Straight black, no sugar, that’s my order everywhere I go. Most of the time. Here in Phnom Penh, it’s been perfect every single time. No bitterness, usually two shots of espresso in there for a real caffeine hit, and every café I’ve tried so far has nailed it. Not one miss yet.
The café is named after that adorable dog, Tofe.
Saigon was a different story. The black coffee there was hit or miss depending on the place, and you always had to remember to specify no sugar, because if you didn’t, it would somehow find its way into the cup anyway. Here in Phnom Penh, they actually ask you about your sugar preference every time. No guessing, no fine print, they just check. I appreciate that.
Now, when it comes to specialty drinks, that’s where Saigon wins, no contest. But I understand why now. It’s the sugar. All of it. That’s the secret ingredient behind those elaborate Vietnamese coffee drinks that make them so good.
Even here in Phnom Penh, when I ordered a salt cream coffee, they still asked if I wanted sugar in it, so I could say no. And honestly, it was still tasty without it. Cambodia is clearly building something good with its coffee scene. But overall, Saigon’s specialty coffee culture is still unmatched. Phnom Penh is getting there, and it’s got the fundamentals locked down, but it hasn’t caught up to Saigon’s game yet.
Delicious Himalayan Salt Cream Coffee with no sugar
Six months ago I arrived in Saigon and went straight for the condensed milk. That first cà phê sữa đá was an introduction and a seduction all at once, sweet enough to mask the fact that I had no idea what I was doing here, no real plan beyond staying a while and seeing what happened. Sugar is a good way to ease into a place. 😆
Somewhere in those six months, the sugar fell away. I couldn’t tell you the exact week it happened, only that I noticed one morning I was ordering đen đá without thinking, and it didn’t taste bitter anymore, it just tasted like the truth of the bean. That’s what daily ritual does. It stripped away what I needed at the start because I no longer need it.
I’ve built a tolerance, not just for caffeine, but for the Saigon itself, for its noise and its heat and its rhythm. Six months of the same coffee, every day, will eventually show you who you actually are when nobody’s sweetening the situation for you.
Today, on what may or may not be my last Vietnamese coffee in Saigon (I know myself well enough not to promise anything, I may wander into another one before the day ends), I found a café tucked so far down a hẻm off Lê Thị Riêng that I nearly missed the turn. That kind of discovery only happens by accident, and only near the end of a stay, when I’ve stopped looking for anything and the city decides to show me one more thing anyway, as if to say: see, there was always more here than you found.
I’m drinking a peanut butter coffee, which is not how I started this journey and not how I expected to end it, either.
And there’s an apple pastry on the counter that I keep looking at even though I never eat pastries. It’s shaped, absurdly and beautifully, like the Vietnamese flag, and I can’t stop thinking that the timing of it, national day just behind me, my own departure just ahead of me tomorrow, feels less like coincidence and more like the city tying a bow on something.
There’s an existential weight to drinking a last cup of anything. It’s never really about the coffee. It’s about what the coffee marked, the mornings that started because of it, the version of myself who showed up here in March not knowing the word “hẻm,” who now knows exactly which turn to take without looking.
Six months is long enough to stop being a visitor and start being someone who simply lives somewhere, and then to leave anyway, which is its own kind of grief, small and specific and easy to miss if I’m not paying attention.
Tomorrow I go to Cambodia. Today I sit with this cup, in this hidden place I’ll probably never find again, and let the nostalgia arrive early, since it clearly wasn’t going to wait for the actual goodbye. This isn’t a permanent farewell. Vietnamese coffee doesn’t really let you go that easily, and I suspect it’ll find me again somewhere down the road, condensed milk or not. But for now, this is it. Six months, one last cup.
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. 🙇♀️
There are weeks when coffee is mostly about the coffee.
And then there are weeks when coffee becomes a way of measuring a life.
This was one of those weeks.
