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]

What does a mango flower look like?

Despite eating hundreds, if not thousands, of mangoes in my life, until last month I wouldn’t have been able to say. The phalanxes of yellow flowers assembled amongst the lush leaves brought delight followed by existential dread.

I profess to love fruits and have written about this love at length. And yet, what does the flower of a jackfruit, lychee, mangosteen or custard apple tree look like? Without Googling, I wouldn’t know. How can I love something I know so little about? And the two are inextricably linked: fruits form only after a flower has been pollinated with the fertilized ovules contained within ovaries that develop into fruit to protect the seeds. 

The simple process of flower to fruit. Graphic via Klorane Botanical Foundation.

I suspect I share this absolute unfamiliarity with fruit tree flowers with many of Saigoneer's readers. And worst of all, picking from a fruit plate at karaoke, strolling a local market, or placing a sinh tố order has never forced us to reflect on how little we know; how we are wholly untethered from the totalities of an item we crave. It would be like never having thought to ask about a romantic partner's hometown or family.

Left: Passion fruit flower. Photo via Wikimedia / Right: Papaya fruit flower. Photo via Wikimedia.

When sharing this horrific realization with friends, some pushed back, noting that they grew up beside orchards and can still picture the hypnotically purple swirls punctuating passion fruit flowers and the swirling, throwing star-esque papaya flowers. Yet, I fear this is a dwindling experience. As Vietnam urbanizes and farming continues to automate, even fewer people will be able to identify the flowers of different fruit trees. This means we will have a less profound and more incomplete appreciation for fruits in particular, and the natural world in general. 

The word anemoia means to long for something that you may have never known. I now have anemoia for lazy childhood shortcuts through orchards surrounding my house, unconscioulsy learning the flowers that precede each juicy bite of fruit. Fruits are consequential to Vietnam’s economy, culture and identity; we owe it to them to learn about the flowers they transform from.

Dustbins, tree branches, advertising stands and tarps, leftover Christmas decorations, whatever pot, pan, ladle or utensil left unattended in the family kitchen, and at least one street vendor’s bánh khọt mold: whatever wasn’t bolted down got caught up in the wave of đi bão that filled Saigon’s streets last night. 

When the final whistle blew on Vietnam’s hard-fought victory over Thailand in the ASEAN Cup finals last night, we all knew what was coming. Like a maelstrom that begins with raindrops followed by thunder, it started with plastic horns followed by banging metal and revving engines. 

Photo by Paul Christiansen.

Taking a grab from the Phạm Ngũ Lão Ward restaurant where I watched the game to my apartment in Phú Nhuận was out of the question. Even if I were to get a driver, that would mean missing out on one of the most glorious elements of modern Vietnamese culture: đi bão. 

Photos by Paul Christiansen.

Of the thousands that waved flags and shouted atop bikes in the city, I doubt many were ardent football diehards. Few would be interested in discussing shrewd corner kick arrangement to disallow a ball from bouncing in the box, or transition offense utilizing the wings. The night wasn’t about football, really. It was about celebrating Vietnam, as understood through collective victory. 

The day had begun with concerns over camouflaged neighbors narcing to collect a cut of recently upped traffic violations and ended with bikes violating every rule imaginable in the name of collective jubilation. Drivers extended hands across road dividers in an endless series of high-fives while red lights ushered in opportunities for impromptu hype-man to dismount and lead the crowd in chants. Shirts came off, and cheeky signs scribbled on cardboard went up.

The crowds after Vietnam’s Quarter-Final Victory Against Syria in the 2018 Asia Games. Photo by Sebastia Galbany

Culture is an increasingly sticky word, and the more one examines it in a globalized world, the more one might suspect it's just a gimmick to sell tours and employ academics. Sometimes, I question if culture is little more than whether one removes the anchovy guts before fermenting the fish into sauce. The only difference between Thai fish sauce and Vietnamese fish sauce is often how long it sits in the barrels, after all. But then, a night like last night occurs when Vietnam erupts in an outpouring of national love and pride and fellow feeling. These emotions surely exist elsewhere, but no nation expresses them with the same sights, sounds, smells, and feels. You don’t have to be a football fan, but if you want to understand Vietnamese culture, schedule your trip around international football tournaments and hope you get lucky.

[Top image: After Vietnam’s Quarter-Final Victory Against Syria in the 2018 Asia Games. Photo by by Sebastia Galbany.]

They say you don’t buy a lottery ticket because you think you’ll win; you buy one so that you can fantasize about winning.

Perhaps it’s only because I recently watched Công tử Bạc Liêu, a movie in which a fascinating true story is reduced to shameless idolizing of the rich with pretty costume design, but I’ve been thinking a lot about money lately. In particular, what would I do if I had more of it?

While walking Saigon streets awash in perpetual buying and selling, from fruit vendors to car dealerships, hand-painted signs announcing rooms for rent, to glitzy billboards hawking vacation developments, I find myself wondering what I would do if I experienced a windfall. A winning state lottery ticket, the kind sold by wandering vendors and small shops, pays out a maximum of VND1.8 billion (approximately US$80,000) after taxes. It’s not that much, but it's enough to daydream.

The baubles offered on Shopee promise a painfully transient ointment to the human condition. Ditto any fancier objects offered in shops or boutiques. I’d buy my cat Mimi some of the wet food she likes, but I’m fine with Hảo Hảo. So putting aside the obvious most responsible option of saving it, what would I do with the money?

Công tử Bạc Liêu movie poster via SGGP.

Công tử Bạc Liêu was wealthy by birth, which is just a genetic version of the lottery. There is some further irony that his father amassed that wealth by profiting off the gambling addictions of his relatives and locals. In the film based on legends, Công tử Bạc Liêu uses the fortune to hold grandiose spectacles like cooking chè by burning cash and hosting an opulent prize fight. While these are merely selfish attempts to project an image, he justifies them with the explanation that “wherever Công tử Bạc Liêu goes, joy follows.” 

