar scene, no matter how nostalgic, might change soon.

In December 2021, when VECA — Vietnam’s first application linking informal recyclers and Saigoneers — announced their relaunch after a drawn-out pause due to lockdown, I was eager to try the novel service. Prior to this, during the app’s trial period only in Phú Nhuận District in April 2021, my interaction with VECA was merely me placing a selling order and being informed that it was canceled, all because of the pandemic. When Saigon was battered by a massive wave of COVID-19 cases leading to a strict lockdown, the technological startup had to power down for five months.

To my surprise, the relaunch came with an expansion in the app’s operating zone to 10 metropolitan districts of Saigon (now 12), including the neighborhood where the Saigoneer office is. A made-in-Vietnam app by Vietnamese, one that’s not a localized version of a foreign tech giant, and one that’s seeking to tackle a crucial process in our recycling capacity — of course I was excited by it and had a lot of expectations.

A to-the-point UI and smooth usage

After filling in some information like address, contact number and preferred time, I was able to secure an “appointment” with a seller on a Monday. Available on both the Apple Store and Google Play Store, VECA has a simple interface compared to other service-hailing apps, with a color palette of white, green and blue.

VECA's index page.

In a recent interview with municipal TV channel HTV9, Minh Trang, the app’s co-founder, shared that her team was constantly making UI adjustments during the app’s first-year run because it initially was too complicated and not convenient for users.

In the current version, the key function for Saigoneers is the “book a sale” section. There are complementary sections that list an account’s accrued points and how to exchange them. Sellers can opt to receive their money via their Momo wallet, though the app does not incorporate a chat or phone contact function between buyers and sellers. The index screen is designed in an informational way, listing what kind of recyclable materials it accepts and at how much per kilogram they can be sold for. These include: newspaper, document paper, cartons, solid iron, scrap iron, corrugated iron, plastic bottles, aluminum, aluminum cans and Tetra Paks. Clicking on each category icon will reveal more detailed instructions and definitions.

VECA does not directly buy or sell ve chai, so there is some risk in managing what is sold and bought. It might be beneficial to users if the app included more information and caution on hazardous waste. At the time of writing, Việt Nam Tái Chế (Vietnam Recycle) is among a few services in Vietnam that specialize in handling materials like e-waste, with 10 collection points in Hanoi and Saigon.

Users are not totally in control of the booking time

Entering details to make a booking.

Seeking to sell household scrap, Saigoneers might be disappointed to find out that the app only allows two options in terms of pickup time: weekdays or weekends, without specific time selections. There’s some obvious room for improvement here as VECA sets out to improve “flexibility and transparency” in the ve chai collection process. Still, it’s also important to add that once connected, collectors and users can arrange a time for pickup directly via other channels of communication.

Depending on the location, time, and amount to be sold, it might take a while to receive confirmation for the transaction. On a Friday, I placed my booking and chose the pickup time to be during the week. After over two days, my booking was confirmed by a collector, whom I only knew by a name. To be frank, as this was my first time selling ve chai online and the app confirmation was vague, I couldn’t help feeling a little unsure.

Tech-based ve chai collection, a new career path?

On the afternoon of the collection date, a young man arrived at our agreed meeting place with a huge basket strapped on the back of his bike. The “ve chai specialist” was 22-year-old Phong. He quickly sorted my scrap papers into categories, weighed them, and wrote down notes on his phone. Phong shared that he had been working for VECA for two months at the time, though I only noticed him thanks to that humongous basket. The app’s associates did not yet have uniforms or any other branding paraphernalia.

The ve chai collector was a young man on a bike, not a traditional vendor as we've known.

I’ve followed VECA’s Facebook fanpage since it first made the news and saw photos of smiling ladies and their carts with the VECA stickers, so I did anticipate seeing this demographic for my first sale. This would also be in line with what the app aims to achieve: helping traditional ve chai sellers collect scraps more efficiently. However, as Phong explained, young collectors like himself are not rare as one would expect. Some are even in for the long haul because of their tech-savviness.

I was immediately impressed with how well-organized he was in weighing, categorizing and storing my recyclable papers. I was paid in cash right away, though via an electronic wallet was also an option. The price is already set on the app’s front page, so the transaction happened quickly and smoothly.

For the entirety of the process, VECA acts as the middleman without charging any fee from the user or collector, though this means that collectors have to purchase their own equipment and figure out where to resell the scrap materials. To Phong, the output is not an immediate concern because he’s already done some research on collection points in the city, in addition to many leads passed down by senior collectors. “I still resold at a loss many times, because at the beginning I wasn’t really good at dealing at consignment yards, so they didn’t weigh correctly,” Phong recalled.

When asked his opinion on the trade’s stability, Phong was happy to share: “I treat this as my full-time job and not just an additional income. Every day I drive around the districts, there are quite a lot of orders. The income is pretty good now [...] Before, I did ride-hailing apps for a while, but it was so competitive I quit.”

After two months on the job, Phong is happy with how his career is going.

Phong also mentioned that the company set aside some subsidies for days when there are too few bookings due to the elements. Moreover, newcomers without any experience in scrap materials can join a short training course on material categorization and appraising. Seeing how dedicated Phong is at his job, I am glad that the app is able to contribute to the employment pool in Saigon, at least among young workers who have no trouble adapting to smart devices. As I did not experience the service from the perspective of collectors, I will not comment on the other side of the equation in this writing.

Be that as it may, I think VECA could be another app that young Saigoneers should introduce to their parents, as handling household ve chai has long been something older adults are familiar with. The app’s expansion to 12 districts even as the city undergoes an economic slump and unheard-of hardships was a considerable feat for its founders. Most recently, VECA’s creators became one of six winners in the Thành Phố Không Rác (City Without Trash) competition organized by Circular Economy Network and WasteAid, receiving EUR10,000.

Compared to other tech-based entities that have significantly shifted the way we travel and consume, VECA still has some big hurdles to overcome, like how to get more collectors and buyers to adopt the technology in their daily work, and, as a more lofty goal, how to encourage waste-sorting among urbanites to make selling ve chai more substantial and efficient. Perhaps, there will be a day when we stop saying “ve chai money,” and switch to “VECA money,” just like there are now fewer “call a xe ôm” suggestions compared to “call a Grab.”

This article was originally published in 2022.

In Huế, ‘Allusive Panorama’ Exhibition Reveals a Tender Side of Hàm Nghi Through His Art

2025-04-02T10:00:00+07:00

An exhibition offering a rare glimpse into the artistic life of Hàm Nghi, Vietnam's exiled emperor who dedicated his life to art, with brushstrokes and landscapes reflecting his deep longing towards a distant homeland that he could never return to.

