Stories - Saigoneer

Saigon Sees a 10-Year Low of 18°C. What Are the City’s Highest and Lowest Temperatures?

2026-01-09T15:00:00+07:00

This January, Saigoneers have been enjoying an unusually pleasant stretch of weather, with daytime temperatures hovering around the mid-20s and dipping to 18–20°C late at night and in the early morning.

Cooler temperatures are not unheard of in Saigon during January, a short but welcome time of the year, when the rainy season has largely waned and cold air masses from the northern winter drift southward, blanketing the region in crisp breezes and chilly mornings.

In recent history, the last time the mercury fell to 18°C in the city was in 2015. According to Trần Văn Hưng, deputy director of the Southern Vietnam Hydrometeorological Center, HCMC’s lowest recorded temperature occurred in December 1999 at the Tân Sơn Hòa Weather Station, reaching 16.4°C. The city also experienced a low of 16.9°C in 1995.

While these readings may seem mild compared to conditions in the Central Highlands or northern Vietnam, Saigon, known for its searing heat, rarely enjoys cool weather in any given year, typically for only a few days in December and January.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, March and April are usually the hottest months in HCMC, when temperatures commonly climb into the high 30s and even reached 39°C in 2024. That, however, wasn't the highest; that record belongs to May 7, 1998, when the temperature at Tân Sơn Hòa reached 39.3°C.

Photo via Thương Trường.

Vietnam Bans Unskippable Ads, Requires Skip Button to Appear After 5 Seconds

2026-01-06T15:00:00+07:00

If things go our way, YouTube’s notorious unskippable ads might be a thing of the past come this February.

As Phụ Nữ reports, Vietnam recently announced Decree No. 342, which details a number of provisions to the national Advertising Law, due to take effect from February 15, 2026. The adjustments are expected to place stricter control on Vietnam’s online advertising activities to protect consumers and curb illegal ads.

Amongst the decree articles, some standout stipulations include a hard cap on the waiting time before viewers can skip video and animated ads to no more than 5 seconds. Static ads must be immediately cancellable.

Additionally, the decree requires platforms to implement clear and straightforward ways for users to close ads with just one interaction. False or vague symbols designed to confuse viewers are forbidden.

Online platforms must add visible symbols and guidelines to help users report ads that violate the law and allow them to turn off, deny, or stop seeing inappropriate ads.

Beside rules about the user experience, the decree also seeks to tightly regulate ads for 11 groups of goods and services that directly impact the environment and human health, including: cosmetics; food and beverages; milk and formula for children; insecticidal chemicals and substances; medical supplies; healthcare services; plant pesticides and veterinary drugs; fertilizers; plant seeds and saplings; pharmaceuticals; and alcoholic drinks.

Grindr Year-End Report Names Vietnam as Country With Biggest Top Shortage

2025-12-23T12:00:00+07:00

Ever since Spotify launched its first global Wrapped function a few years ago, December has turned into an exciting season of stats-driven year-end reviews. “Wrapping” is now a tradition embraced by numerous apps, such as Strava, Duolingo, YouTube, Reddit, and of course, Grindr.

If you don’t know what Grindr is — in that case, good for you, keep it that way, sweet innocent angel — it’s a chat-based hookup app catered to gay men. According to a report the company sent to investors, Grindr Unwrapped 2025 was compiled from the profile data of over 15 million monthly users and over 32,000 votes.

This year’s Grindr Unwrapped provides a glimpse into queer culture worldwide and how queers interact with culture, with voting categories like Mother of the Year (Lady Gaga), Girl Group of the Year (Katseye), and Movie of the Year (KPop Demon Hunters), and more. On top of that, Grindr also continued their annual custom of showing us, lightheartedly of course, which nations are graced with the highest percentages of top, bottom, vers, and others.

Some might be shocked, or not, to discover that Vietnam has once again made the Top 5 countries with the most bottoms, coming in at No. 4 behind South Africa, South Korea and Japan, and ahead of Finland. We were also bestowed this honor in 2020 and 2024. Surprisingly, Grindr Unwrapped included a new metric this year: Top 5 countries with the biggest top shortages, based on top-to-bottom ratio — and Vietnam clinches the first spot, beating Thailand, Poland, Mexico and France.

If you’re interested in reading about all the nominating categories in the 2025 year-end report, view it here. These rankings are mostly for fun, as the user base of Grindr is hardly representative of a country’s sexual dynamics, not to mention that many users do not show sexual preferences on their profiles.

Outside of the boundaries of Grindr, Vietnam’s legal and administrative stance on LGBT issues have not seen major shifts, for the worse or the better, in 2025. However, 2025 has been one of the worst years on record when it comes to public perception of the queer community, which suffered from an onslaught of homophobic attacks on local social media towards the end of the year. This lead to the cancellations of many VietPride events in Hồ Chí Minh City in September, including the 13-year-strong annual Pride walk Dung Dăng Dung Dẻ.

Photo: Participants celebrate a Pride event in Hanoi in 2022/Léo-Paul Guyot.

When Donations Are All Womenswear, Men in Flood Zones Turn Necessity Into Fashion

2025-11-28T11:00:00+07:00

Vietnam’s South-Central Coast region is going through an especially grueling time of the year as both the local people and authorities have to deal with the aftermath of historic rainfall and flooding. Still, amid the mourning and strenuous rebuilding efforts, moments of levity shine through — a testament to the resilience, optimism, and incredible humor of the Vietnamese people in the face of hardships.

A few photo collections and TikTok videos have been going viral in the past week, showcasing a special “fashion trend” that’s both heart-wrenching and delightful: men from flood-stricken provinces are now wearing femme clothing as they go about fixing broken roofs, clearing debris, and just being fabulous in general.

These chic looks didn’t materialize spontaneously, but arrived with the throngs of trucks carrying donations from all corners of the country to support local disaster relief efforts. For reasons unknown, the majority of the donated clothing ends up being feminine and childwear. Some netizens have hypothesized that the men in their lives don’t have old clothing to give away, because, in their brothers' or fathers’ wardrobes, either the item is brand-new and unused or overused to threadbareness.