I know no greater communal provider of joy in Saigon than the zoo, but, sadly, it owes VND846 billion in tax debt, a staggering sum I’d be unable to make a dent in. Ditto the woefully beleaguered projects that could improve people's lives, such as the Bến Lức-Long Thành Expressway or the anti-flood system. I’d probably be better off giving the money to a small charity: Blue Dragon, Save Vietnam’s Wildlife, the Wisdom House project, or Sách hoá nông thôn project. 

Or maybe, the best use of the lottery money would be to simply hand it over to the street vendor who sold me the ticket. Surely they need it more than I do. It’s nice to imagine myself doing something like that. And fantasies, like movies, allow us to wallow in illusory versions of ourselves, even if we doubt we’d live up to them.

The water reached my shoulders, and when I stepped into the street I suddenly felt the current trying to pull me into its invisible grasp. A familiar feeling that set off an alarm inside my head: “Be careful! It looks like nothing, but don’t get caught in it.”

[Top photo: Bình, 24, poses with a broom outside of his home during the flood. “I was using that broom to push the trash stuck on the walls away.” Bình rented a house to open a coffee shop in a small alley in Hội An. However, the coffee shop has been closed due to COVID-19 and the flooding.]

When I first visited Hội An more than two years ago, almost every old house I saw had marks of the flood levels from years prior. These floods are actually an overflow of the Thu Bồn River, along which Hội An is built. This became abundantly clear when I stepped into the street and felt the current of the river nearly knock me off my feet.

Hội An Ancient Town sprung up around the banks of the Thu Bồn in central Vietnam, and for hundreds of years was a nexus for shipping routes around the world. In the 20^th century, ostensibly due to the river filing with silt (among other factors), the shipping hub was gradually replaced by Đà Nẵng and other ports that were more accessible to large sea-faring vessels. Hội An was left largely undisturbed by modern development, and in 1999 was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site.

These days in Hội An, there is a dam upriver and residents typically get a warning from the authorities before water from it is released. These warnings and preparation means flooding in Hội An is an inconvenience, but isn’t typically life-threatening. Locals are quite accustomed to the streets turning into a temporary extension of the Thu Bồn.

There hadn’t really been any flooding since I first visited Hội An in May 2018. After five days of heavy rain last month, however, I decided to visit the Old Town and see how people were dealing with the flood.

Bình, 24, plays in the flooded streets of Hội An, letting the current carry him along.

The first person I saw was Sa, standing in the door to the attic of her house, or the flood escape hatch, as it were.

There was a kind of beauty in the Old Town; ocher walls reflected in the turgid water, brown from the silt of the fields and mountains above. The revving and honking of motorcycles replaced by boats and the occasional paddle board.

By the early afternoon, water levels had receded considerably, and the street where the water had been up to my neck was now just over waist-high, making movement easier and safer.

Perhaps the most interesting, and certainly the most rewarding, part came two days later. As crews scraped the mud from the streets, my partner Trinh and I drove around Hội An to deliver photos and learn the stories from the people I’d encountered during the flood.

During the flood, local boat operators offered rides to people wanting to explore Hội An.

It was in these stories that I learned more about the flood, how the locals respond to it, and little details about the lives of the people living in Hội An. Stories like why Tuân was hauling his dogs back through the second-story window of his house, as well as his dogs' names and the meaning behind them. Or Sa, and why her house has a strange door in the attic. Bình, and what he was doing holding a broom in the middle of the flooded street, why he lives in Hội An, and how he deals with floods.

These small details brought me a greater understanding of Hội An and a deeper, more personal meaning to the photographs of the people.

A local boat operator paddles around the Old Town.

“Local foreigner” Thomas Weingärtner explores the Old Town on his inflatable kayak. Thomas paddled out the front door of his partially submerged homestay in Hội An.

The iconic Japanese Bridge partially submerged by the Thu Bồn River.

“The water was flowing strong. We had to paddle against the current so much that we were almost out of breath.” Năm and her husband live on An Hội Island (across from the Old Town) which was underwater. During the flooding, they gave tourists boat rides around Hội An Old Town.

“This ladder is used as a tool for us to climb down to the boat. It is tied to the balcony.” Nga holds her daughter Thảo, 6, on her balcony during the October floods in Hội An.

Nga and her daughter Thảo watch boats go by in front of their house.

Nguyễn Thái Học Street under water.

Sa stands at the emergency flood exit door built into the attic of her house in Hội An.  “If the water flow is too strong and rises fast, we have to escape through this door,” she explains.

“Normally, I just stay home to rest. I was riding the boat with my grandson that day.” Tí, 70, looks for clients around Hội An.

Tí, 70, paddles down Nguyễn Thái Học Street with her grandson.

Tuân enters his house via the upstairs window with his dogs. After trying unsuccessfully to enter the house from the submerged ground level door, his family stopped by in a boat and helped him get onto the awning with his dogs.

Tuân hangs his clothes out to dry.

A local woman washes the gongs from her house in the flooded streets.

This article was first published in 2020.

Across English-speaking countries such as the US and Australia, the Vietnamese diaspora established close-knit “Little Saigon” towns whenever they settled down, founding large markets, starting financial services, and introducing southern fares like gỏi cuốn and bánh mì to the local population. Elsewhere in Europe, however, the Vietnamese community is often known as “Little Hanoi,” due to the regional makeup of the first wave of immigrants. Some, like Prague’s Little Hanoi, have flourished to the point of being a “city within a city,” boasting its own self-sufficient administrative services, schools, and housing.

Sapa Market, the city's largest Asian neighborhood and the core of Little Hanoi, is just around 15 kilometers from central Prague.

