The iconic combination of the conical hat, plastic chair and table, and iced coffee in a plastic cup. Bonus: Graffiti scrawled on the weather- beaten wall.Often referred to as the Catinat Building or the 26 Ly Tu Trong Old Apartment, it perfectly captures Saigon’s layers of time—stretching from French colonial elegance to wartime intelligence. The French Colonial Era (Late 1920s) 🇻🇳 Built around 1926–1927 by the French, it was originally named the Catinat Building (as Đồng Khởi street was then called Rue Catinat). It was designed as a luxury Art Deco/Early Modernist mixed-use complex. 🇻🇳 The ground floor housed high-end commercial businesses, including the famous Société Indochinoise de Transports (SIT). 🇻🇳 The upper floors were designed as upscale residential apartments for wealthy French officials, expatriates, and the elite class of Indochina.Just one of many “alley gangs.” To say they’re photogenic, is an understatement. National PrideAn eclectic group of smiling individuals at a fave neighborhood café. Tao Florist / Tao Café. 📍 28C Ton That TungCom Tam Suon (grilled pork and rice): The breakfast, lunch, and dinner, of champions.239 De Tham: An extreme and fascinating example of a Vietnamese “super-thin tube house” (nhà siêu mỏng).Beautiful ominous clouds almost on the daily during rainy season.
This design is inspired by the iconic red plastic stools of Vietnam, my Adidas Sambas, Vietnamese coffee, my field notes journal writing, graffiti, photography (camera slung over the shoulder,) some of the places I’ve been fortunate enough to live in and travel to…and the masterpiece novel I just finished by Fernando Pessoa: “The Book of Disquiet.”
*Design 3 is ready, but production is on hold due to a weeklong Vietnam holiday and my impending departure to Cambodia. I’ll try to pick things up from there.
The story of a humble woman whose devotion shaped the destiny of a nation…
On top of a small hill in the heart of the capital, stands Wat Phnom, a sacred temple that marks the beginning of Phnom Penh’s story.
According to Cambodian tradition, Lady Penh, also known as Daun Penh, lived along the banks of the Tonlé Sap River in the late fourteenth century. One day, after heavy rains had swollen the river, she discovered a large floating koki tree. Curious about the unusual sight, she had the tree brought ashore and found within it four bronze Buddha statues and a statue of the Hindu deity Vishnu.
Believing the sacred images to be a sign from the heavens, Lady Penh gathered the villagers and ordered the construction of an artificial hill to house the statues. A shrine was built on top, creating a place of worship that would eventually become Wat Phnom.
The hill became known as “Phnom Penh,” meaning “Penh’s Hill,” and over time the surrounding settlement grew into the city that would later become Cambodia’s capital. What began as an act of faith by one woman transformed into the foundation of a thriving metropolis that today is home to millions of people.
At the base of the hill, the famous flower clock welcomes visitors and symbolizes the passage of time. Together with the ancient temple above, it represents the harmonious blend of history and modern life that defines Phnom Penh today.
Worn by farmers, monks, motorbike drivers, and even fashion enthusiasts, this simple checkered scarf is much more than an accessory—it is a symbol of Cambodian identity and resilience.
The krama has been part of everyday life in Cambodia for centuries. Traditionally made from cotton and woven in distinctive checkered patterns, it serves countless purposes. It can protect against the sun, act as a towel, carry goods, or simply be worn around the neck as a stylish statement. Practical and versatile, the krama reflects the ingenuity and spirit of the Cambodian people.
Living this nomadic life has taught me to hold plans very loosely.
Some mornings, I have a place in mind. And then, somewhere along the way, I see something else. A little distraction. A different street. A place I haven’t planned on. And suddenly the original plan doesn’t matter anymore.
So I follow the new idea.
That may sound like a very small thing. It is. And somehow it’s not.
Because every once in a while, in the middle of these ordinary mornings, I’m reminded of just how much freedom there is in my life right now.
I can change my mind.