These WinX club members are a little... muscular.

No matter what the reasons behind this phenomenon could be, South-Central men have decided to turn challenges into opportunities — opportunities to serve looks, that is. Brightly colored dresses, crop tops, even a sparkly áo dài here and there: no item should be denied a chance to shine.

While this is an incredible and hilarious fashion moment that will surely put a smile on anyone’s face, it also speaks volumes about the major issues that disaster-battered areas still have to solve to regain a sense of normalcy: menswear, winterwear, and essentials like new underwear, socks, and toiletries are still sorely needed. Find out how to make donations here.

In the meantime, we can all feast our eyes on the wonderful outfits from the South-Central Coast below:

Photos via Threads account @vothuong66/@lethanhloc.

Đắk Lắk, Khánh Hòa Are Next Victims of 2025's Historic Flooding. Here's How to Help.

2025-11-25T12:00:00+07:00

After nearly a week of constant downpour, many provinces of Vietnam’s Central Highlands and South-Central Coast regions have suffered severe flooding and landslides, causing catastrophic damage to local infrastructure, economic activities, and deaths. This has been yet another month of loss and destruction for Vietnam in 2025, which is shaping up to be the most devastating year in recent history due to consecutive powerful typhoons and atypically high rainfall.

The Vietnam Meteorological and Hydrological Administration recently published a report on the dire flooding disaster last week in the South-Central Coast Region, VnExpress reports, noting that the water levels witnessed have never been recorded in 50 years of tracking.

According to the report, from November 15 to 19, many rainfall readings measured at local stations exceeded historic numbers, such as 380mm in Quy Nhơn, 601mm in Sơn Hòa (Đắk Lắk). In Đắk Lắk, some localities recorded over 1,000mm, such as Sông Hinh (1,861mm) and Sơn Long (1,363mm).

Nha Trang authorities gather damaged boats on the street in preparation for repairs. Photo by Thanh Tùng via VnExpress.

These unprecedented amounts of precipitation were minimally absorbed by the land, which was mostly saturated after extensive bouts of rain from October to November. During these months of 2025, the recorded rainfall on average was 120%–200% more than in other years.

As of November 23, the widespread flooding has claimed 90 lives so far across six localities, the majority of whom were in Đắk Lắk. Khánh Hòa, Lâm Đồng, Gia Lai, Huế, Đà Nẵng and Quảng Trị have also reported fatalities, while 12 others remain missing.

Extended heavy rain and inundation have destroyed 1,154 and submerged over 185,700 houses in the region, while over 80,800 hectares of crop farms were affected. Additionally, 3.2 million farm animals died, and 1.157 hectares of aquaculture farms were wiped out. Most prominently, the flooding has completely obliterated Đắk Lắk’s lobster industry with damages amounting to VND2 trillion.

Ánh, a lobster farmer in Phú Yên (now Đắk Lắk), surveying the damage to his rafts. Photo by Đình Sang via Đại Đoàn Kết.

While the water has receded in some provinces like Gia Lai, most of Đắk Lắk’s neighborhoods are still underwater and relief efforts are still hindered as major connective highways were severely damaged by landslides. Many passes that connect Lâm Đồng with adjacent provinces were disrupted by fallen rocks.

The rainiest rainy season

The Central Highlands and South-Central Coast are the most recent victims battered by the series of calamities battering Vietnam in 2025. Just last month in October, Central Vietnam also received historic levels of rainfall due to the remaining effects of Storm No. 12 (Fengshen), causing widespread flooding in Huế, Đà Nẵng, Hội An, Quảng Trị and Quảng Ngãi. Huế, for example, experienced 23 days of stormy weather that only stopped on November 7.

The Imperial City in Huế was overwhelmed by floodwater on October 28. Photo via Tiền Phong.

In early October, Storm No. 11 (Matmo) crossed the East Sea into northern Vietnam, showering mountainous and Red River Delta provinces with heavy rain, including Thái Nguyên, Bắc Ninh, Hanoi, and Lạng Sơn. Thái Nguyên was the worst hit, receiving the highest readings of rainfall in 61 years and thus suffering from major floods.

In late September, Storm No. 10 (Bualoi) made landfall in North-Central Vietnam, wreaking havoc on Ninh Bình, Thanh Hóa, Lào Cai, Hà Tĩnh, Nghệ An and Quảng Trị. As of October 1, the disaster had killed 51 people and caused VND12.8 trillion in damages.

How to help

At the moment, relief efforts are focusing on assisting the victims of the most recent floods in the Central Highlands and South-Central Coast. If you live in Hồ Chí Minh City, there are many designated drop-off points for physical contributions, including all 14 stations of Metro Line 1. A list of places accepting care packages is available on the official Facebook account of the Vietnamese government (Thông Tin Chính Phủ) here. Volunteers are also needed to help sort and pack donated items.

Saigoneers drop off donations outside of Bến Thành Station. Photo via Tiền Phong.

According to Tuổi Trẻ, most urgently needed products include household appliances, such as rice cookers and fridges; food items like cooking oil, condiments, rice; jackets and other winterwear; bedsheets, blankets, and other linens; medicine, insect repellent, disinfectants; school supplies for children; etc.

In terms of monetary contributions, the Vietnam Fatherland Front (Mặt Trận Tổ Quốc Việt Nam) is the official government organization handling donations, including US dollar channels. A list of official VFF bank accounts is available here. Vietnamese citizens can also make donations via the VNeID application. The VFF Facebook account is providing daily statements of transactions to their official accounts here.

Top photo: Volunteers help put together care packages at a dropoff point run by the Vietnam Fatherland Front. Photo by Chí Nguyên/Người Lao Động.

After Years in Limbo, Saigon's Metro Line 2 Is Officially Breaking Ground in Jan 2026

2025-11-13T10:00:00+07:00

After years under development limbo, Saigon’s Metro Line 2 has finally gotten an official date for breaking ground, but will this timeline stick?

As Tuổi Trẻ reports, the Hồ Chí Minh City People’s Committee recently set the date for Metro Line 2 construction to begin on January 15, 2026. From now until December, urban railway authorities must complete and submit relevant reports on feasibility, environmental impact, and project supervision.