Much of Vietnam’s initial relationship with Czechia started in the late 1940s and 1950s, when it was still part of Czechoslovakia (Tiệp Khắc in Vietnamese) — a segment of the Eastern Bloc under the influence of communism, following a planned economy. As part of this bedrock of diplomacy between communist nations, Vietnam started sending well-performing students to Tiệp Khắc for higher education.

Restaurants here seem frozen in time.

In 1955, the first-ever batch of Vietnamese students arrived in Czechoslovakia, comprising 16 delegates, all high school students from northern provinces like Phú Thọ, Thái Nguyên, Tuyên Quang, Bắc Ninh, Nghệ An, etc. The exchange program also sent students to neighboring nations like the USSR and Poland. They carried with them the hopes from the northern government that the graduates would return home later to contribute to the development of their hometowns. Many did, but some decided to make a home in Europe.

Bún chả is a star dish and the biggest signifier that this is a northern Vietnamese enclave.

The program went swimmingly for the next three decades until the dissolution of the Eastern Bloc. Still, the Vietnamese diaspora in European countries had grown so much and assimilated into the local societies, giving rise to the existence of Little Hanoi towns. Today, Vietnamese remains the most populous non-European demographic in the Czech Republic and Poland, with populations of dozens of thousands of people. The descendants of those who decided to stay decades ago grew up ethnically Vietnamese but fully integrated into the local society.

Signs with prominent Vietnamese-language texts are everywhere.

Visiting Prague’s Little Hanoi, officially known as Sapa Market, a feeling of strangeness and surprise will hit you first, as the Vietnamese language is everywhere. The entrance gate is bilingual, and a few signs might have minimal Czech, but the majority of signage is only in Vietnamese, promoting homemade bún cá, haircuts, leather goods, famous Czech crystals, and a slew of other Vietnamese-specific products that one might assume to be elusive this far from home.

Markets are often the heart of diasporic communities.

Sapa, as local media reports, is autonomous to the point of having its own “police” patrolling streets and clamping illegally parked cars. It also features a kindergarten, accepting kids as young as one year old, so their parents can go about their business in many of the compound’s Vietnamese-run enterprises, like financial services facilitating money repatriation back to Vietnam. But for anyone growing tired of the austerity of Eastern European food, Sapa Market is a welcoming salve, offering a dose (or many) of tropical freshness and well-seasoned noodle broths to bread-saturated palates.

That gourd sure is a show-er not grow-er.

Fish sauce, rice paper, tea and coffee from Vietnam are a given, but a wide range of fresh produce from home will surely brighten up one’s dreary day: herbs, dragon fruits, mangosteens, and surprisingly not wilted rambutans are abundant. And even if you’re not in the mood to shop for groceries, perhaps a glass of freshly pressed sugarcane juice is just the treat you need to quench nostalgic thirst — cô Mía not present, alas.

Fresh tropical produce on sale.

Elsewhere in metropolitan Prague, trendy Vietnamese restaurants run by second- or third-generation Vietnamese might offer diners a range of pan-Vietnam dishes like bánh mì, bánh xèo or gỏi cuốn, but at Sapa Market, the menus stay decidedly northern. It’s understandable, given their proprietors’ regional roots, but what’s astounding is the fact that the wealth of northern cuisine here might rival even Saigon’s culinary diversity.

Uncommon northern delicacies, like bún cá Hải Dương and ngan nướng, are on offer here.

Bún cá Hải Dương, for example, is few and far between in Saigon, while ngan — a type of Muscovy duck popular in northern Vietnam — is a less common poultry in southern provinces. Both are on offer here in Sapa Market. Those familiar with Hanoi eateries’ naming convention of putting together the owner’s name and a word describing their appearance will feel right at home with Chè Tuyết Béo.

Every diasporic community comes with its own quirks and issues, a fact to which any Vietnamese who’s studied or lived abroad can attest. Pressures to survive, to assimilate and even to succeed can and will bring out the darker side of human dynamics. Whether one enjoys or feels disillusioned by the existence of Little Saigons and Little Hanois, it’s at least comforting to know that the phở will probably be great. If all else fails, bet on phở, always.

“If you know, you know.”

This is the best response to the question posed on internet message boards as to why the baggage claim after flights originating from Vietnam fill with so many boxes among the suitcases. Anyone who has stood beside a luggage carousel with Vietnamese passengers has seen the cardboard and styrofoam boxes with large names (always Nguyễn, as Reddit has observed) and addresses, often somewhere in California or Texas, written on numerous sides. You may have even helped pack or receive one yourself.

The explanation for the boxes is straightforward: they are cheaper and lighter than a full suitcase, which makes them ideal for bringing gifts to family and friends abroad. Dried fruit, fish, noodles, nuts, rice paper, clothes, sauce, spices, and, no doubt, a few oddities determined by the particular preferences of each recipient are the most common, albeit rarely declared items. And if the boxes are being re-used to bring items in the opposite direction, chances are there would be a few giant bottles of Costco medicine inside. 

It’s easy to understand why the boxes are so much more common in Vietnam than in other countries: large and somewhat recently established diaspora community consisting of close families with population centers in a few cities; economic growth and income disparities; and limited availability of niche items on the global market. 

But just because the airport box phenomenon can be easily explained to outsiders and feels commonplace to the point of cliche to insiders, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t pause to voice our appreciation. Ultimately, the boxes are visual proof of Vietnamese generosity and the importance of family as well as the preferred method of expressing emotions. One might not hear “I’ve missed you so much” when picking up a relative arriving from Vietnam, but you’ll feel it in the heft of the box placed in your trunk.