Nine coffees. A little over 347,000 Vietnamese đồng. A ridiculous range of prices, places, textures and moods. Everything from a 13,000₫ cà phê đen đá in a District 3 hẻm to an 89,000₫ coconut coffee at a retro bar. And somewhere in between, I had one of those small realizations that seem insignificant until you realize they aren’t.
But let’s start with the coffee.
My week began with a cà phê sữa with salted foam from Mê Trà on Nguyễn Thị Minh Khai – 25,000₫. Silky, thick foam. Sweet, creamy, indulgent. The kind of coffee that makes you stop pretending coffee is merely a beverage and admit that sometimes it’s dessert wearing a caffeine costume.
Then there was a 20,000₫ cà phê đen đá from YO Coffee, served from a little cart on Nguyễn Văn Tráng. Sitting outside, watching the street do what Saigon streets do, I was reminded again that some of my favorite coffees here cost less than a bottle of water in plenty of places.
I found another little street stand in a District 3 hẻm and had a 13,000₫ cà phê đen đá. Later, near Lê Thị Riêng, a graffiti-covered backdrop provided the setting for a 20,000₫ cà phê sữa đá.
And that’s one of the things I love about drinking coffee in Saigon.
The setting doesn’t have to be impressive.
Sometimes the setting is the point.
A plastic chair. A metal table. A wall covered in graffiti. A narrow hẻm. Motorbikes passing a few feet away. Someone sweeping the sidewalk. Someone else arguing cheerfully over something that sounds very important.
And suddenly you’re sitting in the middle of somebody else’s ordinary Tuesday. And it feels extraordinary.
Then came the hazelnut latte.
The day before, I had walked past an advertisement for a beautiful hazelnut latte. I remember thinking, I’ll be trying that soon.
And the next day, I did.
This may sound like a ridiculously minor thing. But lately I’ve been thinking about how much freedom is contained in that little sentence: I’ll try that.
And then actually doing it.
So there I was at Cheese Coffee on Lê Thị Riêng, drinking a 75,000₫ bạc xỉu hazelnut coffee, enjoying the hell out of it.
It was really good.
And I realized that I’m increasingly grateful for the freedom. And the means to build a life out of these little things.
Not the big things.
The little things.
A coffee because I saw an advertisement and became curious.
A book because I happened to have it with me.
A shady sidewalk because the breeze feels good.
A neighborhood because I wandered into it.
A conversation because somebody happened to sit nearby.
A day that doesn’t have to justify itself.
That particular afternoon was especially good. I was sitting in the shade with a light breeze, reading Fernando Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet, and thinking that I could probably have stayed there all day.
Honestly, I could have.
There are worse ways to spend a life.
The next coffee took me to Phuong’s Retro Bar on Lý Tự Trọng, where I tried a coconut coffee for 89,000₫. Then another coconut coffee at Bò Cà Phê, a 60,000₫ phin dừa.
Because apparently this was the week I decided that coconut and coffee needed to become a major theme in my life.
I’m not complaining.
Sunday brought one of my favorite rituals: my neighborhood coffee.
I had started teaching online early, and afterward I wandered over to my usual spot. The guy who knows my order – or at least knows the general direction my order is headed, asked if I wanted more condensed milk.
“Yes.”
And on this particular Sunday morning, that was exactly right.
Rich. Sweet. Just the little kick in the ass I needed to start the day.
Monday morning, however, called for something different.
A 25,000₫ coffee at Passio on Bùi Thị Xuân, which I described in my notes as a “detox of sorts.”
After a week that included salted foam, hazelnut, coconut, condensed milk and enough sweetness to qualify as a minor health event, Monday’s coffee felt almost virtuous.
Almost.
Looking back at the week’s list, what strikes me isn’t really the coffee.
It’s the accumulation of small choices.
I can walk past a picture of a hazelnut latte and decide I want one.
I can sit in a hẻm for a 13,000₫ coffee.
I can spend 89,000₫ on something ridiculous and delicious.
I can take a book into the shade and disappear into it for an afternoon.