I can turn down a different street. I can sit on a little plastic stool or duck into a café I’ve never heard of. I can decide that the coffee I thought I wanted isn’t actually the coffee I want anymore.
There’s no schedule waiting for me around the corner. No one wondering why I’m late. No obligation to explain why I suddenly changed direction.
Just me, a city, and a morning that can become something different simply because I decide it can.
And when I actually stop to acknowledge that, gratitude washes over me.
Not the grand, dramatic kind of gratitude. Something quieter.
The kind that makes me look down at the coffee in my hand and think: Wow. I get to do this. 🥹
I get to wander around Saigon and discover things. I get to make arbitrary decisions about where to drink coffee. I get to follow curiosity instead of an itinerary.
And somehow, once I notice that, the coffee tastes even better.
Maybe that’s what these coffee mornings are really about.
Not finding the best coffee.
Not even finding the café I set out to find.
Sometimes the best part is realizing that I’m free to change my mind. And that the unexpected place I end up may be exactly where I was supposed to be all along. 🙇♀️
Yi Kakada (often known as Kakada Yi) is a prominent, self-taught contemporary Cambodian street artist and muralist. Born in 1996 in Battambang province—historically the artistic hub of Cambodia—he has become a recognizable figure in the Kingdom’s flourishing urban art scene.
One of Kakada’s most famous physical talents is his ability to paint ambidextrously. He can draw different images with both hands simultaneously, a skill that often captivates audiences during live painting showcases. He is also recognized for creating “two-canvas” paintings that seamlessly merge to tell a singular story.
Kakada’s journey to becoming a full-time artist is marked by resilience. He lost both of his parents at an early age and faced severe financial hardship, which forced him to drop out of high school. He moved to Phnom Penh with his siblings to look for opportunities, relying entirely on his raw talent.
Without formal art school training, he mastered his craft through hands-on practice, initially using standard house paint because expensive spray cans were out of reach. His breakthrough came when he won first place in the “Asian Drawing Category” in a competition organized by UNESCO.
If you slip just a few blocks northwest of the palace grounds, you’ll find yourself standing before the quiet, sun-drenched courtyard of Wat Saravan (officially Wat Saravan Techo).
While it rarely tops the generic “must-see” lists for casual tourists, this historic pagoda holds a profound significance. It is a living survivor of Cambodia’s complex history and, quite literally, a legendary treasury of traditional knowledge.
1422 (The Legendary Foundation): Local history states that the temple was first established in the early 15th century when Phnom Penh was just beginning to expand. At the time, this area was a swampy forest known as Boeung Reang. It was one of seven foundational pagodas that anchored the early spiritual landscape of the city.
1892 (The Modern Rebuild): The classic, elegant brick structures and layout you wander through today were constructed in 1892 under the reign of King Norodom, a time when Phnom Penh was being extensively remodeled.
Like so many sacred spaces in Cambodia, Wat Saravan fell dark during the Khmer Rouge regime from 1975 to 1979. It was emptied, desecrated, and abandoned. Walking through it today, watching the saffron robes of the resident monks glide past restored stupas, you realize that its quiet presence isn’t just scenic—it’s a monument to cultural resilience.
The Great Library of the Kingdom
While its architecture is stunning, Wat Saravan’s truest claim to fame is intellectual. Historically, this monastery was the epicentre of manuscript preservation in Cambodia.
Before the mid-20th century conflicts, Wat Saravan housed more than 3,400 ancient palm-leaf manuscripts (Sastras), making it what scholars widely considered the largest traditional library in the country.
These were not standard books. Scribes meticulously scratched sacred texts onto dried, treated palm leaves, preserving thousands of years of Pali and Khmer knowledge. These fragile leaves contained everything from deep Buddhist philosophy and epic poetry to foundational records of traditional medicine, astronomy, and ancient law.
This thought came into existence on one of my wanderings during this current 6-month stint in Saigon. I tried to articulate what my life is like at the moment.
