May 2026
Ca Phe Da at Guta Coffee. Unfortunately, it had sugar in it.
Since I’m leaving soon for a weeklong adventure in Cambodia, I needed to get some repair work done on my backpack. I headed to Bui Vien where a man and woman I’d become familiar with helped sew a patch more securely onto the bag. As I sat there waiting, they offered me tea and sweet potatoes simply because they enjoyed hearing me attempt Vietnamese. By the time the repair was finished, I decided to stay for a cà phê đá and spend the morning dissecting the chaos and rhythm of Bui Vien while reading A Naked Singularity.
Complimentary Sweet Potato just because…
What struck me most wasn’t just their craftsmanship. It was the warmth behind it. Later, after running errands around Ben Thanh Market, I actually returned to give them more business and asked for additional country flags to be sewn onto the bag. Somewhere in that morning, it hit me again how much barriers dissolve when you genuinely try to speak someone’s language. Even badly.
At one point I was sitting there with my book, not even thinking about Wi-Fi, when the man came over and handed me the password without me asking. Little gestures like that rarely happen unless some kind of mutual respect has already been established. In my case, that bridge was built through Vietnamese — however clumsy my Vietnamese still is.
Ca Phe Sua Da, finally without milk and sugar (!) on Bui Vien
An amazing coffee came from a tiny hem tucked away in my neighborhood. Nothing flashy. Just another plastic stool, another strong cà phê sữa đá, and another reminder that sometimes the best coffee spots are the ones you almost walk past.
Then came another hidden alley stand just off Lê Thánh Tôn. Two-for-two this week on thick, excellent cà phê sữa đá. I’m still not comfortable with Vietnamese numbers or my listening skills yet, so I’ve developed this routine where I hold out combinations of 10k and 20k bills and let the vendor pick the correct amount. What’s notable is that nobody takes advantage of it.
One woman corrected me instead.
I held out 42,000 VND for a 22,000 VND coffee and she gently taught me how to say and hear “hai.” I’m convinced that hearing me order in Vietnamese and say “for here” softened the interaction immediately. She realized I wasn’t just another tourist blowing through town trying to bargain people down for already-cheap goods.
That’s another thing I’ve noticed: Vietnamese vendors, especially coffee vendors, are remarkably fair. In a city where tourists constantly negotiate prices downward, the coffee people largely don’t play that game. Twenty-two thousand is twenty-two thousand. And even in the middle of the daily grind, they still manage to be generous.
Trying Vietnamese at any level goes a long way here. It changes the temperature of interactions. Strangers become patient. Sometimes even protective.
Coffee number four was on Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai — lighter than the heavy HIT-style cà phê sữa đá I’ve been chasing lately, but probably exactly what I needed. A small break from the syrupy intensity. I still got the full red plastic stool experience, which honestly matters almost as much as the coffee itself.
Then came coffee number five.
The meanest coffee lady to date. Walking aimlessly around the Pham this morning because it was predicted to rain all day, I didn’t want to venture far. I saw this dark hem where people were lined up against the walls, drinking their coffees. Looked like a fine enough spot. I started with “Chao Bui Xang!” (Good morning!) She replied “What do you want?” in English. I thought that was harsh so I repeated “Chao Bui Xang” with a smile, hoping to warm her up a little bit. Didn’t happen. She just repeated, sternly, “What do you want?” Again, in English. I then continued in my Vietnamese: “Cho toi mot ca phe sua da.” She responded, “Yeah, sit down.” Realizing I’m not going to get anywhere with her. So, I just sat on a red plastic stool and basically had the ca phe sua da equivalent of her sour demeanor. Coffee doesn’t taste good when served to you unkindly. You HAVE TO laugh at this interaction, though. I’m speaking Vietnamese. She’s speaking English. Why?! LOL.
May 2026
March2026
Cầu Ông Lãnh
Nếp sống văn minh
Góc gọn hẻm sạch
“Cau Ong Lanh / Civilized lifestyle / Tidy corners, clean alleys.”
Kids sweeping, recycling, picking up trash. A girl in a red áo dài holding a bell like a cheerful team leader. Balloons floating over blue apartment blocks. Everyone smiling. Nobody sweating. The city in the background is clean and geometric, a version of Saigon that exists only in paint.
March 2026
The first one was painted by university students from Đại Học Văn Lang in 2018 as part of Mùa Hè Xanh, the Green Summer campaign. Every year the government sends thousands of college kids into neighborhoods to clean, paint, and volunteer. It’s state-organized but the participation is real. The red sign reads “Công trình khu phố xanh sạch đẹp,” Green Clean Beautiful Neighborhood Project. The mural shows a family, village houses, trees. Pleasant. Harmless. Approved.