I can teach online in the morning and be sitting on a plastic chair drinking coffee in a neighborhood a few minutes later.
I can wander.
I can stop.
I can try things.
I can change my mind.
And I can build a life out of all those little things that, taken individually, don’t seem particularly important.
But that’s the trick.
The little things are the big things.
A life doesn’t have to be spectacular to be a good one.
Maybe it just has to contain enough moments when you look up from your coffee, feel the breeze, realize you’re exactly where you want to be, and think:
Some weeks are about discovering cafés. Others are about discovering me.
This week was a little of both.
I wandered through the hems of Saigon, coffees in hand, notebook in my pocket, following no real itinerary except curiosity. One street coffee became another. Twenty thousand đồng here. Forty thousand there. A modern café tucked inside an alley. An old apartment converted into an espresso bar. A coffee cart shaded by buildings instead of umbrellas. Each stop became less about the drink and more about the pause.
Latte Lounge
At FARO Café on Cao Thắng, the presentation was almost too beautiful to disturb. It was polished, contemporary, and elegant. Proof that Vietnamese coffee culture can be as refined as any specialty café in the world while still feeling unmistakably local.
Another day I found myself back where I often feel most at home: sitting on a tiny plastic stool in a hem, drinking a 20,000 đồng cà phê sữa đá while life flowed around me. Motorbikes squeezed past. Someone watered plants. Someone else swept the alley as if it were an extension of their living room.
It’s amazing how quickly an alley can begin to feel familiar.
One stop this week carried a different kind of weight.
I bought a street coffee on Lý Tự Trọng, just below the rooftop of the Pittman Apartments-the building that is forever linked to one of the defining images of the end of the Vietnam War. From the street, it’s an ordinary city building. People walk past without looking up. Laundry dries from balconies. Coffee is poured into plastic cups. Yet, above it sits the rooftop where, on April 29, 1975, a helicopter landed during Operation Frequent Wind to evacuate CIA personnel and a number of South Vietnamese civilians.
(Hubert van Es/Corbis)
History has a strange way of becoming ordinary. Especially in Ho Chi Minh City.
Sitting there with coffee in my hand, it struck me that places don’t remain frozen in time. They keep living. People move in. Cafés open. The extraordinary quietly becomes part of the everyday.
Maybe grief works that way too.
This was also the first full week after sharing the news of my dad’s passing with a much wider circle of friends, colleagues, and former students around the world. I wasn’t quite prepared for the sheer number of messages, comments, and little “grief” emojis that would appear. Hundreds of people took a moment to reach out.
I’ve found myself reading many of them more than once.
There’s something comforting about knowing your sadness is being witnessed by people spread across continents. Not because it makes the loss smaller. It doesn’t. But because it reminds you that kindness travels remarkably well.
As Fernando Pessoa writes in The Book of Disquiet, we carry entire inner worlds that rarely become visible. This week reminded me that, sometimes, they do.
The coffee continued.
An apartment café on Nguyen Van Trang celebrating vintage Saigon.
Three mildly indifferent cats at Nhà Chung who tolerated my presence just enough to make me smile.
Trạm on Công Quỳnh
More hidden alley coffees off Bùi Thị Xuân and Đề Thám, where weathered wooden doors and peeling paint somehow make the coffee taste even better.
The best cafés aren’t the expensive ones.
They’re the places that let me sit quietly for 20-30 minutes and let my thoughts catch up with my footsteps. They let me read the current novel I’m obsessed with. They let me write my field notes.
This week, the coffee was excellent.
The conversations were brief.
The streets continued to be endlessly interesting.
And somewhere between history, grief, and another glass of cà phê sữa đá, Saigon reminded me that healing rarely arrives all at once.
More often, it comes one cup at a time. One breath at a time.
Walking out of my homestay quite early, the sky was hanging low over Saigon, dark enough to promise rain sooner rather than later.
I knew immediately the weather would decide where I drank my first coffee.
Not me.