Installation view of “Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama.” Photo courtesy of Luxuo.

Since March 26, 2025, Kiến Trung Palace of the Imperial City of Huế has welcomed thousands of visitors per day for the special exhibition “Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama,” honoring the legacy of Emperor Hàm Nghi through more than 20 paintings from 10 different private collections. Art Republik Vietnam, in collaboration with the Hue Monuments Conservation Centre and the French Institute in Vietnam, organized the exhibition as a symbolic homecoming for the works of an exiled emperor, now returning to the ancient royal palace. Curated by art researcher Ace Lê and Dr. Amandine Dabat, the Emperor’s 5^th descendant, the exhibition remains open to the public for just two weeks, offering a rare and fleeting glimpse into Hàm Nghi’s artistic legacy and representing a significant milestone in the work of restoring Vietnam’s cultural heritage.

Paysage aux Cyprès (Landscape with cypress trees) (Menthon-Saint-Bernard), 1906. 27 x 40,5 cm, oil on canvas. Photo courtesy of Kâ- Mondo.

Through the eyes of the Vietnamese people, Hàm Nghi is widely recognized as a patriotic ruler who played a key role in the Cần Vương movement (1885–1896), resisting French colonial rule to reclaim national sovereignty. Ascending the throne at the age of 13 under the regency of Nguyễn Văn Tường and Tôn Thất Thuyết, he expressed a deep sense of patriotism from an early age. Despite his royal lineage, he spent his childhood with his mother outside of the palace, an experience that kept him from being blinded by power and wealth. His reign, albeit short-lived, unfolded during a period of dual crisis: internal conflicts within the royal court and the external political turmoil caused by the French colonial invasion.

Portrait of Emperor Hàm Nghi, 1896.
Photo courtesy of Archives nationales d'outre-mer, Fonds Capek.

The exhibition unfolds across multiple areas within Kiến Trung Palace, beginning on the upper floor with a calligraphy room. This calligraphy collection traces the timeline leading up to Hàm Nghi’s capture and exile by the French, where he would spend the remaining 55 years of his life far from the motherland. Positioned on the upper floor above the reception area — where artifacts used by the imperial family are exhibited — this space features a collection of calligraphy works with poems written in support of the Cần Vương movement.

Installation view of “Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama.”
Photo courtesy of Luxuo, Bảo Nguyễn/Annam Production.

Little is known about the Emperor’s life after being exiled to French Algeria in 1888 at the age of 18, where he remained a political prisoner under strict surveillance. To cope with loneliness, isolation and the ever-present control of the colonial authority, he devoted himself to art, training under Marius Reynaud (1860–1935) and later absorbing influences from Impressionism and Post-Impressionism during his time in Paris. He also studied sculpture under the renowned Auguste Rodin (1840–1917), though this exhibition focuses solely on his paintings. Hàm Nghi signed his paintings with the name Tử Xuân 子春 (“the son of spring”), a childhood name given by his family members and close relatives.

Upon arrival at the main exhibition space, visitors are immediately drawn to the luminous and dreamy color palette of Hàm Nghi’s oil paintings, created between the 1910s and 1920s in this exhibition. Dominated by landscapes and nature, his works inherit the influence of Impressionism, directly aligning with the exhibition title “Trời, Non, Nước” (Sky, Mountains, Water). According to the curatorial text, Hàm Nghi was the first Vietnamese artist to receive formal academic training in western academic techniques, preceding the establishment of the Indochina School of Fine Arts in 1924. While his works do not overly depict traditional Vietnamese imagery, the subtle details within his landscapes evoke the familiarity and nostalgia of Vietnamese rural landscape, revealing the insight into the construction of his personal and artistic identity. Notably, the human presence remains almost non-existent in most of his paintings, further emphasizing a sense of solitude.

A part of the exhibition “Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama.”
Photo courtesy of Bảo Nguyễn/Annam Production.

From a technical perspective, the strength of Hàm Nghi’s landscape paintings lies in his mastery of light and atmospheric effect. His meticulous studies of the sky, sunrise and sunset, combined with carefully composed horizontal lines, create a sense of depth. The harmony between light and shadow is particularly evident in the reflections of natural elements upon the water; the reflections of natural elements capture both its transparency and the subtle contrast between luminosity and darkness. Hàm Nghi embraced the Impressionist movement’s significance of painting en plein air, and prioritized the immediate emotions and fleeting moments as they unfolded before him.

Champs de blé (Wheat field), 1913. 31 x 39 cm. Oil on canvas. Photo courtesy of Lynda Trouvé.

Paysage Algérien (Algerian Landscape), 1902. 24.1 x 35.4 cm. Oil on canvas. Photo courtesy of Kâ-Mondo.

Beyond the image of an emperor, Hàm Nghi’s works reveal a deeply personal side: one of a human being shaped by emotions released through the vastness of nature, one who was caught in the tides of political turmoil that dictated his fate. The subject matters in his paintings reflect his inner world, infused with subtle metaphors of longing and displacement: an ancient solitary tree standing alone in silence, an empty path without the human presence, reflecting his path as a ruler, the life where he was granted the title of a ruler, yet never had any power to make his own decisions. The elements in his works, woven together with the curatorial narrative, embody the key elements: sky — a symbol of far-reaching vision; mountain — standing tall and steadily, even in solitude; and water — fluid and ever-changing, reflecting all matters, including life itself. To be an emperor is to possess a great vision, overseeing the vast landscape of one’s homeland.

Meanwhile, back in his homeland, The Cần Vương movement, albeit weakened over the years, persisted until 1896, nearly another decade after Hàm Nghi’s exile. Despite its eventual failure due to lack of strategy, centralized leadership and military inferiority, the movement remains a testament to the resilience and the patriotic spirit of the people against colonial rule, even after their leaders sacrificed and faded away from power.

Installation view of ‘Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama’.
Photo courtesy of Bảo Nguyễn/Annam Production.

The significance of this exhibition, made possible by years of research and the dedication of many individuals and organizations, extends beyond the story of Hàm Nghi as an emperor in exile who never lost his connection to Vietnam, despite being displaced and stripped of political influence. His legacy lives on through his art, a reflection of perseverance, identity and the spirit of a nation.

By force, an emperor may be taken away from his homeland. However, his homeland can never be taken away from his heart and soul.

“Trời, Non, Nước | Allusive Panorama” is now on view at the Kiến Trung Palace of the Imperial City of Huế until April 6, 2025. More information on the exhibition can be found here on the website and Facebook page.

Bored of Mundance Date Spots? Try Tân Sơn Nhất's Romantic Star Cafe.

2025-04-01T13:00:00+07:00

I know a little place.