Few airports in the world have specialized devices and staff dedicated to wrapping cardboard boxes with secure plastic, so their presence at numerous departure entry doors at TSN underscores the sanctity of the habit. Passing them last week filled me with a tinge of shame. I proceeded to my flight’s check-in line surrounded by people ferrying stacks of boxes while I pushed a single duffel. I know I’m not Vietnamese, but I should have learned a thing or two by now about expressing my affection for a family that is too far away and whom I visit too infrequently. So as I prepare for my return to Saigon, I’m already thinking about what people there will be happy to receive, and what shrink-wrapped, dehydrated, bottled or locally produced goods will best reveal how happy I am to return to them.

It’s yet another case of new infrastructure versus old heritage building — one of Vietnam’s most common urban planning clashes in recent years.

As VnExpress reports, a century-old villa in Biên Hòa City, Đồng Nai Province currently faces demolition as part of the site where it stands will become a new road. The building was broken ground in 1922 and finished in 1924,  and follows a French colonial style with all building materials imported from France.

It is known amongst locals by the nickname “nhà lầu ông Phủ,” after Võ Hà Thanh, a Đốc phủ (chef de province) under the French administration, overseeing Biên Hòa Province (now Đồng Nai). Thanh’s family has called the historic building their home for a century, though today only his great-granddaughter still lives on site to take care of the premise.

Built in the early 1920s, the villa's architecture is a blend of French and traditional influences.

The infrastructure project that will cut through part of the estate was inked three years ago, aiming to construct a 5.2-kilometer riverside road along the Đồng Nai River from Hóa An Bridge to Bình Hòa Commune. According to the plan, around two-thirds of the lot where nhà lầu ông Phủ sits will be part of the new road.

Ever since news of the impending demolition was published, the decision was met with uproar from netizens and experts, who argue that the removal of the building will negatively impact Đồng Nai’s architectural heritage. It is currently among the handful of structures in Đồng Nai from the historical period that still exist today, and was even used as the setting for the 1996 historical TV drama Người đẹp Tây Đô.

Following the backlash from concerned citizens, Đồng Nai officials recently organized an on-site assessment at the villa, including members from the departments of construction; culture, sports, and tourism; and other relevant state agencies.

The main room with the ancestral altar of Võ Hà Thanh's family.

At the time of writing, the fate of the building is still unclear, but some officials have expressed interests in finding ways to preserve the structure. Nguyễn Hồng Ân, deputy director of the Đồng Nai Department of Culture, Sports, and Tourism, told Tuổi Trẻ in Vietnamese: “It is our department’s opinion that [the state] should purchase the century-old villa for preservation.”

The culture department hopes that the Department of Construction and the management committee of the road project would adjust the riverside road’s route to retain the old villa.

[Photos by Phước Tuấn via VnExpress]

Taking into account global and national chains, small brands, independent cafes and street vendors, a recent report estimates that Vietnam is home to more than 500,000 coffee shops that generate US$1.46 billion in revenue in total.

According to data from consultancy group Mibrand Việt Nam, the nation's coffee shop industry has a compounded growth rate (CAGR) of up to 7.56%. A separate report published by iPos.vn claims that by the end of 2023, Vietnam only had 317,299 coffee shops, representing a 1.26% increase over the previous year.

Regardless of the precise number, anyone in Vietnam can attest to the thriving of coffee shops of all sizes, shapes and operation models. While there have been several high-profile downsizes and market adjustments including Starbucks announcing the closing of its only Reserve location in Saigon this week, and The Coffee House pulling out of Đà Nẵng and Cần Thơ entirely, there is visible growth as well. Phin Deli, Katinat and Phúc Long have all opened many new locations in the past year.

When it comes to chains in Vietnam, Highlands Coffee leads the way with 721 outlets, followed by Trung Nguyên e-coffee with 542 and then Phúc Long and The Coffee House both in the mid-100s. Notable recent international arrivals to Vietnam include Amazon Cafe, the most numerous chain in Thailand, and Japan's %Arabica. Cotti Coffee, a popular Chinese chain, has also started its ambitious expansion plans for Vietnam beginning with 10 locations in Saigon. 

Inside Saigon's Cỏ Café. Photo by Kevin Lee.

In addition to the proliferation of homegrown and global brands, the nation's independent coffee shop scene is undergoing perpetual shifts in product. Aesthetic segmentation continues with shops devoting themselves to easily recognizable and trendy interior designs. From retro to garden to industrial minimalism to audiophilic, Saigoneers have a wide variety of vibes to choose from.

Meanwhile, new flavors and preparations are entering the market across price tiers, including the recent popularity of salt coffee beyond its native Huế. The domestic industry's strength is helping to fuel expansion abroad as well as exemplified by Cộng Cafe's expansion to Canada, following Phúc Long's arrival in the US 2021.

[Top photo: Young Vietnamese hang out at Cafe Yên in Hanoi]

The growing popularity of biking as a recreational activity in Vietnam has been acknowledged officially by urban planners in Huế.

Recently, Tuổi Trẻ reports that workers are putting the finishing touches on a network of dedicated bicycle lanes in Thừa Thiên-Huế Province’s new administrative area in Xuân Phú District, Huế. This is part of a program to establish the new area as a “green city.”

The initiative was greenlit in 2016 by the provincial Department of Planning and Investing, comprising 10 urban planning projects in the city of Huế. It seeks to upgrade local infrastructures, reduce flooding, improve urban hygiene, facilitate business activities, and boost land appeal in the city.

The under-construction administrative area will feature 8 kilometers of bike lanes.

Currently, the sidewalks along Tố Hữu and Võ Nguyên Giáp Avenues have been outfitted with the green lanes, as these streets have been very popular with locals seeking an open space for walking, running and biking.

The bike lanes are painted bright green with yellow borders, with widths spanning between 1.45 meters to 2.9 meters depending on the available sidewalk space. On six-meter-wide pavements, there is one 1.45-meter lane while 11-meter pavements will feature two bike lanes.

The lanes are green with yellow borders.

