It doesn’t feel so long ago that Saigon went into battle mode against invaders of microscopic scales.

And the fallout wasn’t just visible, it could be heard. For a terrible chunk of the year, the only sounds Saigoneers could hear were the distance wailing of sirens or the jolting sneeze of one thoroughly, clinically poked nose. Deafening silence took on a different meaning, and for the first time, the absence of our neighbors' power–karaokeing caused greater misery than their perpetual presence.

It seemed unimaginable that a year after the beginning of the lockdown, the city would rumble with the most glorious cacophony: blasting kẹo kéo speakers, clinking mugs of 333, and competing vuvuzelas, perhaps not just to celebrate victory over a football rivalry, but the overcoming of something so so much bigger.

Saigon is really back, bitches, and we’ll 1, 2, 3, dzô to that.

Flip the postcard to feel a glimpse of the noises that we love to hate and hate to love:

Humans adapted to fields, birds to branches... and yet, in Saigon...

We have learned over the past two years to adapt to scanning codes, poking our own nose, sterilizing everything, masking up everywhere, getting additional jabs like clockwork. When Ông Ba Mươi makes an entrance for the Year of the Tiger, it's a Tết unlike any we've had before.

Check out our special Tết postcard below (click image to flip for text):

Who is better at the art of chilling on a motorbike than the xe ôm?

When the city life was yet to be interrupted by COVID, one could usually find a xe ôm in alley openings or intersections, lounging in various positions. For these people, the motorbikes were their office. And when not carrying a passenger, where else could they pass the time if not on the saddle seat, relaxing yet still alert for any potential customers walking by.

Flip the post card below to see a lesson these masters can teach us.

What if cải lương tuồng cổ costumes became a new trend?

In a city forever embracing new fashion fads, from urban streetwear to unisex styles to sustainable materials, why haven't cải lương tuồng cổ costumes caught on? Sure, there may be some logistical issues, and it wouldn't be as cheap as the latest Uniqlo offering, but we think they would look pretty badass.

Take a look at how we imagine the streets might look if such a craze hit Saigon, and flip the postcard for our word of warning. 

Vietnam makes no special safety-protocol exceptions for Santa Claus. 

When his sleigh touches down on December 24, Santa will be required to go through the procedures expected of everyone. Any delays in package deliveries can be attributed to his need to quarantine.  

Read our message to the beloved safety workers by flipping the postcard below:

What happens after the cho thuê nhà signs go up?

While Vietnam's laudable response to the COVID-19 epidemic saved many lives and livelihoods, much damage was done. The urban landscape bears the scars of the pandemic in the form of shuttered storefronts and abandoned buildings. When passing them, we should mourn the households affected, while hoping for what might bloom in the vacancies.  

The situation inspired us to write a haiku. Click the below image to read it:

Who builds Saigon's bridges?

Sure, it's a collaborative effort requiring construction crews, architects, traffic police, taxpayers, urban planners, ministries and officials. But when you think about it, where does the dream of bridges elegantly spanning rivers really originate? Click the image to read our take on the true source of Saigon's water-scoffing roads. 

Saigon is a cake with many bakers.

Rather than the work of a single person with a vision, Saigon's countless layers have been assembled by a variety of planners, architects, construction teams and engineers across decades. Without a shared recipe, the dish is an eclectic mishegoss of flavors. 

The under-construction metro line, with accompanying underground station and shopping areas at Ben Thanh Market, have added a thrilling new filling, effectively turning a simple sheet cake into an extravagant layered cake. 

See what we think it might taste like by clicking the image below:

"Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?'"

As Covid-19 throws the world into disarray like an untethered coral polyp tossed against the rocks during a violent squall, Vietnam remains somewhat stable; life relatively routine. There is a reason for this. Keeping the country from falling into chaos demands the generosity, diligence and hard work of doctors, nurses, delivery drivers, store clerks, garbage sweepers and security guards. 

Saigoneer says "thank you" with the postcard below (click image to flip):

If one needs further proof of cats' superiority to humans, one simply needs to consider their response to Saigon's perpetually stalled public transportation plans.

The first metro line's clutter of construction debris accompanied by constant delays may represent an infuriating blight on the city to many, but for others, it makes the perfect spot to nap.

Check out our stance felines in the postcard below (click to flip):

They say it's bad to get married during your year on the Lunar Calendar. 

But can't luck be made to change if the right envelopes, bottles and snacks make their way into the right hands?