Saigon’s cafe scene is so developed that finding and embracing cafes constitutes a hobby, if not a full-blown personality for certain residents. For some, the pastime is all about the drinks. Bean sourcing and roasting; preparation techniques and technologies; and pouring and presentation methods can all be meticulously assessed. Others care about the vibes and aesthetics, with particular attention paid to Instagram photo potential. Within this cafe culture world, bringing a date to the perfect coffee shop for stupendous drinks can be an unrivaled aphrodisiac.

No beverage better proves this than the cà phê truyền thống sold at the Star Cafe inside Tân Sơn Nhất’s Domestic Departure Terminal. Squeaking luggage trolly wheels; one-half of conversations shouted into cellphones; cranky kids crying to parents stressed by travel plans; and a pungent blend of body odor, perfume and distant jet fuel collects like soap scum and tangled hair around a clogged shower drain: the atmosphere in the domestic terminal is the ideal setting for a romantic date. Star Cafe even provides for the social media-minded as plenty of bystanders are present to snap the perfect photo for you to upload and inspire jealousy about your whereabouts while providing a valuable keepsake of the day you met the person you’ll one day marry.

But you cannot sit without purchasing something, of course. And we all know the adage “You get what you pay for.” The astronomical prices (US$6.50 for a large regular Vietnamese coffee) must mean that you’re getting something of exceptional quality. The fact that it's only listed in foreign currency lends a dose of international exoticism to the experience. The drink, coupled with the price of the tickets needed to get through security constitutes spending so extravagant your date will have no choice but to be impressed. And the coffee itself, tasting like the crass feedback emitted on a karaoke machine when two microphones are brought too close together, invites trauma bonding.

Photo via Tripadvisor

But if you’re not convinced, remember McBeth speaking to the night sky: “Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.” If you want to make your deep desires known, surely you must bring them to the Star Cafe. You don’t even need to board the plane you bought the ticket for.

Editor's note: Happy April Fools' Day! This article is part of Saigoneer's 2025 April Fools' Day celebration. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the writer’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Múa Lân Is Officially Recognized as a National Intangible Cultural Heritage

2025-03-31T14:00:00+07:00

In Chợ Lớn, every Tết, amid the aroma of burning joss sticks and an onslaught of red-color decorations is the echoing beats of lion dance instruments. For generations of Saigoneer, the presence of múa lân, or lion dance, is a sign of festivity and celebration.

On the morning of March 30, Thanh Niên reports, at a ceremony, the Hồ Chí Minh City Department of Culture and Sports announced the official decision made by the Vietnam Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism to welcome Saigon’s lion dance performance art as the latest national intangible cultural heritage.

Though it’s often known by the short hand múa lân, the art form can feature a number of different dances by performers in lion, kirin or dragon costumes. Some versions of múa lân incorporate elements of acrobatics as dancers balance on tall pillars or play ball.

Hoa Vietnamese communities believe that dances performed by mythological creatures symbolizing strength, intellect, and prosperity would ward off unlucky spirits and bring great fortunes. Thus, lion dances are often organized on important occasions like Lunar New Year, groundbreaking ceremonies, or even launching parties for new businesses.

During the recent event, the department also officially recognized seven venues in Saigon as new city-level historical-cultural relics. These include Tân Định Market, Mariamman Hindu Temple, and Trưng Vương High School (D1); An Khánh Pagoda, Long Bình Pagoda, and Long Hòa Pagoda (Thủ Đức City); and the campus of Saigon University (D5). Including the new additions, HCMC currently has 200 such locations.

Being recognized as a national intangible cultural heritage would help emphasize the important role of lion dance as part of Saigon’s diverse ethnic makeup and encourage further actions by the people and policymakers to preserve and promote it. As of 2023, the list consists of 485 entities from across Vietnam, from the nationally famous Bát Tràng ceramic craft to lesser-known bánh pía Sóc Trăng.

In Saigon, some previous cultural heritages that made the list include Tết Nguyên Tiêu, the music performance art đờn ca tài tử, and the Nghinh Ông Festival.

Villas Overlooking Non Nước Beach Welcome Families to Savor Central Vietnam’s Splendid Nature

2025-03-31T10:01:00+07:00

The calm hush of soft waves accompanies a touch of ocean salt in the air as one wanders along the sand. Tall mango trees clutching eruptions of yellow flowers shade the short stroll from one’s villa to the garden where the season’s first passion fruits begin to ripen and plump eggplants hang, ready to be picked. Tomatoes, chili peppers, lettuce, butterfly pea flowers, and guava grow in the new, shady plot. Tucked into a quiet nook of the resort amongst spacious villas, the garden exemplifies Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas’s commitment to providing guests with a premier retreat filled with serenity and nature.

The resort’s garden contains a small area with shovels, dirt, and pots so young visitors can enjoy a complimentary lesson on gardening from the dedicated landscaping team. Such an opportunity to get dirt under one’s fingernails and learn about the origin of the fruits and vegetables that end up on dinner plates can be an invaluable opportunity for city kids, while the many international guests to the resort will appreciate being introduced to the delicious fruits Vietnam is home to.

Whether walking through the garden, striding to the tennis courts under a spread of coconut leaves, bicycling over one of the bougainvillea-covered bridges that span the resort’s five lakes, or ambling across the clean, quiet beach at dawn, nature is omnipresent at Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas, making for a perfect escape from hectic home towns. The biggest treat when it comes to nature might be the mango trees. While Đà Nẵng is not known for this particular fruit, more than 100 mango trees are planted throughout the resort providing unique color and charm to the coastal resort and brightening the restaurant menus when in season.

In addition to the proximity to the beach which is easily reached on foot or via an intuitive buggy system, one of the special features of Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas is revealed in the resort’s name. The all-villa property fosters a homey sense of privacy and togetherness for all guests. With two-, three-, and four-bedroom options, each of the 122 villas features an expansive living room and private pool, making them ideal for multi-generational families to unite and experience precious and all-too-rare quality time together. Similarly, they appeal to groups of friends and families who want to experience wholesome bonding in a quiet, premier setting.

The pleasures of the villas are most apparent during dinner. As the setting sun casts soft reds and oranges on the verdant hedges and flowers in the backyard and sinks into the waves in the background, a full BBQ meal is served. The Marriott team manages all the difficult tasks of preparing and grilling, so guests can focus on the great food and even better company. The setting is also great for mornings and afternoons lost to time, with floating breakfast or high tea that represents the most unsinkable of social media trends.

With large, plush furniture, a stately dining room table, and fully equipped entertainment system occupying each villa, one could very well spend their entire vacation comfortably inside. Yet, there is plenty of reason to venture outside. In addition to the garden, foreign guests can learn more about local culture by attending a complimentary class on Vietnamese coffee. Young ones can experience a multitude of activities and arts and crafts opportunities at the colorful Kids Club as supervised by attentive staff.