This starting date applies to the first phase of the metro line, aiming to complete the initial segment spanning 11.3 kilometers from the existing Bến Thành Station to the northwestern region of the city.

A render of the train to be used on Metro Line 2.

According to Thanh Niên, phase one will feature 10 stations, apart from the Bến Thành Interchange, including Tao Đàn, Dân Chủ, Hòa Hưng, Lê Thị Riêng, Phạm Văn Hai, Bảy Hiền, Nguyễn Hồng Đào, Bà Quẹo, Phạm Văn Bạch, and Tân Bình — all will be underground except for Tân Bình. A few are planned to be interchanges with future lines: Tao Đàn (with Line 3B), Bảy Hiền (with Line 5), and Bà Quẹo (with Line 6).

In 2024, the city hoped to begin construction as early as 2025 with a finishing date in 2030, however, red tapes and delays in site clearance pushed the commencement to 2026.

After the first phase, Line 2’s second phase will stretch the other direction from Bến Thành to Thủ Thiêm in Thủ Đức City, while the last phase will extend northwards to the border with Tây Ninh City.

Photos via Thanh Niên.

Outlaw Ostrich Arrested in Bình Dương for Disrupting Public Order

2025-11-07T17:00:00+07:00

In case you need a pick-me-up on this dreary rainy Friday, here’s a dose of “độc lạ Bình Dương” quackery.

This morning, November 7, motorists in Bến Cát Ward of Hồ Chí Minh City (formerly Bến Cát City, Bình Dương Province) were flabbergasted to find an ostrich careening along on their morning commute, Dân Trí reports.

The panicked poultry could be found parading on NA3 Road in the Mỹ Phước 2 Industrial Complex, perhaps making a coffee run or hurrying to report to the morning shift? According to Bình Dương residents, the ostrich may have escaped from a local eco-tourism attraction.

Thankfully, local roads were mostly clear during the time when it was spotted, so no human or ostrich was harmed. Nonetheless, its presence ruffled some feathers of local officials, so the ostrich has since been taken into custody by Bình Dương police as they began a search for its owner.

Originating from Africa, the ostrich is not native to Vietnam, however, since its first introduction into the country in the 1990s, the towering bird has become a popular attraction in amusement parks and petting zoos.

In May this year, Huế residents were also shocked to find an ostrich running on the 1A National Highway, chased by a man on motorbike, whom many assumed was its owner.

Are you an ostrich herder in Bình Dương whose flock is missing a member? Contact the Bến Cát Police Department to retrieve your outlaw ostrich.

Photo via Pháp Luật.

ASEAN Welcomes East Timor, Asia's Youngest Nation, as 11th Member

2025-11-04T15:00:00+07:00

Time for infographic artists and geography teachers in the region to update their work on ASEAN.

As Reuters reported, on Sunday, October 26, Timor-Leste officially became the 11^th member of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). It was welcomed by the rest of the members at an ascension ceremony held in Malaysia.

While the occasion was largely symbolic, the ASEAN membership represents a historic moment for its President Jose Ramos-Horta and Prime Minister Xanana Gusmao, both central figures in the island nation’s struggle for independence, first against Portuguese colonization and later Indonesian occupation.

Timor-Leste, also known as East Timor, is located on the eastern half of Timor Island, which it shares with Indonesia. Its capital is Dili and its official languages are Portuguese and Tetum. The nation’s GDP is about US$2 billion, ASEAN’s lowest, with revenues from oil and gas production making up over 90% of the economy. There are about 1.4 million East Timorese living on the island at the moment.

In the 16^th century, Timor-Leste was colonized by Portugal and remained under European rule for many centuries until 1975, when Portugal abandoned the colony following the 1974 Portuguese revolution. Indonesia annexed the country in the same year. In 2001, a UN-sponsored referendum showed overwhelming support by East Timorese for independence. A year later in 2002, Timor-Leste became the first new sovereign state of the 21st century and Asia’s youngest country.

ASEAN was established in 1967 with five founding members: Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, and Thailand. The regional organization aims to promote economic, social, and cultural development, alongside regional peace. Vietnam became a member in 1995. Timor-Leste first applied for membership as early as 2011 and spent most of the following years as an observer to ASEAN.

As the latest member, Timor-Leste can leverage the bloc’s near-zero tariffs to diversify its economy and seek more trade opportunities. ASEAN-led security might also stabilize the country’s political situation, bringing about more foreign investments.

Photo by Anadolu/Global Times.

Into the Infernal Heat of One of Saigon's Last Remaining Forges

2025-11-03T10:00:00+07:00

It's no exaggeration to say that working in a forge is akin to being in a fiery sauna.

There are two poems I remember most from my primary school days: ‘The Sound of Bamboo Brooms’ by Tố Hữu and ‘The Blacksmith’ by poet Khánh Nguyên. As a child, I associated the labor of street sweepers and blacksmiths with temperature: the former braves the cold, dewy night to clean the streets, while latter stands before a literal furnace.

On scorching Saigon days, folks hurry to reach their destination quickly to avoid the blistering heat. Yet, as I speed on local streets on my scooter, I find myself thinking more about those whose jobs require them to endure such harsh conditions for decades.

A fourth-generation torch bearer

Many, if not most, forges in Vietnam today are not named after their current owners. Passed down from generation to generation, these forges retain the original name to honor their predecessors, the craft they practice and the legacy they continue. Lò Rèn Phương, a forge in Saigon's Thủ Đức City with a history of about 80 years, also shares this tradition.

“[Phương] was my great-grandfather’s name. Back then, everything was very rudimentary, mostly operated by manual labor. He had to use a turbine fan to coax the flames, unlike the automatic blowers we have now. But despite the hardships, he loved his craft very much. He taught my father, who then taught me,” shared Toản, the current owner, pointing with pride to the timeworn sign at the entrance of the alley leading to the forge.

Today, Lò Rèn Phương mainly produces machetes, garden hoes, shovels, crowbars, and specialized construction materials. They also take custom orders for handcrafted tools like concrete chisels and road-digging crowbars.