The first heavy drops fell just as I ducked beneath the umbrella of a tiny street stand. Twenty thousand đồng. Less than a dollar. A cup of cà phê sữa đá and another reminder that some of life’s best decisions are made by the weather.
“All I need is gratitude and coffee in my hand.”A hidden gem in a narrow hem
A woman abandoned her broom to serve me because everyone in the alley looks after one another’s customers. She laughed in disbelief when I ordered black coffee without sugar, repeating không đường over and over as though I couldn’t possibly mean it. But. I did.
Took the Metro 🚇 for the first time! From Ben Thanh to Thao Dien and had a coffee on Xuan Thuy Street
Before dawn on Thursday morning, my phone vibrated.
A message from my former stepmother.
They had been divorced for decades.
“Sorry to tell you like this…”
My father had died.
I stared at the screen without moving.
No racing heartbeat.
No tears.
Only the strange stillness that sometimes arrives before emotion catches up with fact.
I closed my eyes, hoping sleep might return.
Instead, memories arrived.
I remember his laugh.
The glint in his blue eyes.
The laugh I inherited.
He laughed easily. Loudly. Sometimes until tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
I know I was responsible for many of those laughs and I’ll gladly own that for the rest of my time on earth.
For all the complicated years that followed—for the distance, the absences, the estrangement—that is not how I’m going to remember him.
I’m going to remember the beautiful laughing boy he once was.
The seventeen-year-old who had no idea what life would ask of him. The father I adored.
The young soldier who would find himself stationed in Germany and Korea.
The father who loved olives enough that I ate them too, despite not liking them.
The young man who sat beside me with a jar of Marshmallow Fluff and we’d eat spoonfuls as we watched tv, while my mom was out.
Memory is generous that way.
It edits.
Not by deceiving, but by deciding which moments deserve to survive.
Mine chose his mischievous smile.
R. I. P. Dad
Sitting across from Ben Thanh Market with straight black iced coffee as I read “Once There Were Wolves” by Charlotte McConaghy
rong chơi roughly translates to wandering or roaming freely without a specific destination.
Van – Always Wandering.
This overcast Friday morning was no different. I set out without a destination, trusting Saigon to decide where I should end up. That’s become my favorite way to travel here. The city has a habit of rewarding curiosity.
I wandered into a strange little courtyard anchored by an enormous Starbucks sign. That alone felt odd. In a country overflowing with incredible coffee, I still can’t quite justify Starbucks. But as I walked farther in, the sign faded into the background. Hidden behind it were half a dozen vintage vans serving coffee, tea, pastries, and books. It was less a café than a tiny neighborhood festival.
One van caught my eye: Rong Chơi Coffee.
Later I learned that rong chơi roughly translates to wandering or roaming freely without a specific destination. Well… if that isn’t my life in a nutshell.
The universe definitely knew what it was doing that morning.
A simple cà phê đen đá—straight black iced coffee—for 35,000 VND ($1.33), and I was reminded once again that some of the best experiences in Saigon don’t announce themselves. They wait quietly for you to stumble across them.
Barxiu
Just around the corner from where I’ve been living for months sits Barxiu, tucked away inside an apartment building.
I’d walked past it countless times without ever figuring out how to get upstairs. This week I finally asked someone, got redirected to a different staircase, and suddenly there it was.
Worth every bit of the effort.
I ordered their Dirty Matcha—Vietnamese phin coffee, condensed milk, and matcha. Normally matcha drinks can be overwhelmingly sweet, but this one wasn’t. It balanced the earthiness of the tea with the richness of Vietnamese coffee beautifully. Cozy, eclectic, and one of those cafés that makes you want to linger.
Sometimes all it takes is asking where the stairs are.
One morning I stopped at a tiny neighborhood coffee stand for a 30,000 VND cà phê sữa đá.
I only had 28,000 VND.
Without hesitation they smiled and waved me off.
“I’ll bring the other 2,000 next time,” I thought to myself.