Meanwhile, dreamy, endless summer vibes occupy the Beach House Lounge. A billiards table and projection TV airing international sports is the perfect way to spend the sunniest hours of the day, while impressively sturdy basketball hoops in the infinity pool beside the jacuzzi let one work out some of their competitive energy. Once darkness arrives, the most magical place in the resort is the beanbag chairs between the pool and beach sand. With a soft backing track of crashing waves and fruity drinks, it fosters long talks late into the night.

Pampering oneself is on the mind of many visitors, which can best be achieved via a trip to Quan Spa Non Nuoc which overlooks a calm lake with flowering plants floating on its surface. Stepping foot inside means arriving in an aromatic temple of quietude. The full range of treatments and massages are in line with what one would expect from a premier spa anywhere in the world but imbued with local touches. Lotions are made with local herbs, spices, and ingredients while the post-service drink offers an unmistakably Vietnamese version of refreshing. Most spectacularly, one can have a hot stone massage performed with pieces of marble mountain. The smooth, pink rocks are special to the area and their reported curative powers have enticed locals for generations.

Having the knots and gnarls slowly soothed from one’s back, neck, and limbs with the precious stones is likely to entice one to see their origin place. Thankfully Marble Mountain is only two kilometers meters away. Guests can easily visit to witness the five mountains named for the five elements reflected in the spa. The mountains’ religious grottos, important wartime history and incredible views of the surrounding region make it an obvious field trip for any vacation.

The proximity of the Marble Mountains is only one of the reasons Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas can be said to occupy an ideal location. It is a smooth and simple 30-minute drive from Da Nang International Airport, one of the nation’s most modern and efficient airports that boasts a great number of domestic and international flights. Moreover, one can easily take a detour to vibrant Đà Nẵng city or the UNESCO Heritage Old Town in Hội An while taking in idyllic scenes of rice stalks swaying in the breeze and buffalo tending the fields. The resort can even pack up a bánh mì, coffee, and cocktails made from local ingredients for the excursion.

Nowadays people are blessed with choices when it comes to vacation destinations. But if one prioritizes high standards and privacy surrounded by nature; the sound of birds in the morning and ocean surf at night; authentic introductions to local culture; convenience and a pleasant staff eager to make every visit noteworthy, Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas is a great choice.

[Top image via Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas]

Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas 's website

+84 236-3966888

Danang Marriott Resort & Spa, Non Nuoc Beach Villas |23 Truong Sa Street, Hoa Hai Ward, Ngu Hanh Son District, Da Nang, Vietnam, 55000

Visit a Serene Đà Nẵng in 1991 During a Time Before the Tourism Boom

2025-03-30T19:00:00+07:00

As a special municipality of Vietnam, Đà Nẵng is considered by many as one of the most livable cities in the country, with lower costs, delicious local cuisine, and a languid, wholesome pace of life. This, in conjunction with readily available modern services, has turned the coastal metropolis into a magnet luring young professionals away from the chaos of Saigon and Hanoi, and attracting snowbird tourists from Russia, China and South Korea seeking tropical warmth.

Hans-Peter Grumpe, a German academic and photography enthusiast, was one of the earliest international tourists to visit Đà Nẵng, as part of his many trips traversing the length of Vietnam in the early 1990s, starting from 1991. Through his lens, Grumpe captured a version of Đà Nẵng that was nearly devoid of signs of its contemporary development, though the peaceful atmosphere was fully intact.

A view from the hotel.

“Besides Indonesia, Vietnam is the country I've traveled to most extensively. I visited the country during a time of upheaval, when tourism was just beginning,” Grumpe writes on his personal website. “Thus, I experienced a Vietnam that was still quite 'original,' and not yet 'spoiled' by tourism. I documented these travels on 151 pages and with approximately 1,600 photos.”

In his images, some motorbikes exist here and there on the streets, and fairly modern buses are operational to take citizens across the country, but local arts and crafts are on display during visits to local silkworm workshops and carpet weaving collectives.

Thanks to the assistance of a tour guide who previously studied in East Germany, Grumpe was able to travel the country with relative ease. See more of his photos taken in Đà Nẵng below:

Most houses were constructed in the modernist or countryside styles.

A street corner with xích lô, Honda Super Cubs, and bikes.

A quaint neighborhood view.

Terra-cotta roofs were common.

Fixing a bike on the train track.

Workers treating silkworm cocoons.

Most of the work was still done by hand.

Inside a weaving collective. Grumpe was initially denied entry, but the tour guide told the manager that he was a famous textile expert, so he could see the interior.

Most employees were women.

The colorful design of the carpets.

Inter-locality coaches. Air-conditioned travel was unheard of.

Ngũ Hành Sơn.

View from Ngũ Hành Sơn.

An old tank became a very badass chicken coop.

The sparseness of Đà Nẵng from above.

Mỹ Khê Beach.

A stone carver at work.

Local kids sold joss stick bundles on the mountain.

An empty beech without resorts or foreign tourists.

A rudimentary setting to make firecrackers.

Old books were dyed to be repurposed as casing of firecrackers.

Mat sellers.

Only daredevils sat on top.

The sleepy coastal town from the plane.

Lý Trực Sơn Exhibition Invites Us to Marvel at Lacquer, Dó Paper, Earth's Material Beauty

2025-03-26T15:00:00+07:00

Despite being three distinct elements with their own texture, depth, and presence, lacquer, paper, and earth are all rooted in nature. Rather than searching for hidden meanings, Lý Trực Sơn’s solo exhibition at Vin Gallery invites us to engage with the works instinctively and experience the interplay of pigments, natural elements, and form, shaped by the artist’s innovative process and the passage of time.

Lý Trực Sơn’s latest solo exhibition at Vin Gallery, “Lacquer - Paper - Earth,” offers a glimpse into the artist’s decades-long commitment and exploration of materials and forms. This marks his first solo exhibition in Saigon, comprising works on dó paper created since the 1990s, lacquer pieces from 2014, and the most recent Earth series in the 2020s until the present. The exhibition title is straightforward, reflecting the core materials of his artistic practices, rather than implying any hidden meanings. More than a presentation of finished works, the exhibition stands as a testament to his constant dedication and experimentation with pigments and different materials, each layer revealing the depth of his creative process and artistic refinement.

Installation view of “Lacquer - Paper - Earth” at Vin Gallery.