A bone cleaver, for instance, takes about 2–3 hours to complete. For a skilled blacksmith like Toản, the process is so familiar it’s almost second nature and he encounters little difficulty executing the steps. But when serving tough clients who demand meticulous, razor-sharp products with precise dimensions down to the millimeter, Toản must measure and weigh each piece of metal carefully, leaving no detail unchecked.

To create a perfect tool, Toản believes that the blacksmith must first choose the right type of steel: one that offers the desired hardness and durability. Once the steel is selected, it is heated in the forge until red-hot, softened to make it easier to shape, and then quickly hammered to improve the grain structure, making the blade stronger and sharper with each sharpening.

The next step is heat treatment, a crucial phase that determines the knife’s quality. The steel is heated to a specific temperature and then rapidly cooled in a mixture of oil and chemicals. This process not only increases the carbon content in the steel but also hardens the blade, enabling the user to cut smoothly through anything. The final steps involve additional sharpening, polishing, attaching the handle, and a thorough inspection before the product reaches the customer.

“There are knives in the market that have become too dull from extended use and can no longer chop effectively. People bring them to me to have the edges redone or to order new ones. Sharpening a knife costs only tens of thousand dong, while a new knife ranges from tens to hundreds of thousand dong, depending on customer needs. For example, a coconut cleaver ranges from VND150,000 to VND200,000, while a bone-chopping knife costs VND250,000 to VND300,000. The more intricate and high-quality the knife, the pricier it is.”

Despite being a small business, each product from the forge comes with a unique warranty. Customers can bring any purchase with wear-and-tear to Toản for a free makeover. Remarkably, since taking over from his father, no one has complained about the product quality or requested a refund.

Keeping the flame burning

“The hammering makes the sound ‘cực’ which symbolizes ‘struggle’ (‘khổ’), and the metal when dipped into water sizzles (‘xèo’) which sounds likes ‘nghèo’ (poverty),” Toản talks about how his trade is often jokingly associated with poor working conditions and pay.

However, instead of shying away, he decided to finish his studies, entered the workforce, then returned to help his father and eventually took over the family's forge over 20 years ago.

“It's tough, exhausting, and hot,” he said. “The space from the forge to where I am is probably around a thousand degrees, with direct heat rising up to about 1,200–1,300°C. Even with 2–3 fans blowing to disperse the heat, it still affects you. And obviously, exposure to coal is hazardous. But this is a trade I genuinely love. Every finished product is made with my own hands, sweat, and effort. The feeling of shaping, bending, or forging even a small knife or chisel gives me a sense of honest labor, knowing my products support many people's work — it's indescribable.”

He acknowledged that today, forges can't attract as many customers as during their heyday due to the advancement of machinery and production lines. The most diminished customer demographic is contractors and companies needing large quantities. Diverse options on the market make it all the more challenging for traditional blacksmithing.

“During the golden days, my forge was always bustling with orders for all sorts of tools, not just hammers, knives, and chisels... But then technology developed so fast, mass production can constantly churn out affordable and serviceable tools, making it hard to compete," Toản confided. Additionally, the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted many businesses, including his forge.

Yet, Toản remains optimistic, believing that each product has its unique characteristics. Some specialized products require tailor-made orders that can't be found on the market, like a coconut saw, auto repair parts, or livestock feed knives, which must be customized to meet specific user requirements.

While blacksmithing is traditionally a father-to-son trade, some customers maintain a similar tradition. Products from the forge are durable, lasting 2–3 generations. When in need of new tools, they direct their descendants to the same forge. Toản mentioned that many older customers from far-flung localities like Long An, Hóc Môn, Củ Chi are willing to travel the long distance to order from him because they trust and prefer his products. This loyalty helps the forge endure through the years.

He fondly recalled a memorable encounter with an Indian customer who flew to Vietnam to place an order. Toản couldn't communicate in English, so they sat on the ground, drawing out shapes and processes with chalk. “I didn't understand a word he said, but we both drew pictures, and I ended up making several dozen crowbars for export to India. This customer returned 5–7 times, ordering hundreds of crowbars in total,” Toản said.

From the bottom of his heart, Toản always wants to maintain his ancestral trade for a long time but can't help but worry, as he's over 50 and his children are still young; he's uncertain if they'll want or be able to take over. He hopes his children can carry on the forge's legacy for many generations.

“If young people are interested in blacksmithing, they should come to learn so it can continue to exist. I hope that in the future, regardless of how the country progresses or changes, we remember the craftsmanship of our ancestors.”

Lò Rèn Phương is located at 562 Tô Ngọc Vân, Tam Bình Ward, Thủ Đức District, HCMC.

This article was originally published in 2024.

The Origin of the Strange Lights You See Before Landing in Saigon

2025-10-14T11:00:00+07:00

What are those astonishingly bright lights seen from an airplane window when approaching Saigon at night? I’ve had visitors ask me this on the drive home from the airport, and the question appears on Reddit every few months. I remember being befuddled myself the first time I witnessed the patchwork radiance.

So what are those bright lights that overwhelm the aerial view on clear nights? A hubristic attempt by humanity to mock the cosmos and its flimsy scattering of faded stars? A glitch in the matrix's landscape rendering? A simple illusion induced by the curvature of the earth and your own slipping sanity?

The real answer isn’t anything so outrageous: it's dragon fruit, or, to be exact, farms that grow them, as the fruits do not emit light. Near the coast, not far from Saigon, communities such as Hồ Cốc outside Vũng Tàu boast expansive dragon fruit farms. Left to the natural order, the cactus plants will produce numerous harvests per year, a boon to the local economy. But if super-charged via around-the-clock light, the plants become extra productive, blooming out of season and thus producing even more fruits which are of notably high quality. It’s easy to understand how this led farmers to string up lights throughout their massive fields.

In response to global concerns over energy consumption and sustainable agriculture, and with the assistance of government support, farmers have transitioned from inefficient traditional bulbs to 9-watt energy-saving LED lights. When coupled with solar power setups and water-saving irrigation systems, they result in significantly reduced power and resource consumption.