Check out our modern imagining of the classic Rat's Wedding Dong Ho painting in the postcard below and click to flip to read our Tet message:

Soft lights illuminate Saigon's dark alleys and streets the way holiday cheer brightens the lamentations for another year passing.

Neither synonyms nor antonyms, nostalgia and ephemerality seem especially intertwined in the days leading up to the end of the decade. The feelings are accentuated by the holiday lights, those tiny bulbs of heat and color, strung across evenings that give way to cool mornings perfect for penning the final missives of the year.

Read our holiday message in the postcarf below (click to flip):

Cramped alleyways thread through the heart of Hanoi’s Old Quarter like arteries, carrying not just people and goods, but also intrigue and fear.

Some of these labyrinthine spaces, ominous and rat-filled, require bravery to enter. Yet once inside, one’s romantic wonder transcends physical boundaries; as a line in a poem by Che Lan Vien reads – “Ngõ rất cụt mà lòng xa thẳm” – which translates as “the alley is narrow, yet our hearts are wide.”

Take a look below (clip to flip for text):

Folk wisdom offers a unique way to achieve aquatic efficiency. 

According to local lore, if one wants to learn how to swim, instead of laborious lessons or recklessly plunging off the back of a boat, one can make use of a common insect. Click the below image to learn the steps:

Hanoi's lakes, including Hồ Gươm, are brimming with fish, debris and memories of historical lore. 

According to Vietnamese mythology, Emperor Le Loi gained possession of a powerful sword, named Heaven’s Will, during the 15^th century while war raged with China. A soldier and former fisherman caught the sword in his net and gave it to the emperor. It was this gift that helped Le Loi overthrow the Chinese and gain Vietnam’s independence.

After the war, Le Loi was boating on Hồ Gươm when Kim Quy, the Golden Turtle God, surfaced. Le Loi placed Heaven’s Will into the turtle’s outstretched claws and thanked the divine being for its help. The beast swiftly disappeared into the depths to return the sword to the Dragon King who sent it. Le Loi then renamed the lake Hồ Hoàn Kiếm, meaning “The Lake of the Returned Sword.”

It is likely such ancient turtles are the ancestors of their modern relatives. In January 2016, Hanoians were left shell-shocked after learning that Cụ Rùa, the last living Hoan Kiem Turtle, had died.

Some claim that two or three young turtles still live in the lake. Yet without proven sightings, they exist merely as legends, classified as cryptozoological. And so the era of Hồ Gươm’s turtles, from Kim Quy until today, remains bookended by myths. 

Check out the postcard below (click to flip for text):

The name "Turtle Lake" has more mythic origins than merely suggesting the presence of aquatic reptiles.

Rumor has it Chinese feng shui master once identified a great dragon resting beneath Saigon; its head located at the Reunification Palace, and its tail lying beneath a French water-tower turned monument a few blocks away. The creature symbolized the city's great strength and potential, but if unrestrained it could quickly run wild, destroying the metropolis in its pursuit of fortune and power. Therefore, it was suggested that a great sword be driven into its tail, with a metal turtle placed on top to weigh it down. The modernist tower, with its hilt-like top, remains at the intersection of Pham Ngoc Thach and Tran Cao Van to this day (click to flip):

Do you know how Hanoi’s greatest lake was formed?

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. But who needs facts when one can wade into the waters of myth to explain its presence?

According to folklore, Vietnamese Buddhist monk Minh Khong once worked 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. 

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.

Check out the postcard below (click to flip for text):

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The monsoon season's heavy clouds carry a chaos of conflictions.

Every summer, at certain times of the day, Saigon's skies grow dark and torrential downpours threaten to overwhelm the city. The storms provide relief, or burden, depending on the day, person or mood. (click to flip):

While the rainy season's flooded streets, soaked satchels and delayed appointments can make one curse its arrival, sometimes when the torrent hits the neon storefronts just so, it becomes a source of inspiration.

When a sudden downpour forces you to huddle beneath an awning-covered alleyway, stare into glistering pavement reflecting brake lights and listen to raindrops tapping tin roofs like punctuation, sometimes there is nothing to do but pick up pen and scribble a few lines. Take a look at the familiar Saigon scene below (click to flip):

Navigating traffic with absurdly overburdened motorbikes comes as second nature to Saigoneers.

From live pigs to freezers to mattresses to bathtubs, everyone has a story of the wildest thing they've seen strapped to a bike. It's unclear what is more impressive: the feat of squeezing through scutchells and racing down highways with such seemingly precarious cargo or the nonchalance with which it's done.

Take a look at the familiar Saigon scene below (click to flip):

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