Originally trained in a traditional academic setting at Vietnam College of Fine Arts (now Vietnam University of Fine Arts), Lý Trực Sơn’s artistic journey took a transformative turn during his studies in France and Germany (1989–1998). His time abroad was a long journey, a relentless pursuit of modernity and self-exploration toward the path of his own distinctive artistic language. Upon his return to Vietnam in 1998, he spent the next decade working with lacquer and dó paper, holding multiple exhibitions. Abstraction was not his initial focus; however, it emerged gradually while he was experimenting with natural pigments and mixed media, pushing the boundaries of traditional materials and forms.

Upon entering the gallery, we are immediately drawn to the Earth series: mural-like abstract paintings, with earthy tones and rough, uneven surfaces. The artist created these distinct textures by gathering natural materials like soil and stones from the hills and mountains, along with scallop shells and vegetables. He grinds them, mixes them with an adhesive, and layers the dried mixture onto the canvas. Through this process, the textures and forms emerge naturally, evoking a raw presence that reflects their deep connection with nature.

Không đề 3 (2023). Mixed media. 150cm x 150cm.

Nhịp điệu Lam 2 (2023). Mixed media. 150cm x 150cm.

Tiếng vọng 2, 2024. Mixed media. 140cm x 110cm.

The artist’s abstract lacquer series, created in 2014, marks a departure from tradition in both composition and color. Moving away from traditional motifs and the customary red and gold palette of Vietnamese lacquer art, Lý Trực Sơn instead embraces black and blue as his dominant tones, while incorporating softened eggshell inlays to create delicate white details. Although the works may contain hidden messages that require full interpretation, they evoke a profound sense of vastness — one that subtly recalls the universe and our origins, where humans, nature and the unknown co-exist within the infinite expanse.

Left: Harmonized blue series #3. Lacquer. 120 x 80cm.
Right: Harmonized blue series #2. Lacquer. 120 x 90cm.

Dó paper, a traditional Vietnamese material, has been central to Lý Trực Sơn’s practice for decades, even before his years abroad. The essence of his presented works lies in his use of natural pigments and a unique gradual dyeing technique, creating delicate, layered spaces that shift between translucency and density. His approach embraces the traditional qualities of dó paper with minimal lines and forms, allowing natural pigments to create subtle tonal variations. When viewed up close, soft flows and gradients of color emerge, weaving through the layers of paper and evoking a dreamlike, almost meditative effect.

Watercolour on Dzo Paper No 1 (framed), 1994. Dó paper. 69cm x 82cm.

Natural colour on Dzo Paper Vertical Series No 1 (Framed), 2011. Dó paper. 132cm x 102cm.

The balance between materials in this exhibition — lacquer, dó paper, and earth — reflects Lý Trực Sơn’s deep engagement with time, space, and human touch that shapes the transformation of materials through his works. Each material carries its own essence, yet they are all interconnected. His self-made pigments, infused with evolving organic elements, emphasize this connection. Through his work, he invites us into the vastness of nature and the diversity of the world we inhabit, a space where materials, forms, and human emotions subtly intertwine, engaging the viewer in a quiet yet evocative dialogue.

“The path to finding ‘the uniqueness’ is the most difficult one in the journey of creating abstract art. Whereas making something beautiful is actually quite simple, it’s pretty easy because that understanding is about structure and technique — you can learn. But for a good painter to become an artist, they must be able to do things that cannot be ‘learned.’ At the same time, what that person is able to do, no one else can be taught. Only then are you truly unique,” Lý Trực Sơn shared in an interview with Vin Gallery.

Màu ngọc, 2024. Mixed media. 140cm x 110cm.

To view Lý Trực Sơn’s works, one should not attempt to overanalyze, decode, or search for any hidden meanings. Instead, his art invites us into the meditative “voidness” within the earthy color fields, the layered translucency of dó paper, and the deep, glossy surfaces of black and blue lacquer. It is not solely about the message the artist conveys but rather about how he navigates through different materials — earth, lacquer and paper — each carrying its own weight of time, transformation, and presence. By engaging with his abstract art instinctively, we connect through feeling rather than analysis, allowing the works, like living entities, to speak for themselves.

[Images courtesy of Vin Gallery.]

“Lacquer – Paper – Earth” by Lý Trực Sơn is now on view at Vin Gallery until April 1, 2025. More exhibition info can be found on the Facebook page.

A Personal History of Hồ Tây: Romance, Colonial Rule and Subsidy-Era Fishing Heists

2025-03-26T11:00:00+07:00

My father-in-law has spent decades visiting Hồ Tây (West Lake). His personal story both contrasts and reflects Vietnam's history as a whole and, as a result, offers a profound insight into the importance of Hanoi's largest lake.

In northwest Hanoi rests the city’s most expansive freshwater lake. Offering relative quietude in a frantic metropolis, Hồ Tây’s unique allure has drawn locals to its shores for centuries. The lake covers an area of around 530 hectares and is one of the few places in the city where one can still easily see the skyline. Lovers, friends, and loners alike all come here in search of privacy. The constant yield of bloated fish carcasses along the shore highlights the deteriorating water quality in recent years, yet it doesn’t stop people from casting rods or handlines trying to catch the tilapia and tench that are still alive.

Hồ Tây is many things to many people. For me, it’s the ideal place for riding my bike around on the weekends. For my wife, it’s served as a place to find solace from heartbreaks, arguments or depression. For her family, along with hundreds of others who have lived beside the body of water for generations, the lake has helped sustain them through times of great hardship. As my father-in-law, Nguyễn Văn Quân, puts it: “Thanks to West Lake, many families can continue to live until this day.”

A woman sits on the steps of Quán Thánh Temple, once known as Trấn Vũ Temple, with West Lake reaching into the distance behind her.

Up until the mid-20^th century, the lake was home to a rich ecosystem. Seaweed and hyacinth freely propagated the lake, which made it the ideal breeding ground for all kinds of fish, plants and snails. Carp once grew to be 30-40 kilograms, and there were so many snails that one could scrape up hundreds of kilos of the creatures in a day. Consequently, flocks of birds such as mallards, swamphen and coots were all drawn to the water’s edge. “In the foggy season, huge flocks blackened a whole corner of the lake,” Quân says.

For locals, the lake became a haven for fishing, and methods of exploitation were plentiful. In his book Ký Sự Ven Hồ (Lakeside Chronicles), author Hoàng Quốc Hải writes about the plethora of techniques fishermen used on the lake, and said they ranged from “angling, fly-fishing, bait fishing, and trawling to using various types of nets…The means of fishing were not modern, yet they were intricate. They were capable of catching eggs or fish as small as a pinhead, as well as huge fish weighing tens of kilos…”

Myths abound in Vietnam over how the lake itself was formed. It's believed that over 1,000 years ago, the Red River shifted course, creating an oxbow lake that slowly grew into the capital’s largest body of water. According to folklore, however, the lake's formation is linked to Vietnamese Buddhist monk Minh Không, who had been working as a medical practitioner in China. After treating a Chinese emperor, he asked for payment in bronze, which he brought back with him to Hanoi. Upon returning, he melted down the metal, poured it into a mold and formed a giant bronze bell.