Photo via Hoàng Hậu dragon fruit farm.

The view of the distant countryside sprawled out beneath its electro-luminescent afghan is worth requesting a window seat next time you have a flight from TSN. And yet, I feel a little shame in revealing the origin of the lights. Knowing the dragon fruit lies behind the mystery is a bit like uncovering Tutankhamun’s long-lost tomb, only to discover it had already been looted and contains nothing but plaster shavings and mouse turds. So much radiance, so much uncertainty, all attributed to what one Reddit commentator described as a fruit that tastes like it has given up on its dreams: a passionless fruit.

Photo by Alberto Prieto.

[Top image via Reddit user stknrdr]

My Mom’s Care Packages Remind Me That Home Can Fit Inside a Box of Food

2025-10-10T13:00:00+07:00

“What do you guys crave? I’ll send some.”

My sister and I live 600 kilometers away from hometown, a placid town in the middle of green hills. Every month without fail, our mother always sends us a box of food to help out. When we were little, it was our family ritual to gather around the hearty meals she cooked for us. Now that we’ve left home, through her bountiful care packages, it’s like she’s still by our side in a quiet but affectionate way. When we unbox her presents, the tastes of home and our childhoods fill our hearts with warmth.

There’s an exciting seasonality behind mom’s curation. In the rainy seasons, the box will be full of freshwater fish and prawns from her regular vendors at our market. During pond-draining periods, the seafood is always fresh and fat. Dozens of tiny eggs from our chickens are packed neatly in plastic jars in between rice straw as a cushion. Sometimes there will be treasures from the garden she maintains: greens and tubers, chubby bamboo shoots, and handfuls of mushrooms that still smell like wet soil. Whatever the best harvest of the day would end up in the box. In the summer, the box turns into a fruit display: durian, avocado, rambutan, longan, lychee, etc. She manages to squeeze the entire market into the box for us.

Every time I open the box, there’s a feast of precooked dishes that are carefully divided into portions enough for 1–2 meals so we don’t have to reheat too often: from fish braised with young bananas, lemongrass chicken, to beef stew. Pork and chicken from the farm, prepped and frozen; washed and plucked herbs — everything comes with written notes on how to best prepare it. It might seem effortless, but behind each box is usually two days’ worth of preparation, picking and shopping for ingredients, cooking, packing, and arranging transportation. I sometimes joke that she packs her motherly affection inside banana leaves, plastic wraps, and ice chunks in the care packages. It’s a kind of love that’s unpretentious but warmer than anything we’ve received in our lives.

One time, I texted her randomly: “Mom, I really want to eat heritage pork.” A few days later, she sent me 7 kilograms. I was beside myself with astonishment, perhaps this is just how all moms operate. The older I get, the clearer I can feel the strong pull of my hometown’s flavors within people like me, who grew up amongst the red dirt. We can’t help but yearn for those familiar tastes, despite living in the wealthiest and most developed city in the country, where everything is available at our fingertips. That visceral yearning, at times, can be tethered to something as humble as a bundle of vegetables that our moms pack in the styrofoam box.

Whenever the box just arrives at our doorstep, I always unpack it myself and carefully separate each item into categories: vegetables, meat, fish, and fruit. I will wash, freeze, or store them away based on mom’s instructions. This storage process has become my own ritual. I do it measuredly and mindfully. Perhaps subconsciously, I don’t want anything to spoil or be forgotten.

In the middle of our hectic modern life where every convenience is available, how she still painstakingly bundles the produce, layers each jar of shrimp paste, and ties up each bag of fruit is her way to maintain our family bond. At times, when I think of a time when she’s not around anymore, my heart sinks — who will send us care packages?

Anyone living away from home might see themselves in our story. Who hasn’t at least once received a box full of homegrown items? Every time I remove the lid, a rush of nostalgia floods my mind. Sometimes I burst into tears like a child, feeling so loved and cared for. If you are still living with your parents, maybe this can be a reminder not to take your meals together for granted.

Some day, I will too become a mother, doing exactly what my mother has been doing: sending my kids giant care packages filled with the flavors of home.

New 12,000-Year-Old Skeleton Breaks Record of Oldest Human Remains Found in Vietnam

2025-09-03T11:00:00+07:00

After analysis, scientists believe that a 12,000-year-old set of human remains found in Ninh Bình belonged to a prehistoric man who died from infection after being struck by a quartz-tipped projectile.

Last week, global news outlets reported on the findings published in a scientific report in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B, in part because the skeleton represents the oldest-known human in the area, based on mitochondrial DNA. The discovery also attracted attention because, when investigating the 35-year-old male’s potential cause of death, scientists discovered a fragment of quartz. Based on forensic evidence, they surmise the mineral-tipped projectile struck him in the neck, shattering a bone but not killing him. After weeks or even months of pain, the individual, dubbed TBH1, succumbed to infection and was buried in a cave in the UNESCO World Heritage site,Tràng An.

TBH1's skeleton, along with the quartz micropoint (top left) and a close-up of the fractured neck bone (top right).

Mysteriously, quartz does not occur naturally in the area, and similar artifacts have only been found thousands of miles away. Scientists remain baffled by the specifics of what was potentially a violent encounter, possibly between disparate groups. Moreover, some of the bones were gnawed on by animals post-mortem but not dragged away, leading experts to believe TBH1 was cared for before and after his death.

The study’s lead author, Christopher Stimpson, a researcher and honorary associate at the University of Oxford’s Museum of Natural History in the UK, explained the excitement over the find: “Human remains from this time in southeast Asia’s history are relatively uncommon, so the skeletal and DNA evidence that we were able to recover gives us a rare insight into the people living there at the time.”

While the report was just published, scientists have been working in the area known as Thung Bình 1 since 2017. Containing broken pottery, snail shells and animal bones, they believed the ancient dump could provide insights into the life and culture of the humans who created it. Finding a human skeleton, however, was more than the team had expected. “I’d previously worked in a few other caves in the local area, but this is probably the most challenging excavation that I’ve ever conducted,” Stimpson said. “It was a very small and cosy cave to work in, but finding a skeleton of this age in such good condition made it all worthwhile.”