*I dropped it off two days later. They were surprised because they didn’t expect it.
As I sat outside in one of those familiar little red plastic chairs, the family’s front doors stood wide open while they moved effortlessly between their living room and coffee cart. On the television Belgium was playing the United States in the World Cup.
S’Mores
One of this week’s highlights was discovering S’Mores Saigon, where I had a NEL drip coffee.
If you’ve never had one, a NEL drip uses a flannel cloth filter—a technique with French roots that was later perfected in Japan before eventually finding its way into old Saigon cafés. The result is unlike any other black coffee I’ve had.
Silky.
Clean.
Almost elegant.
Apparently it was once considered coffee for Vietnam’s elite.
I understand why.
It’s less like drinking coffee and more like drinking a philosophy.
Tách Tách
Tách Tách, another café inside the old mint green apartment building on Nguyễn Văn Tráng.
Their drink was called “Love You So Matcha.”
Japanese Uji matcha, oat milk, condensed milk, a touch of syrup…
Mildly sweet with no bitterness.
Exactly how I move through life these days.
Room 44
Room 44, a salted caramel latte. It is tucked inside the same mint green old apartment complex. There is something about climbing those worn staircases that always feels like entering another version of Saigon.
The Simple Café
At The Simple Café, I tried their Grape Chill Cold Brew.
Imagine sweet grape juice somehow deciding it wanted to become coffee.
Or maybe coffee deciding it wanted to become grape juice.
Odd?
Absolutely.
Worth trying?
Definitely.
Cà Phê Ông
Then there was Cà Phê Ông and their bamboo coconut coffee served in—you guessed it—a bamboo cup. A bamboo straw. Cool souvenirs. Refreshing, tropical, and exactly what you want on a humid Saigon afternoon. I met two new friends and rather than read my book, a daily ritual, I had a lovely conversation with them.
Mon Ami Café
Mon Ami Café, a French-inspired spot where a simple cà phê đen đá reminded me that sometimes the classics don’t need improving. And I really need to lay off the condensed milk…
Cool souvenirs: Bamboo Cup and Bamboo Straw at Cà Phê Ông
Nine coffees.
Nine different stories.
Some hidden behind apartment staircases.
Some tucked into family homes.
Some discovered only because I decided to wander without a plan.
This week began the way most of my best days in Vietnam begin: with no real plan.
I wandered down a small alley off Nguyễn Đình Chiểu because something—a mural, curiosity, instinct, who knows—pulled me in. I thought I was headed to a café, but instead I found a woman selling coffee on the street. She smiled with the kind of warmth that makes you stop walking.
I actually walked past her.
Then that smile reached me a second time.
I turned around.
Good decision.
She poured me a cà phê sữa đá into a real glass mug because I was staying to drink it there. Somehow that simple gesture changed the coffee. Glass just feels right. The coffee stayed colder, the flavors lingered, and for a few minutes the alley became my favorite café in Saigon.
Flat White on Lý Tự Trọng.
I ordered a cà phê đen đá—straight black, no sugar, no milk. The menu mentioned it usually comes with a little sugar, but they happily left it out.
The barista looked me straight in the eye.
“It’s strong.”
As though he was warning me.
Me.
I laughed.
“It better be. How else do you make coffee?”
He laughed too.
End scene.
The Bagel Brothers served another dependable cà phê sữa đá, while Polka Brew surprised me with their “Vietnam Almond Coffee.” Condensed milk, almond syrup, and two shots of espresso sounded like they might be trying a little too hard.
They weren’t.
It somehow stayed balanced and tasted like someone had translated Vietnamese coffee into another dialect instead of another language.
Then there was The Scorpio.
An empty chair waited outside as if someone had reserved it for me. I settled in with my coffee and a few pages of American Pastoral. The weather hinted at rain, and for a while everything was perfect.
Until the sidewalk sales parade began.
Every few minutes someone appeared offering sunglasses, phone accessories, shoe shines, or a tour of the Củ Chi Tunnels.