Lê Thành Bắc, Deputy Director of the Thừa Thiên-Huế Green City project, said: “Dedicating part of the pavement for bicycles has been successfully and ethically carried out in many global cities, encouraging citizens to use bicycles, forming a green city that’s friendly to the environment.”

While this acknowledgement of the need for dedicated biking space is a step in the right direction, it remains to be seen if Vietnamese motorists will leave the lanes alone. Huế wasn’t the first city in the country to have bike lanes, as Hanoi also piloted a similar project earlier in the year, albeit at a smaller scale.

Bike lanes present a step in the right direction towards reducing reliance on fossel fuel-run vehicles.

Back in February, Hanoi earmarked part of the promenade along the Tô Lịch River as dedicated lanes for pedestrians and bicyclists, but the area has since been co-opted by motorcyclists and street vendors. Many Hanoians have also used the space to discard trash and unwanted household items.

[Top photo via Lao Động/Photos via Báo Giao Thông]

In Vietnam, you can find a Lego set in official Lego stores or any big toy shops at high prices; but if you take a different route, you can find Lego sets being sold by small vendors for much cheaper. But those sets are a little bit different; they are branded as “Lele'' or “Lepin,” or just white Chinese characters on a red square. For decades, these bootleg toys have been a widely popular option for Vietnamese kids.

“Bootleg,”  “fake,” or “counterfeit” toys belong in the shady, unlicensed section of the toy world. Some are made to imitate specific authentic products, while others are unauthorized toys merely resembling characters, objects, etc. from popular franchises. These bootleg items are the arch-nemesis of many global toy manufacturers.

A quick Google search of the term “bootleg toys” will give you a general idea of how these items are perceived. Unofficial merchandise is generally criticized for its unknown origins, copyright violations, and subpar quality, but it still has a big presence in many Vietnamese children's lives.  

I learned about bootleg toys when I was old enough to go to class and saw them being sold by bicycle vendors in front of the school or nearby grocery stores. Back then, I had no concept of what were real or fake toys; all I knew was I could spend my pocket money on Beyblades, yo-yos, Pokemon figurines, and toy versions of popular TV characters.

The quality of those toys was not great, but everyone around me was playing with bootleg toys, so I viewed their shortcomings as the norm. For example, when it came to Beyblade battling tops, real Beyblades were superior to counterfeit ones, but since my friends all had fake Beyblades too, we were on a level playing field. We simply grabbed one or two Beyblades for VND20,000 each and used a plastic basin or a Danisa cookie box as a battling stadium.

Bootleg toys have an unpolished charm that captivates children. To better understand the appeal, I visited the toy market to explore the current landscape of fake toys. I observed a recurring theme: the crossover between popular icons.

Since bootleg toys don’t abide by any copyright limitations, manufacturers have the freedom to mashup any pop culture character or property you can think of, as long as it appeals to children. Kids love Thomas the Tank Engine, but have they ever seen Thomas in a badass robotic form? Minecraft is popular on YouTube Kids, so here is Superman as a blocky Minecraft character! Famous mascots such as Hello Kitty, Pikachu, Marvel & DC superheroes are stamped on almost every type of toy, phone, car, helicopter, tambourine and puzzle. It feels like bootleg toys were made based on the wild imagination of a child. 

It's also fascinating to see the quirky side to counterfeit toys’ branding. To avoid copyright lawsuits, bootleg manufacturers use various tricks, such as deliberate typos, including “Diensys” and “Mineecraft.” There are also clever switcheroos that you have to inspect closely to spot, like “Avcngcrs.” To skirt the copyright rules, some licensed brand names get changed into related topics, like One Piece is named “Pirates”; and my personal favorite is how the Frozen franchise gets changed into either “Fashion” or “Freeze.”

Bootlegs are very cheap, which is ultimately why they are so popular. The toy market I visited sold the biggest, most expensive toys within the VND100,000–200,000 range, while cheaper options were quite affordable at only around VND15,000—50,000. Back in my school days, I remember buying them with ease if I refrained from getting sodas and snacks for a day or two.

Messing around with bootleg toys, having Beyblade battles and playing Đập hình with friends were fun, but parents, teachers and school supervisors advised us against buying them because they distracted us from studying and could even be dangerous. At the time, I only took it as grown-ups not knowing how to have fun, but as I got older, my feelings changed.

A news article from 2015 uncovered some unsettling features of specific bootleg toys sold in Hanoi markets. The toys could play audio telling stories, reciting poems, and more, but some of the content was inappropriate. There was an apple-shaped toy broadcasting vulgar comedic stories, for example. The dark recordings can get quite intense, as the report found toy iPhones containing messages touting substance abuse, and worst of all, a Doraemon figure with an angry monologue encouraging self-harm and suicide.

With all this in mind, I have a love-hate relationship with bootleg toys. The knockoff universe is large and wacky, comprising anything from top-notch entertaining items to downright unhinged, terrifying products that shouldn’t exist. I despise how their unregulated nature results in some unsafe situations for children, but at the same time, I do appreciate them for being a part of my childhood, and a source of joy for me and my friends.

The Mekong Delta is called Đồng bằng Sông Cửu Long in Vietnamese — the Nine Dragons River, for the way the mighty Mekong splits into multiple strands as it nears its final destination, the East Sea.

To the estimated 18 million inhabitants of the Mekong Delta, the river is more than just a geographical feature; it defines their whole lives. Annual floods make many roads impossible to use. Meanwhile, the fact that the region boasts around 15,000 km of navigable waterways to only 2,500 km of compacted road offers another hint as to how most people travel.

Market ladies on a motorized boat.

The Mekong Delta is a beautiful part of Vietnam and one I was immediately impressed with on my first visit, an exploratory boat trip from Ho Chi Minh City to Rạch Giá in August 2010.