The find is notable for Vietnam in particular. Dr. Bùi Văn Mạnh, director of the Ninh Bình Department of Tourism, said: “This is a groundbreaking and significant discovery — not only in terms of scientific value, but also in its historical and cultural importance. It is a source of local pride and will be invaluable in fostering a deeper appreciation for the heritage of Tràng An in residents and visitors alike.”

The oldest human remains previously found in Vietnam date back only 10,000 years and were found in nearby Hà Nam Province. Scientists will continue to work in Tràng An’s cliffs and caves, hoping to learn more about the ice age humans that lived in the area.

As Saigon Moves Forward, Xích Lô Lag Behind as Nostalgic Remnants of a Past Era

2025-08-19T10:00:00+07:00

Among Bùi Viện's assortment of xe ôm drivers and street food vendors, Bible-toting religious enthusiasts and other colorful personalities, 66-year-old Nghĩa stands out for his kind eyes and walrus-like mustache.

When we meet for the second time, near a pagoda in one of Phạm Ngũ Lão's wide alleys, Nghĩa rolls up on a well-worn, bright blue xích lô, slowing to a halt just beside me. We'd found each other the week before, when I was hanging around the backpacker area scouting xích lô drivers for a story. Well-versed in introductions, Nghĩa approached me, proudly unfolding the laminated news clippings he keeps in his pocket.

A xích lô driver for over half his life, Trà Vinh-born Nghĩa left the Mekong Delta as a young boy after his father was killed. Shortly thereafter, his mother brought Nghĩa and her four other children to Saigon, raising them by herself.

Though his childhood was fairly normal, Nghĩa's teen years were lived out against a backdrop of war. At 19, he joined the military along with two of his brothers and was injured twice over the next six years.

Around that same time, he met his wife.

“We became friends,” he explains. “She would treat me with fruits from her garden and clean water. Later, [after 1975], we got married.”

It was a difficult time for them both. Along with the rest of the country, Nghĩa struggled to pick up the pieces after years of conflict. Money was scarce and opportunities even scarcer. By the early 1980s, he had invested in a xích lô and began taking customers around at night.

For two years, Nghĩa struggled to make ends meet, earning a meager living from nighttime customers. That is, of course, until the foreigners came.

“Things changed in the early 1990s, when the first tourists arrived in Vietnam,” says Nghĩa. “I still remember my first foreign client, an Australian woman. Her fees were much higher than I was used to receiving. After I understood, I moved my spot to Bùi Viện, got my own team and start making decent money.”

Thanks to his English skills, Nghĩa was able to earn more, allowing him to raise his four children, the eldest of whom is now 42. His youngest, a 16-year-old son, is still in school and wants to be an engineer. This pleases the xích lô driver.

“I want him to become somebody,” explains Nghĩa. “Not the lowest caste like me.”

While he acknowledges the difficult circumstances which put him in this profession, Nghĩa harbors no bitterness about the course of his life. Even at his age, he works 12 hours a day, seven days a week. It's no longer out of necessity — he has grown children who can provide for him — but there's a sense of duty in Nghĩa's efforts. For decades, the xích lô has sustained him and raised his family. He's relatively well-known now, especially among high-end hotels, and routinely ferries customers around the city.

It was nearly noon by the time I clambered out of the weather-worn, 15-year-old xích lô. Along with a small but steadfast collection of other retirees, Nghĩa represents the last crop of Saigon's xích lô drivers. As the city develops and opportunities grow for young people in Vietnam, the tough times which brought Nghĩa into his lifelong occupation no longer exist. On the contrary, city officials are trying to phase out this mode of transportation, he explains. More and more, weary xích lô drivers who are struggling for fares will take the cash payout offered by the city to trade in their wheels for a different job. In another few years, xích lôs may be relegated to yet another nostalgic piece of Saigon’s collective memory.

This article was originally published in 2016.

Wipha, Yagi and Luc-Binh: How Are Tropical Storms Named in the Pacific Region?

2025-07-28T09:00:00+07:00

Wipha was the latest typhoon to batter Vietnam this year, sweeping through northern provinces like Hưng Yên, Ninh Bình, Nghệ An, and Thanh Hóa and causing dangerous floods. It was 2025’s third and probably will not be the last that Vietnam will have to endure this year.

Its name is a female name in Thai, suggested by Thailand in a pool of many others that nations in the region put together. But how are these names selected?

The Japan Meteorological Agency (JMA) has been the Western North Pacific region’s official warning agency since 1981, though there are other tracking bodies. In 2000, JMA started naming tropical storms from a list of 140 submissions by 14 countries and territories in the region, switching from a previous system that only used numbers.

The 14 members include Cambodia, China, Hongkong, Japan, North Korea, South Korea, Laos, Macau, Malaysia, Micronesia, the Philippines, Thailand, the US, and Vietnam.

The names selected come from diverse cultural and national roots, but generally follow similar themes such as species of local fauna and flora, food, famous geographical landmarks, and even folk deities. A complete list of approved names and their meanings as of 2025 can be found here.

The 10 names that originated from Vietnam in the current list are Trami (camellia), Halong (Hạ Long Bay), Bang-Lang (jacaranda), Songda (Đà River), Saobien (starfish), Son-Tinh (Sơn Tinh), Co-may (lesser spear grass), Bavi (Ba Vì), Luc-binh (water hyacinth), and Sonca (Oriental skylark).

Every year, member countries can request for name changes or replacements based on various reasons, such as easier mispronounced names, controversial spelling or meaning. The most common justification behind replacements, however, is due to the scale of destruction of past typhoons with the same name. For instance, Saola — after the endangered species of bovid — was retired as Typhoon Saola was particularly catastrophic when it hit Hongkong and the Philippines in 2023.

Top image via Denison Forum.