No, thank you.
No, really.
I just wanted to sit quietly with my coffee and my book.
Sometimes finding peace in a busy city means politely saying “no” twenty times.
Katinat delivered another solid espresso with milk over ice, while Dú Ký Café offered something completely different: a slow-dripped black Vietnamese coffee. Around me, groups of men gathered to watch a World Cup match, arguing and cheering between sips. Coffee isn’t just a drink here. It’s a reason to linger. To debate. To watch time pass.
Cà Phê Pha Máy on Bùi Viện rounded out another stop with yet another excellent cà phê sữa đá.
I’m beginning to suspect it’s impossible for me to walk more than a few blocks in Vietnam without finding another cup worth remembering.
My final stop was the trendy 2D Sketch Café.
The illusion is clever. Everything looks hand-drawn, like you’ve stepped into a comic book. It’s worth seeing once.
But here’s the thing.
The coffee on the sidewalks of Saigon costs less than half as much, tastes better, and comes with real life instead of painted walls.
I’d choose the sidewalk every time.
A stranger in a café asking for a photo
The best coffee isn’t always about beans or brewing methods. It’s about the smile that makes you turn around. The barista who jokingly warns you about the strength. The conversations you accidentally become part of. The old men watching football. The pages read between interruptions. The feeling that, for an hour, a tiny plastic stool or a simple glass mug is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Vietnam keeps reminding me that coffee isn’t something you rush.
Back in Vietnam after almost two weeks in Cambodia, and the first thing I want is a cup in my hand and a chair in the shade. So here it is: a week in coffee, one cup at a time.
Cà Phê Trứng 3T — 10 Sương Nguyệt Ánh I had been wanting to try this place for months, and I finally walked in. Pleasantly surprised is putting it mildly, because the coffee turned out to be buy one, get one free! Any coffee on the menu. I tried a salted egg coffee for the first time and then a cà phê sữa đá to follow, and they bring you a small teapot of trà đá on the side too. 60K VND, about $2.28, for all of that.
Cà Rê Café — 35 Nguyễn Văn Tráng My favourite mint green building. I had a salted creamy coffee here for 55K VND, around $2.09. All of these cafés and shops are tucked into old apartments, which is exactly why they have such eclectic, lived-in vibes.
Highlands Coffee — Coconut Americano (Americano Nước Dừa) I will be honest about this one. It tasted like a strong black coffee with a drop of coconut water stirred in. Not the specialty coconut coffee with milk and sugar I had in my head. Fine, but not the thing. And my health is better for it. 😂
Trung Nguyên E-Coffee — Bùi Thị Xuân The best salted coffee I have had in Saigon, full stop. 35K VND, about $1.33. Modern, open air, free wifi, the kind of place that looks like the coffee should cost a fortune. It doesn’t.
Sipfé — Peanut Butter Coffee! A flashback to the day before I left for Cambodia. I was wandering the streets and passed a café with Peanut Butter Coffee right there on the menu. “Note to self.” So, I came back to give it a proper try, 85K, and it was so good!
Highlands Coffee — Phạm Ngũ Lão 35K. Not a destination so much as a survival decision. It has been too hot for the street stands lately, and the need to duck into an air-conditioned café gets a little overwhelming.
Tào Florist (Tào Café) Cà phê sữa đá for 30K. Very small and somehow spacious at the same time, with low tables and chairs spilling inside and out. The owner was attentive and kind, which is half of why I would go back.
The husband-and-wife stand — a hẻm off Lê Thị Riêng – 17K, about 65 cents, for a cà phê sữa đá takeaway, run by a man and his wife in an alley off Lê Thị Riêng. The cheapest one around, and I love how they make it. Condensed milk at the bottom of the cup, half a shot of espresso, stirred, then ice, then the other half of the espresso poured over the top. That first sip lands hard! And I love that. 😊
Wanting a cool place to sit and get out of the heat, I headed out thinking I was hunting for a new café. At the end of Bùi Viện I saw Phúc Long, went inside, and then stopped short at 35K for a cà phê sữa đá when I know it is better on the street and 20K. A café in this city is only worth it to me if I am there for a specialty coffee or a matcha. Otherwise, stay on the streets and support the locals. And I still get to sit in the shade and read my book for as long as I want.
