The last week of April, melting into the first week of May (today, as I write this, it is 89•F, feeling like 98•F with a warning of “excessive heat” *31•C, 37•C) felt like it should—hot, loud, imperfect, and somehow full of small moments that mattered.
In the middle of a bustling, chaotic market, I sat down and drank my first cà phê sữa đá of the week. Not in paper, not takeaway, but in a proper glass—the way I prefer it. There’s something about that glass that says we both understand the arrangement. I’m not rushing anywhere. I’m going to sit here, right at your cart, and drink this coffee the way it was meant to be drunk.
Street coffee in Saigon isn’t about convenience. It’s about presence.
One of my favorite stops this week was for yoghurt coffee—cà phê sữa chua—down Phạm Ngũ Lão alley. That one always carries nostalgia for me because I spent so much time in that alley over twenty years ago at the Bread and Butter Bar. Walking back there now feels like stepping into an older version of myself.
Yoghurt coffee feels very Saigon to me—practical and inventive. Someone looked at coffee and thought, “Yes, but what if we made it colder, creamier, sharper?” And somehow it works. The bitterness of strong Vietnamese coffee against the cool tang of yoghurt—it shouldn’t, but it absolutely does. It tastes like adaptation. Like a city constantly reinventing itself without losing its center. I still prefer Coconut Coffee as my specialty coffee here.
In that same alley, the following day, I had my first negative vibe of my entire tenure so far.
I was sitting, drinking, taking a few exterior photos of the space around me—not bothering anyone—and the coffee lady gave me that unmistakable energy. You know the one. Suspicion mixed with disapproval, served without words. She didn’t approve of my picture-taking, not understanding that it was nothing intrusive, just exterior. If she only understood the series I’ve been doing, 😆.
She proceeded to stand in front of me and overtly take a photo of me, as though my mugshot would go up on her wall.
My first reaction was internal: Be zen. Don’t let her strange behavior affect your day.
And honestly, it became a beautiful little meditation. I reminded myself: “you are healthy, you are fortunate enough to be sitting in an alley in Saigon drinking coffee—let it go.” So I did. I even found myself grateful to her for the lesson. 🙇♀️
As for having my photo taken? I don’t mind at all. Daily life gets photographed here constantly. We are all part of someone else’s background story. Just a weird experience.
Met a lovely married couple sitting next to me today and ended up being gifted something I’d never tried before — Bánh Tráng Kẹo Mạch Nha 🥥🍯
A light rice cake topped with coconut shavings and a sticky, sweet malt syrup drizzle… simple and absolutely delicious.
They told me it was their childhood snack, something they hadn’t had in a long time, so today was a little treat for them, too.
Their phone translator helped us talk, and somehow that made it even better — strangers sharing stories, laughter, and food across languages.
For me, travel isn’t about the big sights. It’s a sidewalk table, kind people, and a sweet little rice cake I’ll never forget.
Saigon keeps giving me these moments. ❤️ Forever grateful.
Another reminder came at a corner draped in shade, protecting me from the intense heat already rising, near the intersection of Lê Lai and…honestly, I forgot the cross street, but I’ll find it again because the coffee lady there deserves remembering.
She got a kick out of my Vietnamese. 😆
I’ve realized something: if I begin with one or two practiced phrases—just enough to show respect—they’ll happily continue speaking Vietnamese the entire time I sit there. I nod, smile, and understand maybe twenty percent. They think I understand more than I do, but somehow that’s enough.
And maybe that’s the point.
Connection first. Perfect language later.
She doesn’t talk much, which I like. Coffee ladies understand the assignment. They give you space to sit quietly, to read, to write, to simply be. Sometimes she brings an extra cup of tea without a word. That kind of kindness says more than conversation.
Reunification Day brought me to TABAC on Phạm Ngũ Lão for a straight black cà phê đen đá and some quiet writing. Saigon during holidays has its own rhythm—reflective, but still moving.
Saigon moves in its own way. I’m learning to be comfortable moving in my own way. The daily lessons from the coffee help…
April 2026