This one is deeper. It’s in a hẻm off Cách Mạng Tháng 8 street, managed by the local veterans’ association. The blue signs tell you everything. Left sign: “An toàn, xanh, sạch, đẹp, văn minh.” Safe, Green, Clean, Beautiful, Civilized. Right sign: “Hẻm hội cựu chiến binh tự quản.” Veterans’ Self-Managed Alley. “Xanh, sạch, thân thiện môi trường.” Green, Clean, Environmentally Friendly. A traffic cop guides schoolchildren across a crosswalk while a woman in a pink áo dài shepherds them from behind. Even the dog is behaving.
And then SOMA tagged right across the top of it.
March 2026
This is Vietnamese socialist realist propaganda art. The state-sanctioned kind. Every neighborhood has them.
The style comes directly from Soviet and Chinese propaganda poster traditions that Vietnam adopted after 1954 in the north and after 1975 nationwide. The figures are idealized workers, farmers, soldiers, and women. Always healthy, always smiling, always productive. The color palette is deliberate: red for revolution, green for growth, blue for peace and progress. The yellow star on the pith helmet and the Vietnamese flag anchor everything to the party.
What you’re seeing specifically: women holding seedlings and plants (representing agricultural productivity and environmental programs), a woman in a blue ao dai (representing educated, modern Vietnamese womanhood), and a soldier in a pith helmet with flowers (the people’s army as protector and builder, not just fighter). The bicycle and blue birds are about peaceful daily life. The message is always the same: the revolution succeeded, the people are thriving, the future is green and bright.
These murals serve a real civic function. They’re painted on alley walls and public spaces as part of neighborhood beautification campaigns, often tied to ward-level government programs. The signs near them usually identify which local committee or veterans’ association sponsored them.
March 2026
March 2026
In Pham Ngu Lao Park
March 2026
The week started on Đỗ Quang Đẩu, with one of those dark, violent cà phê sữa đá that feels less like a drink and more like a confrontation. In the best way. Slow Sunday morning energy. Motorbikes humming past, metal spoons everywhere tapping against glasses. The kind of coffee that makes you sit still and people watch and read until the sun gets too hot.
Then there was Pages of Passion, tucked into the Nguyễn Văn Tráng building. A bookstore café. Coco Matcha, coconut and matcha somehow balancing each other perfectly – cold, green. Sixth floor cafés in Saigon always feel slightly secret, like you’ve discovered something hidden above the noise.
Bookworm’s Coffee came next. Then another stop on Đỗ Quang Đẩu near Phạm Ngũ Lão. The coffee itself honestly wasn’t great this time. But that almost didn’t matter. Some places thrive on atmosphere alone, shade from the hard morning sun, shelter from sudden rain, the constant theater of street life. Sometimes I stay because the atmosphere feels good around the coffee.
And then the surprise of the week.
I was headed toward an air-conditioned café — when a tiny hẻm café pulled me in, instead. Small. Shaded. Local women sitting and talking like they’re there every day. I stopped for “just one coffee” and ended up reading there instead, realizing the coffee in my hand was far better than the one I’d originally been seeking.
That’s Saigon coffee culture at its best. The city rewards detours.
Even GS25 made the list this week. Self-made iced black coffee in a Korean convenience store on Bùi Thị Xuân, just sitting there and watching the morning happen.
By Friday morning, Hidden Nest on Nguyễn Văn Tráng felt like necessary coconut coffee. The staff weren’t especially cheerful. But the bitterness worked. Not as sweet as Baka Coffee (my favorite one), but maybe that was ok.
This week in coffee was definitely less about finding the “best” cup and more about the feeling surrounding it — heat to shade, tiny alley observations, accidental discoveries, and the strange way Saigon turns coffee into a front-row seat to everyday life.
May 2026
This is a dyed dog. Someone painted black spots, stripes on the legs and tail, and what look like drawn-on eyebrows onto this dog to make it look like a hyena. Sitting on a red plastic chair against a cracked concrete wall like it owns the place.
This is someone turning their dog into a completely different animal. The eyebrows are the detail that kills me. Somebody sat down and gave their dog a facial expression.
The chair says everything, too. That’s the most Vietnamese chair in the country. Every sidewalk cafe, every street corner, every alley has those red and blue plastic stackable chairs. And this dog is sitting on one like a customer waiting for a ca phe sua da.
March 2026