What was supposed to be a simple, breezy week-long border run to Phnom Penh has turned into a bureaucratic existential crisis. But hey, at least the coffee is keeping me going. Here is how my week tasted:
1. ENSO Cafe
The Vibe: I woke up way earlier than most sensible cafes care to open. After a morning stroll to the Independence Monument, I stumbled on this spot. I’m sitting outside under a roof with a nice breeze, learning a little Khmer: Some cafe trojeak moo-oy (an iced coffee, please).
The Damage: 12,300 Riels (about $3).
The Brew: It’s not even 7:30 AM yet and the heat from the sun is already intense. The cold brew is absolute perfection.
Socials: IG: @ensocafe
Language practice: Good Morning = Arun Suostei. Thank you = Orkūn.
2. 1987 Pang + Café
The Brew: I ordered an Iced Coconut Coffee. It’s notably less sweet than the ones you get across the border in Vietnam—and honestly, that’s probably a good thing.
The Vibe: The staff here were polite enough to actually ask, “Normal sweet or extra sweet?” In Vietnam, they don’t ask; they just drop the sugar bomb. I respect both approaches, but I told them, “Normal. The way you do it in Cambodia!” Et voilà, here we are.
Soundtrack of the moment: Charles Mingus – Myself When I’m Real 🎶
The Vibe: Upon walking in, the staff strategically deployed their most capable English speaker—a young, quaking guy whom I unintentionally accosted with a barrage of investigative questions about what I should order. Bless him, he walked me through an impressive explanation of three different specialty coffees. Together, we decided I should try the Café Samai Derm (the original/traditional style). Side note: Samai means “era” or “generation”.
The Brew: I got it because the barista told me it was his personal favorite and that he drinks it every single day. He wasn’t lying. It’s good. I’m happy.
The Reality Check: To be totally honest, I didn’t even finish it, and I was hardly conscious of what it tasted like. It was definitely good and strong, but my head was entirely somewhere else.
The Visa Intermission (Where things go sideways)
I am currently having serious visa issues. I thought this was going to be an easy run: leave Vietnam on a bus at 9:45 AM on Monday, June 1st, cross the border, apply for a new 90-day visa online, and just hang out and enjoy Phnom Penh for a week. I’d get my approved visa, be happy, and board a return bus on Sunday, June 7th.
The universe—or rather, the Vietnam Embassy in Hanoi—had completely different plans.
On Tuesday, they replied: “You must leave VN before applying for a visa.” But I did leave! I received that same exact automated message again on Thursday, and again on Friday. I have been frantically trying to send them proof, namely a clear photo of the VN exit stamp in my passport dated June 1st. I thought all they needed to see was that my IP address was in Cambodia, but apparently not.
So now, here I sit on Friday, June 5th. I took a speeding tuk-tuk to the VN Embassy here in Phnom Penh this morning to literally plead for help. Then, I had to take another frantic return tuk-tuk ride in the afternoon after getting ANOTHER “please leave VN” email from Hanoi. We took yet another photo of my exit stamp and blasted it off to them.
The Phnom Penh Embassy finally told me that if Hanoi refuses me again, I need to come back to them with my physical passport and $80, and they will expedite it. Because of this mess, I’ve already had to extend my hotel stay through Thursday and haven’t even booked a return bus yet. I can’t. I have no idea how long I’ll be here. Riding in the tuk-tuk today, watching the city blur past, I seriously questioned myself: “Why am I doing this? What’s the point? Should I just stop?”
5. Slope Coffee
The Brew: Back on the horse. Iced Americano.
The Damage: 6,000 Riels (an incredibly reasonable $1.50).