I was fascinated by how the area's inhabitants lived and their daily interactions with the Mekong River. I was so impressed with how the people of the region traveled that I went back several times and focused on how they crossed the water. The ferries are a microcosm of life along the river. The crossings are generally short and you get to meet all kinds of people on the boat. It’s a pause in your journey, filled with snacks, bargaining sessions and sometimes entertainment.

School day.

This series is the result of these journeys, traveling mostly in the dry season. I crossed with school children, interviewed ferry captains and their crew, attempted to speak Vietnamese with delivery men on massively overloaded bikes and haggled with vendors carting everything from vividly colored fruit and vegetables to toilet paper and cigarettes. I also bought a lot of lottery tickets.

Bringing the goods.

I boarded ferries built for mass transit with trucks and buses, as well as humble vessels fit only for a couple of passengers and a bike. All the journeys were different, all were memorable.

With Vietnam developing so rapidly, it is hard to predict the future of this region. The construction of new roads and bridges has made the Mekong Delta a lot more accessible, thus putting many boats out of business.

However, while the ferries still run I highly recommend you travel there yourself. Crossing is inexpensive and there is so much to discover.

50 Shades of blue.

A pilot's life.

Boat lady.

Embarkation.

A quick review of school materials before class.

Ready to rumble.

Stormy weather.

Portrait of a captain.

Rush hour. 

Sunset on deck.

“Living with Heritage, (Re)Creating Heritage: Vietnam and the World” is the title of the 14^th Engaging with Vietnam conference, a series of activities including academic panel discussions, keynote talks, art installations, music and fashion performances, workshops, curated visits to heritage sites and more.

Every iteration of the Engaging with Vietnam annual conference is focused around a central theme with the broader goal to “promote the production of cutting-edge scholarship about, or in dialogue with, ‘Vietnam’ in all of its forms, from Vietnam as a place to Vietnam as an idea,” according to the conference website.

Regarding this year’s topic of Heritage, the conference notes: “Heritage is an essential part of our identity, history, and culture. It shapes our communities, influences our daily lives, and inspires our future. However, heritage is not static. It evolves, adapts, and responds to the changing social, economic, and political contexts.”

Following the first Engaging with Vietnam held in Melbourne in 2010, the conference has taken place in Hanoi, Saigon, Honolulu, Tokyo and elsewhere. This year, events and panels will take be held around the city of Huế including at the historic Quốc Học High School, An Định Palace (Cung An Định), and the University of Arts – Hue University. 

The conference program is staggering in its length and breadth. A few items that caught Saigoneer’s eyes include the keynote topic, “Heritage Tourism and Museum Diplomacy; presentation topics: “Thai Duong Ha Village’s Fish Praying Festival on the Path of Heritage,” “K-Pop Fans in Vietnam: Practices, Meanings, and Beyond,” “The Rise of Nostalgia: The Return of Nhạc Vàng (Golden Melodies) in the Food and Beverage Industry in Vietnam,” “Snake Worship as Cultural Sediments in Vietnam’s Multi-Ethnic Cultural Heritage,” and “The Role of Digital Technology from the Perspective of Gen Z Travel Experiences” and a performance of hầu đồng by spirit mediums and artists from the three regions of Vietnam. Saigoneer Content Director Paul Christiansen, will co-host a poetry night. 

The conference is open to everyone with registration running through July 31. The cost for participants is VND500,000, though Vietnamese and foreign undergraduate students at domestic and international universities and colleges can attend for free. Find more information and register here. 

Engaging with Vietnam was founded by Phan Lê Hà (Universiti Brunei Darussalam & University College London) and Liam C. Kelley (Universiti Brunei Darussalam). It is organized in collaboration with the Department of Culture and Sports under Thừa Thiên-Huế People’s Committee, the University of Arts – Hue University, the International School – Hue University, and with the assistance of The Lighthouse Hai Dang Studio & Events, ACCESS design lab, HITO Entertainment and other international and domestic organizations.

[Top image designed by HITO Entertainment via Engaging with Vietnam]

As more institutions and enterprises in Vietnam adopt IELTS results as an official assessment of students' and employees’ grasp of the English language, high IELTS scores have gradually become a sought-after mark of prestige.

Dân Trí quotes an announcement from IELTS test organizer IDP confirming that a candidate from Vietnam recently attained a perfect overall score of 9.0 from getting 9.0 for all four skills: listening, reading, writing, and speaking.

Luyện Quang Kiên, a 31-year-old English-language tutor living in Hanoi, became the first test-taker in Vietnam to achieve the rare feat after sitting for an online test on June 3 at the National Economics University. It’s unclear if there are other Vietnamese who have achieved this at testing centers overseas.

Kiên told the online news source that he took his first IELTS test in 2014 while still in college, achieving an overall score of 7.5. Following his graduation, he developed an interest in teaching and has been undertaking IELTS exams 5–7 times a year since 2018 to assess if his teaching methods work. The latest date in June was the sixth test he’s been through this year.

Kiên shared that his mental state was very relaxed on the date and he was particularly happy with the Speaking component. Having sat for many exams, he knew by heart the marking rubrics and could gauge the scores right after finishing the test.

“That day I spoke quite fluently and used good vocabulary. Seeing the reaction of the examiner, I felt assured,” he recounts. Kiên plans to write a book detailing his tips for achieving the 9.0 band score.

[Photo via Dân Trí]

While the past weeks have felt like living in a sauna for Saigoneers, north-central Vietnam provinces experienced even hotter temperatures this summer.

According to the Vietnam Meteorological and Hydrological Administration, a measuring station in Tương Dương, Nghệ An Province read 44.2°C on May 7, marginally edging out the previous record set in Thanh Hóa just a day before. On Saturday, May 6, the Hồi Xuân Weather Station in Thanh Hóa Province recorded 43.8°C at 4pm and a daily peak of 44.1°C. This extreme temperature reading broke the previous record of 43.4°C set in April 2019 in Hà Tĩnh.