The Myth of the Golden Buffalo. Illustration by Hannah Hoàng.

When struck, its song was so powerful it awoke a golden buffalo in the emperor’s house. Mistaking the sound for its mother’s call, the animal plodded south and stomped around searching for her. His heavy footfalls gradually formed a hollow that filled with water. Eventually, the resultant lake consumed the Golden Buffalo.

For millennia, people fished freely at West Lake, perhaps with these myths fresh in their minds. Yet when Hanoi hunched under French colonial rule, the right to manage the lake was put up for bidding. The highest bidder had to pay half a million Indochinese piastre into the city’s coffers each year, but they could sell tickets to fishermen, with prices varying depending on the method of fishing used. Thus, the lake was divided into many different zones that were rented out to individuals or groups of people.

In 1954, the Democratic Republic of Vietnam took back control of the city, and the government allowed people to fish tax-free for three years. Then, in 1958, the city’s socialist labor force cleared all the hyacinth in the lake, and the management rights were given to the state-owned West Lake Fish Farming Company. From this point on, all unsanctioned fishing was deemed to be “illegal appropriation of socialist property.”

An aerial view of Trúc Bạch Lake and West Lake in the 1930s. Image via Flickr user manhhai.

Quân, my father-in-law, was born the same year it became illegal to fish in the lake. Still, he learned how to fish from his father at a young age. As a teenager, Quân would go fishing and take naps when he was bored. Yet when he was 19, he received a call to join the military. He didn’t see his village or the lake again until 1981, when he returned home. During this time, Vietnam went through bao cấp (the subsidy period), when the government controlled all aspects of the economy.

Ask any Vietnamese who lived through bao cấp and they’ll tell you this was a time of hunger and suffering. “One of my friends was a skilled worker at Yen Phu power plant,” Quân recalls. “He and his wife have five children, and the whole family had to share one pot of cháo.” Like many people living around the lake, Quân had to go kéo trộm (illegal fishing) in order to provide for his family.

Under the cover of darkness, Quân would wade into the cold, murky water with his fishing net. Wary of the lake guards, he had to walk with his head tilted back, so his face barely broke the water, in order to avoid detection. “Sometimes, when it got really dangerous, I had to bring a towel to cover my face so light didn’t reflect off it,” he says. The lake guards used to patrol the lake on a motorized boat, but their system had a weakness. “When underwater, the boat sounds much louder than in the air,” he explains, “so even if they turn the gas very low, you can still hear the ‘oooooooo’ sound.”

After those clandestine night raids, he sometimes brought home between five and seven kilograms of fish. Then came the arduous process of disentangling the bounty from the net so he could sell them the next morning. “Alone, with just a gas lamp, I spent hours untangling the fish. Once done, when I stood up…my back was all crooked,” Quân says.

A family relaxes together by the lake in 2016. Photo by Chris Humphrey.

Many families depended on the lake during this time. “One year, when it got so bad there wasn’t even enough rice to sell to people, clams started to appear in Hồ Tây,” Quân says. “You only needed to reach down to the bottom and bring up a fistful of clams. There were so many of them. Just bring them home with a handful of rice to make congee and the whole family can survive.” Weirdly, the clams only appeared during that one period. The next year, he says, they were gone. “They appeared like they do in legends, where God or Buddha provides food for people.”

The bao cấp era is long gone now. Since 1986, economic and political reforms have propelled Vietnam’s GDP to among the world’s fastest-growing. While my father-in-law no longer has to go kéo trộm, the experience of doing so left a mark on him. “My health deteriorated a lot because of it,” he shares. There were times he spent the whole night drenched in chilly water trying to catch fish. “Nights like that, now that I think about it, I was only harming myself. Firstly, nights like that were too cold for the fish to go up to find food. Secondly, it was extremely bad for my body. But, I was young and didn’t know any better back then.”

He still goes to the lake now, but only to exercise or take his grandchildren out to play. Where there was once a lotus swamp, there now stands a playground. It serves as a gathering spot for not just kids, but also for parents and grandparents in the village. There are shops offering ice-cold drinks and pop-up, street-side karaoke that goes on late into the night. The lake still nourishes Hanoians, but now, instead of food, it offers a sense of belonging.

This article was originally published in 2020.

In a Hẻm in D8, a Scrumptious Halal Feast Comes Alive Every Ramadan

2025-03-26T10:00:00+07:00

At noon, we make our way through a narrow alley off Dương Bá Trạc Street (District 8) and stumble into a lively scene of Muslim community life. More than a place of worship, this neighborhood unfolds into a diverse culinary fest, a testament to the cultural crossroads that thrive within the city.

Once a year, this otherwise-quiet alley becomes a hub of activity, welcoming believers as they gather to embrace the spirit of Ramadan.

Taking place in the ninth month of the Hijri calendar, Ramadan is among the most sacred observances in Islam, commemorating the period when the prophet Muhammad received the first revelations of the Quran. For the faithful, it is a time of deep reflection, self-discipline, and spiritual renewal.

Alley 157 on Dương Bá Trạc Street is home to nearly 3,000 Muslims, making it the largest Islamic community in Hồ Chí Minh City. Most residents are members of the Chăm ethnic minority who migrated to the city from outer provinces like An Giang, Ninh Thuận, etc. The area has a long-standing religious history dating back to the establishment of the central Jamiul Anwar Mosque in 1966. The mosque was later renovated into its present form in 2006.

During Ramadan, Muslims fast from dawn to dusk as an expression of devotion, a practice that strengthens willpower and fosters gratitude for daily sustenance. They follow a Halal diet, adhering to Islamic dietary laws prohibiting pork, alcohol, and certain restricted ingredients. Only after sundown do they come together for Iftar, breaking their fast in a shared moment of nourishment and kinship.

To cater to the dining needs of locals, a lively street market specializing in Halal cuisine takes shape around the mosque during Ramadan. Open from 3pm to 6pm, this market operates only during the holy month, offering a variety of home-cooked dishes. Stalls line the walls, showcasing everything from traditional Chăm specialties like curry, roti, and sakaya cakes to popular street foods such as fresh spring rolls and sausages.

The food, prepared in home kitchens, is arranged in generous displays, filling the narrow alley with rich, inviting aromas.

In recent years, the market has welcomed an increasing number of non-Muslim visitors eager to experience Halal food and learn about Islamic customs. Beyond a place for breaking fast, this culinary space serves as a window into a distinct culture and a bridge connecting different communities.