The Simple Pleasures of Having Your Hair Washed at the Hairdresser’s

2025-06-08T12:00:00+07:00

I get my face shaved by sidewalk barbers; stop at every roving laminator I pass to have ticket stubs, photos, and doodles encased in plastic as souvenirs; and will always select a stool surrounded by traffic over a fine dining establishment. Add in the fact that I’ve kept my hair well past my shoulders for decades, and it should be a no-brainer that I regularly frequent tiệm gội đầu. And yet, somehow, last week was my first visit.

I’ll blame my shameful oversight on professional hair-washing’s place in western society. In my native US, paying someone else to wash one’s hair is quite expensive and reserved for fancy salons, and even then, only when accompanying a haircut or treatment. Entirely different arrangements of street and market economies mean one cannot exchange the equivalent of a bowl of phở and a cup of coffee for 20 minutes of careful follicle cleansing.

After my visit to a shophouse providing gội đầu near my home, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same; I’ll never be content to wash my own hair again. I’ve always considered hair washing to be a yes or no skill; such a straightforward task allows no room for doing it wrong or even poorly. My time with Lan proved such binary thinking to be wildly wrong. From root to tip, her fingers, simultaneously forceful and nimble, found untouched strands and stretches to lather with exuberant efficacy. My hair was left softer, cleaner, and more luscious-looking than it’s ever been.

More than a mere matter of cleanliness, the visit was an opportunity for indulgence. Opting for the elevated gội đầu session with neck massage and shoulder massage, the 40-minute experience included hot stones prepped with phở herbs in a rice cooker eased across my laptop-weary neck along with a yogurt soap to soothe my sun-dried face pores. Full massages may be affordable and accessible in Vietnam, but gội đầu is even more convenient (I didn’t even have to unbuckle my belt). If a full spa service is a hearty meal, gội đầu is a refreshing snack that can satiate a midweek craving.

My typical hair wash routine is regularly a matter of quick efficiency that leaves little room for extended shower thoughts. Yet, with no podcast blaring from a Bluetooth speaker to distract me like normal and only minimal chit-chat with Lan, I had extra time for aimless daydreaming. The joys of letting my mind wander like a jellyfish in the current were only interpreted when Lan asked which type of shampoo I wanted. Bồ kết as an option! I fully expected the gội đầu to provide an immersion into Vietnamese culture in and of itself, but I didn't anticipate such ancillary encounters of unique heritage.

In addition to its cultural particularity and the value of having fresh locks, the very process of finding the gội đầu shop was an act of immense pleasure. To locate a humble street hair-washing spot, as opposed to fancy salon, it’s best to look for a Zalo number scrawled on a handmade sign or, better yet, ask around the neighborhood. Google is of little help. In an age of increasingly digital existence, where ChatGPT professes to know all the answers and social media serves as sole authenticator of any activity, offline-only experiences remind me what it means to be a member of human society.

Letter to the People I Met as We Hid From the Rain Under a Bridge Together

2025-05-22T11:00:00+07:00

“Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.”
— Vladimir Nabokov.

Dear you,

It’s been a few weeks, how have you been? Did your daughter eventually get to school on time? Did those orders of fresh phở reach your hungry customers safely? As for you, how long did it take for your nice leather shoes to completely dry? I’m sorry that your poncho broke and water poured onto your leg.

I’m doing fine — soaked pant hems, dirty tires, and a tinge of stress having to drive under the drizzle — but three decades in Saigon have honed my resilience in the face of the city’s monsoon. Now, I can catch even the most microscopic whiff of petrichor moments before the rain comes, and I’ve long etched into my skin a reminder not to take off my raincoat too early, even though for one moment it might seem like the pouring has ceased. A spare pair of flip-flops in my bike’s trunk to deploy in place of hard-to-dry footwear, an ability to unfurl my poncho in less than 30 seconds, and a sense of acceptance that the water is a welcome element of life.

I apologize for not getting your name, but I doubt you’ll remember me, like how I don’t remember you, apart from visual and auditory slivers that come and go as time marinates them in my memory. A Hello Kitty slipper, the ding of a phone reminder, a grin as warm as the sun of summer. Would we be friends had we encountered one another elsewhere in this 10-million-people town?

For a fleeting fifteen-minute while in our lives, we were here, huddling in the cavernous space under this bridge that crosses over the canal, like a shoal of remoras beneath a whale. We were here, united by our need to wait out the battering of rain, just imprudent enough to forget to bring a raincoat in the face of the ferocious southern rainy season, and just freezing-cold enough to not care about the irked beeping of incoming traffic admonishing us for taking up street space.

I’ve been on both sides of the beeping. I’ve nonchalantly stopped along the road under an underpass to hide from the monsoon and I’ve honked at gaggles of rain-hiders who slowed down my commute in a time of urgency. What I’ve learned is that everybody forgets as soon as the rainwater stops falling. Enduring the pitter-patter of a Saigon rain is a stressful daily ritual these days, so I consciously remind myself to practice empathy every time I look up to the endless sky and drops of rain stare down at me. There is a certain camaraderie that grows within those who have undergone trying times together, and it was absolutely my pleasure to have experienced our fifteen minutes’ worth of camaraderie together.

Yours torrentially,

Rain-hider.

Hanoi's Bát Tràng Ceramic Village Turns Historic Craft Into Global Fame

2025-05-14T15:00:00+07:00

Bát Tràng has been producing ceramics for over 700 years, but it’s the recent decades that interest me most: a period in which this small village has mirrored Vietnam’s rapid economic growth.

Once focused on supplying the domestic and regional market, Bát Tràng is now a global producer in ceramics, exporting goods around the world while also drawing over 100,000 tourists annually who come to visit its museums, browse the markets, and try their hand at pottery.

What strikes me most about Bát Tràng is the coexistence of scales: sprawling factories operate alongside more than 1,000 family-run workshops. When you walk its narrow streets, it feels like every household is involved in ceramics in some way, mixing clay, firing kilns, loading motorbikes. Production spills into alleys and courtyards, into kitchens and storefronts.

This photo album traces that ecosystem — from raw materials to finished wares — documenting a working village that sits at the intersection of tradition, industry, and transformation.

Bát Tràng is a microcosm of Vietnam’s economic story: rapid growth alongside deep tradition. Here, something beautiful, sacred, or functional emerges from nothing more than a lump of earth — a quiet, constant act of transformation.