Across northern and central Vietnam, 17 other provinces experienced temperatures of over 40°C. Two areas in Hanoi also saw similar heat patterns.

In the south, temperature records didn’t cross 40°C, but widespread sunny weather also wreaked havoc on the livelihood of workers and students. On the same day, a measuring station in Tân Sơn Nhất recorded 38°C, the hottest reading in the city. Among southeastern provinces, Biên Hòa in Đồng Nai Province went through the most punishing heat at 39.4°C.

Temperatures in Mekong Delta provinces mostly fluctuated in the 35–37°C range, though Châu Đốc in An Giang Province recorded 37.4°C

Lê Thị Xuân Lan, the former deputy head of the Weather Forecast Department at the Southern Regional Hydro-Meteorological Center, told VnExpress that May temperatures this year will be 0.5–1°C higher than previous years due to the impact of El Niño.

El Niño is characterized by dryer, hotter weather and fewer storms owing to the warm phase of the cycle of warm and cold sea surfaces. Countries that depend on weather patterns in the Pacific Ocean for agriculture and fishing, like Vietnam, will be majorly impacted.

The United Nations warned that the change in sea temperature this year will “most likely lead to a new spike in global heating and increase the chance of breaking temperature records.” From 2015 to 2022, the world continued to witness hottest days on record, even though three of those years were already cushioned by cooling effects thanks to La Niña.

Vietnam’s bountiful abundance of street eats and hip cafes might satisfy even the pickiest visitors looking to ingest delicious things at any price range, but even its biggest metropolises would struggle to provide for the most low-maintenance tourists when it comes to public bathrooms.

In a recent ranking reported on by Nikkei Asia, both Saigon and Hanoi are down in the dumps when judged based on their public toilet availability. QS Supplies, a toilet retailer, compiled this report by looking at the number of public toilets per square kilometer across 69 cities in the world in order to help travelers plan their trips.

With just 0.01 public bathrooms per square kilometers on average, both cities in Vietnam nearly bottomed out the list and are only better than Cairo. Johannesburg’s toilet figure is also 0.01. The Nikkei report does not elaborate on the methodology behind the contentious ranking, but these figures mean that there are almost 21 communal toilets in Saigon for 9 million inhabitants, a statistic that might shock even native Saigoneers, because… there are that many?

On the other end, the world’s top 10 toilet performers are mostly in Europe with Paris clinching the No. 1 spot impressively at 6.72 toilets per km², nearly doubling that of the runner-up, Sydney (3.64). Tel Aviv and Taipei are the only Asian representatives on the list.

Compared to many of the list’s contenders, Vietnam is plagued by a dearth of public parks, parking areas, toilets, and other civic spaces. Even when a few bathroom projects manage to get off the ground, they are often ill-maintained and unsustainable in the long run due to lack of funding, as evidenced by this distressing photo feature by Thanh Niên. Public amenities have long been relegated to the back end of policymakers’ priority list, so finding out that two cities in Vietnam have shat the bed regarding public restrooms is not that surprising.

The Nikkei Asia feature frames the toilet discourse around how it will hamper Vietnam’s tourism opportunities, which, while not untrue, leaves out one of the major demographics whose quality of life would vastly improve with better bathroom coverage: gig workers like shippers and app-based drivers.

Tourists have the financial means and motivation to pay for better bathrooms at restaurants, hotels and cafes — we, by the way, have a list of Saigon’s best bathrooms to poop at here — but it’s Saigon residents that are always on the road who are most shafted by shitty public restrooms. Where to go to the bathroom while out and about is one of the most frequently asked questions on forums for app drivers and veteran workers often exchange lists of locations for resting and free trips to the facilities.

Complaints about Vietnam’s chronic lack of public bathrooms have fallen on deaf ears for years, but perhaps by shifting the discourse to tourism-related missed opportunities — where the money lies — we might finally attract the right kind of attention to fix our toilets.

[Photo by Nhật Thịnh via Thanh Niên]

The second animal sign in the 12-year cycle of the Vietnamese zodiac, trâu, has symbolic and practical importance in Vietnam.

A farmer and his buffalos in Yên Bái Province.

Buffalos have become of powerful icons because of the important role they have in the nation's history and economy. For much of history, they have been a farmer’s most valued possession, allowing them to be seen as family members and symbols of wealth in the countryside.

A woman looking after the family’s buffalos.

They were also essential to the success of Vietnam's revolutions against foreign invaders thanks to their ability to clandestinely transport materials across difficult terrains during times of war. 

The fields are a place for working and resting.

Folk proverbs such as “Con trâu là đầu cơ nghiệp” (a buffalo is a prerequisite for starting a business) and “Tậu trâu, lấy vợ, làm nhà” (Buying a buffalo, finding a wife, and building a home) reveal their prominence today, even if agricultural industrialization has made them less of a physical asset. They remain important images in literature, media, art and communications.

Grazing on a terrace field.

Moving with ease across a variety of natural and manmade terrain.

Their stubbornness is a virtue.

The family's four-legged pride and joy being brought through Mèo Vạc market.

Time to go home after a long day in the fields.

Ownership is obvious.

Adrien Jean, a long-term resident of Vietnam, has traveled and photographed throughout the country, documenting ethnic festivals and life in less-visited regions, but capturing the streets of Saigon is what inspires him the most. Learn more at his website.

The most recent Tết holiday witnessed an outstanding performance by Vietnam’s domestic tourism sector, while international tourism had a year of underwhelming figures.

If you’ve ever wondered why Saigon streets are noticeably less jammed than before, it was probably because everyone and their mother were gallivanting elsewhere in the country on vacation. Statistics from Tuổi Trẻ show that about 9 million tourists visited sites in Vietnam during the extended holiday while hundreds of thousands of others spent their Tết abroad. This amounted to a 50% increase compared to 2022.