Explore this unique market through the images below:

The 50 Shades of Cháo on the Palette of Vietnam's Regional Cuisines

2025-03-25T16:42:15+07:00

Cháo, or congee in English, is a diverse genre of Vietnamese dishes in both executions and flavor profiles — from humble versions like pandan congee, red bean congee to more substantial and complex meals like offal congee, chicken congee and catfish congee. Each dish is a different variation, but they all share a reputation for being nourishing and a richness of regional culinary characteristics.

Once upon a bowl of cháo

During the shortages of wartime decades, our ancestors made cháo as an economical way to stretch a meal. It was often eaten with a sprinkle of salt or readily available plants in the yard, like jackfruit, rice paddy herb, morning glory, banana blossom, pea shoot, or bamboo shoot. According to historical accounts from Văn minh vật chất của người Việt (The Material Civilization of the Vietnamese People): “During famines, Vietnamese would start reducing the number of meals, first from three to two, and then to one meal a day, trying to retain lunches while switching from cooking rice to congee. It takes less rice to cook congee than rice, just about a quarter the amount, but the body can absorb nearly everything, and this also helps prevent dehydration very effectively.” After a day in the field, they often sipped on watered down congee, as it’s better for the stomach while replenishing energy.

The theory of yin-yang balance that Vietnam follows stipulates that the human body is a “mini-universe” where elements of yin and yang are equal and harmonious. If either of the two overwhelms the other, illnesses will appear. As a soft, light, and oil-less food type, cháo is considered an easily digestible meal that one can freely pair with other ingredients to rebalance the missing yin or yang in the body. Doctor Ngô Quang Hải from the Vietnam Acupuncture Association explained: “If the illness arose from too much yin, one needs to eat yang-rich food, and vice versa. For instance, if you have a cold (yin), you should eat yang food types like congee with ginger or tía tô leaves. If you have a heatstroke (yang), you should eat congee with spring onion (yin).”

Cháo is a dish that promotes the yin-yang balance.

Exploring the many cháo of Vietnam

Albeit simple, cháo can be a banner dish for any region in the country. From north to south, congee shapeshifts depending on the local produce and palates, resulting in myriads of varieties. In the north, Hải Phòng has cháo khoái; Bắc Ninh serves up cháo thái Đình Tổ, a congee novelty that’s eaten using chopsticks; the H’Mông community in Hà Giang eats cháo ấu tẩu, prepared using a potentially poisonous tuber; and of course, Hanoi’s thick cháo sườn is a treat as well.

I, unfortunately, haven’t had a chance to fly to the north to try out all these unique delicacies, but as someone whose family has roots in the northern region, I fell in love with the version of cháo sườn sold by the mobile vendors of Phạm Văn Hai Market — one of Saigon’s many enclaves of northern immigrants from 1954. Unlike standard congee, which is cooked using rice grains, cháo sườn is often made with rice flour, producing a glutinous texture, accompanied by fork-tender chunks of rib cartilage, crispy shallot, chopped coriander and spring onion, and deep-fried quẩy. Cháo sườn is a favorite snack of us kids as it’s easy to eat, so one full bowl in the afternoon might help us avoid dinner.

Cháo sườn on chilly days.

In the central region, Nghệ An has eel congee; Tam Kỳ is famous for chicken congee; Bình Định pairs pork offal congee with sheets of bánh hỏi; Quảng Nam adds black beans to beef offal congee; and congee with củ nén, a type of allium, is a staple of the “Quảng realm.” Despite the differences, they share a similarity in bánh tráng mè nướng, a sesame cracker, as an accouterment. During a visit in Quảng Nam, I was shown the correct way to eat their congee: snap off a morsel of bánh tráng nướng, drop it in the bowl, wait for it to soften, and then eat it to enjoy the slightly chewy texture.

Eel congee in Nghệ An.

In Saigon, I’ve always found street cháo stalls to be weirdly inviting. No fuss or flair, just a big umbrella and a dozen of low plastic stools — everyone is eager to sit down for a feast. A classic Saigon-style bowl of cháo often features three elements: toasted rice, fried dồi, and a handful of beansprouts at the bottom. The toasted rice helps add a nutty flavor to the congee. The raw beansprouts are immediately blanched by the hot congee while still retaining their refreshing crunch. Before diners dive in, a squeeze of lime and a tiny dollop of crushed chili pepper are must-haves in the bowl of dipping fish sauce. At this point, the bowl of cháo lòng is complete with every facet of saltiness, sweetness, sourness and spiciness. Slurp on hot congee, bite into a hunk of chewy offal and remember this feeling forever.

A bowl of cháo lòng.

Head to the Mekong Delta, one is bound to encounter cháo ám, a specialty from Trà Vinh. The origins behind the name might come from how the dish is usually a test of a new daughter-in-law’s cooking prowess. On the first day after she enters the husband’s family, she would cook a pot of catfish congee for the family and relatives. This level of pressure is why preparing a tasty cháo áo is constantly on the mind of young brides — the word “ám” is short for “ám ảnh” (haunted).

Cháo ám is made with freshly caught catfish from the field. To enrich the broth with more layers of umami, Trà Vinh adds roasted dry shallot, dry squid, and dry shrimp. Going alongside the congee is a plate of various herbs, including but not limited to banana blossom, crown daisy, and cải trời. Still, the most commonly used greens are rau đắng (knotgrass) and beansprouts. The subtle bitter notes of knotgrass are perfectly tempered by the nuttiness of the congee, the sweetness of the fish, the kick of black pepper, the aroma of alliums, and the crispy richness of fried shallot.

Cháo ám is Trà Vinh’s famous congee.

Teochew is amongst four big branches of Chợ Lớn, Saigon’s Hoa community, alongside Hakka, Guangdong, and Fujian. One of the most distinctive dishes of Teochew culture is cơm cháo, or rice-congee. The dish is served as a rather peculiar platter: a pot of white rice is placed next to a steaming hot pot of congee. The carbohydrates are eaten with bitesize chunks of braised offal and pickled cabbages, the same tart ingredient that Vietnamese usually used to braise with leftover feast meats like roast pork and duck. The sourness from the cabbage increases the shelf life of the dish while making the rich animal proteins more palatable.

Though cháo lòng might be a popular dish across Vietnam, the Teochew version of cháo lòng is perhaps a slightly different cousin in the family of congees. The congee is on the white side as the broth and rice are simmered together with pork bones, squids, and straw mushrooms. Pork offal, including heart, kidney, intestines, and liver, is boiled in a different pot. When served, they are eaten separately with a dipping sauce that comprises soy sauce and red vinegar. The congee is lightly aromatic and tastes of ginger, pepper, and green onion, accompanied by crown daisy. On top, slices of offal and century egg present an inviting pick-your-favorite-protein-feast.