The maze-like alleys of Bát Tràng, where tradition, craftsmanship and mass production take place in almost every home.

Red brick weathered factories overshadowed by towering modern factories amid Bát Tràng’s evolving skyline.

A massive mixing drum processes the raw clay, the starting point of ceramic creation.

A vast pressing machine, a next step in the industrial scale metamorphosis of raw clay into mass-produced ceramics or hand-crafted beautiful objects; everything stems from the same earth.

A freshly pressed clay disc is removed from the machine to continue in the next step in the process.

Experienced hands shape a small figurine.

A worker carries a large pot from the kiln into storage.

An empty break area within a factory, where workers find moments of rest among the ceramics and grab a cup of tea or coffee.

Pots of vivid glazes, ready to be applied, revealing the artistic side of Bát Tràng’s production.

A worker applies glaze to mugs using a machine, a glimpse of the mass production process.

Rows of clay products and machinery in one of Bát Tràng’s larger industrial spaces.

An artisan carefully works on a traditional pot, one of the last studios preserving designs of this type.

Final Merging Plan Brings Vietnam's Locality Number From 63 to 34

2025-04-14T15:00:00+07:00

After extended working sessions to gather insights from experts and locals, Vietnam’s state government has announced the final version of the country’s administrative map.

Details of the most recent national administrative consolidation were listed in Resolution No. 60, which was officially approved by the central government on April 12, reports Thanh Niên. According to the plan, the number of localities in Vietnam will go from 63 to just 34 after the merger, including 6 municipalities and 28 provinces.

The eventual consolidation was decided based on five main pillars of criteria: area and population; history, tradition, culture, religion, and ethnicity; geo-economics; geopolitical considerations; and national security.

Eleven of the 63 old localities will remain the same, including Hanoi, Huế, Lai Châu, Điện Biên, Sơn La, Lạng Sơn, Quảng Ninh, Thanh Hóa, Nghệ An, Hà Tĩnh, and Cao Bằng. Every locality south of Huế will be merged with their neighbor(s). Some standout examples include Hồ Chí Minh City, which absorbs nearby Bình Dương and Bà Rịa-Vũng Tàu provinces, growing to a new population of over 13 million residents.

Similarly, Quảng Nam Province becomes part of Đà Nẵng City, Hải Dương Province becomes part of Hải Phòng City, and Sóc Trăng and Hậu Giang provinces will become part of Cần Thơ City. A complete list of administrative changes is available for viewing below.

Apart from changes on the national level, each locality will also undergo mergers on the ward/commune level as the district level and province-level cities will be dissolved.

Vietnam’s administrative map has gone through numerous rounds of adjustments depending on the economic, demographic, and national security needs of the time. Most recently, in 2008, the entirety of Hà Tây Province and Vĩnh Phúc’s Mê Linh District were merged into Hanoi. In previous consolidation rounds, some old geographic designations have come and go, now only existing in old media and works of literature, such as Sông Bé Province (now Bình Dương and Bình Phước) and Minh Hải Province (now Bạc Liêu and Cà Mau).

Graphic via Vietnam News Agency.

[Top image via Sách Tiếng Anh Nhập Khẩu]

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.

How Saigon's Free Water Coolers Quench Thirst and Spread Kindness

2025-03-22T10:00:00+07:00

In recent years, stories about climate change's impacts on the lives of Vietnamese people have been increasingly making the news.

According to the Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment, Vietnam is among the six countries most severely affected by climate change worldwide. In rural areas, extreme weather often manifests as natural disasters such as floods, while in urban areas like Saigon, prolonged heatwaves pose the greatest challenge.

Photo by Alberto Prieto.

As the dry season sets in, city dwellers find themselves battling record-breaking temperatures. Heat rises from the asphalt, blending with vehicle exhaust and musty fumes from narrow alleys to form dense and suffocating clouds of air.

In response, people rush to air-conditioned cafes and shopping centers, seeking refuge from the relentless heat. Those who must venture outside wrap themselves in jackets, masks, or hoodies. But not everyone has the privilege to easily escape the scorching sun.

Photo by Cao Nhân.

Among those most affected are informal workers in urban areas. Jobs like construction, street vending, motorbike taxi driving, or garbage collection often lead to prolonged exposure to the scorching sun.

The Vietnamese Ministry of Labor has advised outdoor workers to rest in cool places and stay hydrated to prevent heatstroke and reduce body temperature. While scientifically sound, these recommendations overlook the harsh reality that shade and clean water are often luxuries for those working outside.

Unassuming water coolers and messages of kindness. Photos by Cao Nhân, Trinh Nguyễn, Paul Christiansen.

A day’s worth of bottled water can cost as much as a light meal and is cumbersome for those constantly on the move. Yet access to free, clean drinking water is limited.

Fortunately, much like mushrooms sprouting after the rain, “grassroots” water sources have appeared during dry spells in every corner of the city. Bearing friendly messages like “Free drinking water” or “Cool water for travelers,” stainless steel containers and insulated buckets dot the sidewalks to serve as mobile wellsprings.

Anonymous benefactors. Photo via VnExpress.

Operating on a beautiful principle of “those with excess give, those in need take,” kind-hearted benefactors fill these stations with iced tea, filtered water, and sometimes even snacks. People can stop by to quench their thirst and cool down for free. There are no thank-yous, no observers, just thousands of silent exchanges happening daily.

This heart-warming practice is not new. In the rural southern regions of the past, residents would set up leaf huts, water jars, and coconut ladles along the roads. Travelers and neighbors could stop to rest and refresh. While the jars may now be replaced with modern materials, the spirit of local generosity continues to flourish.

Clay jars were often used to collect rainwater for daily use and to offer refreshment to passersby. Photo via Phụ Nữ Online.

In response to the severe heat, the city government is piloting more public water stations. Until then, these unmarked containers will continue their humble legacy: providing water and support to ease the hardships of daily life.

Free water pitchers provide blue-collar workers with much-needed refreshment. Photo via Dân Trí.

This article was originally published in 2024.