According to industry insiders, the longer-than-usual break allowed Vietnamese to spend more time on the road, while many Vietnamese overseas also picked this Tết to be their first visit home after years of pandemic separation.

These optimistic results for the domestic market are not surprising considering Vietnam’s impressive growth in 2022. We ended the year with 101.3 million domestic tourists, 168.3% more than the target and surpassing the previous peak of 85 million achieved in 2019, reports VnExpress.

Two years of COVID-19 made Vietnamese travelers and tour operators turn their attention inwards to develop and enjoy domestic travel products while public health regulations made it costly and inconvenient to venture abroad.

Elsewhere in the international market, 2022 saw some growth compared to the devastation of pandemic years, but the end results both failed to reach the target and to measure up to pre-pandemic achievements.

Vietnam News reports that 3.36 million foreign tourists visited Vietnam in 2022, which was over 20 times compared to 2021, but much fewer than the 18 million of 2019 before the pandemic. The lackluster performance also fell short of the set goal to attract 5 million international travelers. Asia made up the majority of overseas travelers with 2.6 million tourists, followed by over half a million from Europe and nearly 400,000 from the Americas.

There are a few external causes of the underperformance, such as the significant decrease in Russian and Chinese arrivals due to the Russia-Ukraine war and strict COVID-19 restrictions, respectively. Both account for a considerable segment of Vietnam’s international tourism market on an average year.

However, according to VnExpress, several of Vietnam’s Southeast Asian competitors in the tourism sector like Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand have all reached their tourism goals in 2022. Experts point to Vietnam’s inhospitable visa policies compared to regional peers as a major factor leading to unsatisfactory tourism results. A lack of new tourism products has also turned tourists into the arms of competitors.

[Photos: The Đà Lạt Market is filled with domestic tourists on a weekend evening.]

A seemingly innocuous notice by a coffee shop in Đà Nẵng has sparked polarizing responses from netizens across Vietnam.

Last Wednesday, Dream House Coffee in Cẩm Lệ District announced on their Facebook account that the cafe would stop accepting customers visiting with children under 12 years old, citing a range of reasons including a lack of dedicated space for children, concerns over loud tantrums affecting other patrons, and inability of staff to spend time babysitting.

The short post has clearly struck a nerve among Vietnamese cafe-goers, generating over 20,000 comments, 5,000 shares, and 40,000 likes on Facebook at the time of writing. Interestingly, the reactions have divided into two clear polar opposites: many frequent patrons applaud the cafe owner for taking a stringent stance against parents who do not take responsibility for their offspring in public places, while others chastise the notice for its blunt language and discrimination.

“Such an effective PR move to seek engagement, but the effect is the reverse. [I will] Unfollow and say bye bye to you [kissing emoji],” Trung Nguyễn, a commenter on the opposing camp, writes.

“Children making a mess in cafes is 100% something parents can control. Coffee shops are not responsible for and don’t have the capacity to show help parents babysit, so the best solution is to come up with rules like this,” Hạnh Đức Nguyễn writes in the comment section.

According to Dream House Coffee, the place was opened three years ago with a garden, cottagecore theme targeting Đà Nẵng resident seeking a relaxing environment to hang out, study or work.

“We already made a similar warning post back in April. The content was just to remind parents to look after their children, because we don’t have a kid-only zone. But that announcement was ignored,” a representative from the cafe told Zing. The warning was inspired by previous incidents where young patrons run around causing breakages, stomping on plants, and throwing rocks at one another and other customers.

“When such incidents happened, we tried to talk to their parents, but some were really nonchalant in disciplining their kids regarding how to behave in public. Many times we witnessed customers leaving because of the rowdiness of children.”

[Photo via Instagam user @dailangthangart]

To help citizens better distinguish between Vietnam dong bills for the living and the dead, the State Bank of Vietnam has put forth a draft law detailing specifications replicas must follow.

According to Tuổi Trẻ, the draft law compiled by the State Bank dictates that acts of copying or photographing Vietnamese money must for non-commercial use. Replicated versions must be 50% smaller or 200% larger than bills of the same denomination. While banknote patterns are rampant in Vietnam on everything from lucky envelopes to novelty wallets, only votive bills pose a real risk of confusing users.

State Bank Deputy Governor Đào Minh Tú told the newspaper that the size stipulations regarding toy money and joss banknotes are to deter counterfeiting and other offenses in replicating Vietnamese currencies. The state bank believes the size differences could help citizens detect fake bills more effectively.

This new draft law is not the first time votive money has been targeted by lawmakers. In 2011, Hanoi authorities also put forth a similar proposed law, which suggested votive banknotes be at least 3 centimeters larger or smaller than real versions. It’s unclear if this regulation was written into the municipal policies.

The traditional school of spiritualism in Vietnam believes that burning offerings is a way to provide for deceased relatives. From just votive banknotes at the beginning, the age of modern comforts and consumerism has ushered in new votive items that mirror whichever gadgets are trending in the living society, such as iMacs, villas, and even skimpy bikinis.

In an interview with Người Lao Động, Buddhist Thera Thích Duy Trấn from Liên Hoa Pagoda of Hồ Chí Minh City shared that his pagoda has been discouraging worshippers from burning joss papers for the last 22 years. He added that this practice is not part of any Buddhist scriptures or teachings, despite it frequently being considered Buddhist.

“In the community, people think of all sorts of gimmicks to get money from people so there are so many types of [votive] foreign money and, recently, Vietnamese bills,” he explained in Vietnamese. “Everyone should forget about burning joss papers, banknotes and do more realistic acts instead. Use your money to support victims of typhoons, saltwater intrusions, pandemics or buy stationeries for poor children in the mountains.”