Cơm cháo Triều Châu.

Eating cháo is perhaps the best way to slow down and focus on the flavors of life. Congee is always served steaming hot, so impatient slurpers are almost guaranteed to burn their mouth. It’s best enjoyed at a languid pace to savor all the delicious elements of cháo. On days when the temperature turns cold, what’s better than sipping through your most favorite cháo?

In Latest Short Story Collection, Andrew Lam Explores Diaspora Drama via Literary Fiction

2025-03-23T10:00:00+07:00

If you opened an American magazine, literary or otherwise, in the early 2000s and found any Vietnamese American byline, there’s a good chance it was Andrew Lam. The long-time journalist’s essays and short stories were amongst the first widely circulated in the US.

Since then, authors like Viet Thanh Nguyen, Ocean Vuong, Thi Bui, and Monique Truong have all found great success and contributed to the Vietnamese demographic’s prominence in the international publishing scene. During a recent lunch, Lam said that their ascension allows him a certain freedom; no longer do readers expect him to be speaking for the diaspora as a whole. Rather, now retired from his journalism day job, he can simply explore his art. This opportunity to indulge his creative impulses alongside his love for short fiction is evident throughout his latest collection, Stories from the Edge of the Sea. The book sees him shifting tones, subjects, and styles with an often sly wit and energetic desire to push the genre to its full potential.

Lam says that he never thinks about his audience when sitting down to write; he is first and foremost interested in entertaining himself. This focus on catering to his inner literature nerd collides with the common adage to write what you know. Thus, many of the stories focus on desire, generational and cultural expectations, and aging individuals within the Vietnamese diaspora reflecting on their lives, often at pivotal moments of change or realization.

Andrew Lam at a reading with his first three books. Photo via Andrew Lam.

Romantic love in Lam’s stories is often wild, passionate, and doomed. Whether it's an instantaneous crush on a stranger who perpetually gets lost in the crowd at a Guggenheim art exhibition; a once-inseparable homosexual couple that reunites after one of the men has married a woman and had a child; or a couple that is separated by geography and circumstance — torrid emotional and physical yearning is unfulfilled or tragically impermanent. A certain sadness hangs over the book as numerous plotlines settle on an understanding that happiness is frequently brief or bittersweet. One should savor those moments, the stories suggest, because soon they will just be memories to look back on.

Stories from the Edge of the Sea is far from a depressing read, however. Lam offers welcome levity via several outright comedic pieces. Positioned as a pure, rapid-fire stand-up comedy routine with one-liners and riffs, ‘Swimming to the Mekong,’ is a companion to ‘Yacht People’ from his previous collection, Birds of Paradise Lost. At one point, for example, the comedian narrator quips: “So hey, here’s a cool idea for a new genre in porn: lazy porn! ‘Dallas does Lazy Susan.’ Why? Cuz Susan’s too lazy to do Dallas. It’ll be surreal. Lazy Susan’s so lazy she’s just gonna lie there and every cowboy spins and screws her while she eats her dim sum. Lazy Susan’s so lazy that after a giving few blow jobs, she’d be applying for unemployment benefits. Lazy Susan’s so lazy that she’d outsource all her hand jobs to India.” Encountering such crass passages juxtaposed with earnest stories of people pained by an inability to connect can be jarring at first, but ultimately underscores Lam’s artistic range and the multitude of voices the short story genre can contain.

Lam also understands that comedy is an effective way to speak truths. Thus, ‘Swimming in the Mekong,’ and the similar ‘Love in the Time of the Beer Bug’ contain caustic social critique and observations aimed at his own communities. “Now you would think that a country that defeated the French and then the US, would find western features fugly after seeing John Wayne shoot our people. But you’d be, like, WRONG,” the narrator says to the crowd. “Vietnamese put down those Amerasian kids right, cuz they say ‘these kids are all children of whores, fathered by American GIs.’ The kids were treated like dirt back in Nam. But don’t tell anybody, ok, it’s between us: Many of us want to look exactly like them. You know, light hair, blue or hazel eyes, straight nose, double eyelids, split chins, the works.” Such topics could be approached, possibly with less success and certainly less entertainment, via a conventionally restrained format, but where is the fun or creativity in that?

Photo via Andrew Lam.

Alongside these comedic outbursts and other inversions of familiar structures, such as ‘October Lament’ which tells the story of a deceased husband via archived social media posts and text messages, are tightly written and more straightforward works. A devotee of the short story genre, eager to discuss its merits, and how it's worth the challenges of brevity and limited readership, Lam is a master of placing fully unique and realized characters in moments of heightened consequences. ‘To Keep from Drowning’ is a standout example. In it, a single mother and her three teenage children walk to the ocean to celebrate a death anniversary. One child is secretly pregnant; one is embarking on a dangerous criminal life; and the third is developing a worrisome drug habit, all of which is being kept from the mother who is attempting to hide a terminal illness. The immensity of the family’s tragic past and fraught futures are revealed in the short distance from the metro station to the coast, with their uncertain futures drifting somewhere in the surf for the reader to discover. This story, as well as ‘The Isle is Full of Noises’ and ‘What We Talk about When We Can’t Talk about Love’ allow Lam to flex his full command of literary fiction. Not only are they powerful, engaging stories, but when he shows he can so expertly follow the so-called rules of fiction, readers will approach his less-conventional works with full trust and excitement.

After making his readers laugh, empathize, and reflect on the logic governing the human condition, Lam punches them in the heart. Stories from the Edge of the Sea ends with the devastating ‘Tree of Life,’ a eulogy for his mother. She was a 1954 migrant to the south who experienced severe sorrow and hardship during the wars, but he remembers her as a woman eager “To feed, to nurture, to protect. To react to harsh reality with kindness and generosity—this is the very essence of my mother.” Recounting small and large acts of personal and public kindness in Vietnam and America, he makes clear how she was the pillar of their family. Such a role would not be obvious to outsiders because Lam’s father was a famous general. But Lam writes: “I used to think of my father in a heroic light as a child. He who flew in helicopters and who called bombs to fall from the sky, and he who jumped down to earth in a parachute—he was like a thunder god, like James Bond, but my mother? Well, she was a true lioness. And when it comes to her family she was fearless.” Heroics, he suggests, has less to do with battlefield exploits and much more to an intrinsic generosity that means, even when Alzheimer's left her unable to remember where she lived or her own name, she couldn’t forget where the hungry, stray cats in the neighborhood lived so she could feed them. Without any of the sly asides or intricate plotting of the previous stories, the message of love and adoration he has for his mother blooms into a rumination on family, motherhood, and memory; it is a testament to kindness Lam passes on from his mother to the readers.